He takes another drink and then rubs a hand over his mouth.
“Everything’s fine. I just need you to know that I’ll always be here for you.”
I suck in a breath and nod, feeling unsettled. Jacob is my mother’s third husband. She has a history of getting bored and moving on. But she wouldn’t do that to Jacob, right?
He tosses back the rest of his drink and sets down the glass with a clack on the bar, then gives my arm an affectionate squeeze as he passes by me.
“Go up to bed, sweetheart. Have a shower, try to relax. I’ll bring you some tea.”
I nod, my chest all warm and melty at the way he’s taking care of me. And for once, I don’t feel undeserving of the care. Because I’m lovely. I’m extraordinary.
He tips his chin in the direction of the stairs. “Go on. Leave the dress on your chair. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and once again, my eyes fill with tears, but I’m not crying because of those dumb kids. I’m crying because of him. Because in just fifteen minutes, he managed to turn my entire night around.
The hint of a smile pulls at his lips and he nods. “Of course.”
Two
Camryn
Present day
I’m cold, wet, stressed, and honestly, having a pretty shit day. A pipe burst in the graduate student apartment building where I live, flooding my apartment with several inches of water. My furniture is wrecked. My TV is fried. I had to put on rain boots to wade through so I could grab some essentials and get out. I’m soaked, and cold, and have no idea how I’m going to deal with this.
Even worse is the text message I just got from the building manager, saying that the building will be uninhabitable for at least six weeks while all of the damage from the burst pipe is repaired.
Which means…I’m homeless. I could try to couch surf, maybe stay with my friend Samantha for a bit, but I don’t see how I can do that for over a month. I don’t have a car to live in. I definitely don’t have the funds to stay in a hotel for weeks on end. And I don’t have any family I could crash with. My mothermoved back to France after her divorce from Jacob almost four years ago. She figured that since I was eighteen and starting university in Toronto, her job as a parent was done.
I don’t have anywhere else to go, which is why I’m in the back of an Uber, watching through the rain-streaked window as we pull up in front of the building where I used to live. Where I’m hoping Jacob still does. I haven’t seen him since he and my mother split, even though I’ve kept up with him through the news. I get the Saturday Star just to look at the society pages and get a glimpse of him living his life. I like seeing where he’s going, what he’s wearing, who he’s pictured with. I feel a stab of completely irrational jealousy whenever he’s photographed with a woman.
I keep up with him professionally, too. We’ve done case studies on his banking empire in some of my business classes. Honestly, it was partly because of him that I decided to major in business and then pursue an MBA.
Which all sounds maybe a bit creepy when laid out like that. But it’s not like I’m a stalker or anything. If I were a stalker, I’d know for sure where he lives, wouldn’t I? I’m more of a…a fan.
I replay the way he told me I could come to him for anything no matter what happened between him and my mother. In hindsight, they were obviously on the rocks at that point, given that they split only a few months later.
Hopefully he still means it. Hopefully he still lives here.
I grab my bag and step out of the Uber, heading into the lobby. It’s unchanged—same gleaming marble floor, same sculptural chandelier, same leather sofas grouped together—and it feels like just yesterday but also a hundred years ago that I lived here. I’m not the same person that I was then. I’m still bookish, still chubby, but I’ve grown to love my curves. I’m no longer the shy, uncertain wallflower I was in high school.
Not that I’ve had much experience with men. I’ve made out a few times, gone on dates, but I’ve never really had a boyfriend or gone farther than first base. And it’s not because I don’t want to—I am ridiculously horny, honestly—but the guys at school are just…boys. And boys don’t excite me. They never have.
The sound of a throat clearing pulls me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’m dripping water all over the pristine floor.
“Can I help you, miss?” asks the doorman, standing from behind his desk. I don’t recognize him; he didn’t work here when I was living here. I square my shoulders and walk forward, trying not to cringe at the way my boots are squelching.
“Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Brooks. In the penthouse. Is he in?”
He eyes me warily, and frankly, I can’t blame him. I probably look like I crawled out of a storm drain. I smile a little brighter and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Your name, please?”
“Camryn. Camryn Fontaine.” I have my mother’s last name, as she and my dad were never actually married. They split up when I was a baby, and I’ve only met him a handful of times. I think he lives in Switzerland somewhere.
The doorman stares at me for another long second, as if debating with himself whether he’s going to actually call up to the penthouse. But then he sighs and picks up the sleek black phone. I wait and continue to drip on the floor while he punches in a number.
“Yes, hello Mr. Brooks. It’s Paul from the front desk. I’m sorry to bother you this evening, but there’s a young woman here asking to come up and see you. A Camryn Fontaine.” He says my name as though it tastes bad on his tongue.
