Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
We. She wants us to celebrate?
I’m stuck at my desk. I don’t dare move. My throat is dry. My body is hot. I wish he were gone. I wish I didn’t want that. I close my eyes momentarily, then open them.
Ian smiles. “You know I can’t resist sweets, darling. You got your sweet tooth from me.”
“I did, Daddy,” she says, and that’s different too. It’s like she’s playing up their connection right now.
What the hell is she up to?
She sits down next to him on the couch—across from me.
My desk and a table form a blockade between us yet I’m still off-kilter.
“So it’s good you’re both here,” she continues, her green eyes twinkling and eager.
“Why is that, love?” he asks, patting her hand, the indulgent dad today.
“Because I have something to ask the both of you,” she says, brightly.
Then she meets my gaze, and the utter innocence of her smile is chased with complete mischief.
Like how she looks at me on the bike path. Like how she talked about Ask Me Next Year. Like how she murmured over the flowers.
I’ve no clue what’s coming but I am dead certain that this moment is about to become a dividing line in my life:
Before she asks.
After she asks.
9
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
Harlow
They won’t say no.
I repeated that the whole way up in the elevator, at reception, then again when I walked down the hall.
They won’t say no.
Because…I won’t let them say no. I’ve practiced my pitch.
Now that I’m here, I’ll keep my request simple and direct, all business, the way they’ve taught me by example over the last few years.
I am determined as I reach into the bag and take out the small chocolate cake and then the knife I brought. Sleek and silvery. After I open the pink box, I slice the small cake, then set pieces on the plates I brought too, handing a piece of decadent, rich chocolate to Bridger, then to my father, then keeping one for me.
After all, requests go best with a gift of food.
First things first.
I square my shoulders. “So, I came for my birthday gift,” I say, then purposefully backpedal to explain, “Well, I’m excited for you two to give it to me.” I smile, a winning, practiced, Upper East Side grin.
My father tuts. “I was going to wait till we had dinner tonight, love.”
He told me he has something special for me. He’ll give it to me over sushi. But I have plans for another gift. One I’m giving myself.
“Oh, you don’t know about this one,” I say, mustering all the confidence he’s trained me in. “Because it’s something from both of you.”
My father blinks, confused. I steal a glance at Bridger. A crease digs into his forehead.
Good.
I’ve kept them on their toes and that’s important in a negotiation.
And so, I take the next step in my great heist. The prize? I glance at the man behind the imposing desk.
Him.
“I graduate in a month. With my dual degrees,” I say, making my case, simple and clear. “And I’ve been thinking more and more about what I want to do after graduation. I’d like to work in business and art. But I’m trying to figure out exactly what that looks like,” I say, and that’s somewhat true. Mostly, it’s strategic. “Since you’re launching Afternoon Delight soon, I thought wouldn’t it be perfect if you had somebody here who could help you research all things French and art for your show that takes place in Paris? And while I’m doing that, I could learn more about the business of television deal-making. Then, I can really understand if the entertainment business is going to be the right career for me,” I say, folding my hands in my lap.
There.
I’m done.
I’ve made my simple elevator pitch, the kind these two have always said they want to hear.
Instantly, my father beams. He’s such a pushover. His eyes shine. “Sweetheart,” he says, utterly delighted. “There’s always a place for you here.”
One down.
He looks to his business partner, expectantly. Well, Bridger is in charge of the business side of things, so of course he has the final say.
He’s stoic. Barely moving. He’s a statue at his desk.
“But I’m in charge of creative,” Dad adds. “Bridger would be working more closely with you. Would that be okay?” My father asks me, like it’s my choice.
Yes, Daddy. That would be so very okay. “Absolutely,” I say.
But Bridger is stony. Not moving. Just…breathing.
He’s simply inscrutable. That both scares me and thrills me.
I want to break down his walls. Chip away at them. Discover who he is. Already, I’ve seen the cracks and I want more. I long for what’s behind them. But the only way I can reveal that is if I get closer to him.
That’s my plan.
He purses his lips and swallows visibly. Then he nods, quick and decisive. “Of course. Welcome to Lucky 21,” he says.