Chapter 5
JACE
Vanessa stood in front of me holding two shirts like the fate of Western civilization depended on cotton.
“Black,” she said, then looked at the shirt in her left hand and frowned. “No. The other black.”
I looked down at myself. “This is already black.”
“That’s faded black.”
“It’s a shirt, V.”
“It photographs tired.”
I opened my mouth, decided nothing good lived there, and shut it again.
Her apartment had better lighting than mine. That wasn’t hard because mine currently had one lamp that flickered if the washing machine was running, but Vanessa’s place looked like somebody had designed it to make real life feel underdressed. White couch. Gold side tables. A vase full of flowers that were either very expensive or very fake. A full-length mirror positioned near the window where she filmed half her morning routines.
I stood in front of it while she tugged at my collar.
“Don’t do the slouching thing tonight,” she said.
“I don’t have a slouching thing.”
“You do when you’re bored.”
“I’m not bored yet.”
She glanced up, one eyebrow lifting with practiced patience. “Jace.”
“Sorry.”
I meant it. Mostly.
She smoothed the front of the shirt she’d chosen, then reached up to fix my hair. Her fingers were careful. Gentle, even. There was nothing cruel about it. Vanessa liked things to look right. She liked plans and angles and posts scheduled at the exact time her analytics told her people were most likely to care. She worked hard, harder than people gave her credit for, and tonight mattered to her.
A sportswear brand was launching some lifestyle line, which meant athletes, influencers, cocktails nobody drank because everyone was filming them, and a step-and-repeat wall with lights bright enough to interrogate a corpse.
Vanessa had been invited as a partner creator. I was there as boyfriend, hockey star, and visual proof she had access to a world people liked watching from their phones.
“Can you post the arrival story before we go in?” she asked. “Not once we’re inside. It gets messy.”
“I can do that.”
“And tag them. The brand account, not the regional one.”
“Yeah.”
“And please don’t make that face in photos.”
I looked at her in the mirror. “What face?”
“The one where you look like you’re waiting for someone to say something stupid.”
“That’s just my face.”
Her mouth softened. “I know this stuff drains you. I’m not trying to be annoying.”
