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)
I tamp down the fireworks bursting inside me. “Thank you. I won’t disappoint.”
I reach into the bag, take out a candle and set it in the chocolate frosting on my slice. Then I light it with the lighter I brought.
“Make a wish, darling,” my father says.
As the flame flickers, I look across the room at the man I’ve run into on the East River path many times over the last few months.
He tugs on the cuffs of his ruby-red shirt. His lips are a ruler.
But his dark eyes say he’s hiding our secret—the secret of our attraction.
I blow out the flame and make a birthday wish that I’ll seduce my father’s business partner this summer.
Later that night, over avocado rolls and edamame, my father tells me I should arrange a meeting this summer with the attorneys about my trust fund access. “It’s not much, the trust fund,” he says. “But your mother set it up for you long ago. It was her idea. She loved you so.”
“I know,” I whisper around the lump in my throat. That, I have never doubted. I have always known.
Then he gives me a beautiful velvet box. Inside it is a key to a one-bedroom apartment on Sixty-Eighth Street with a view.
Paid in full.
I’m stunned, speechless.
But he has more to say. “I used the royalties from her last Sweet Nothings title for this place. It’s gorgeous. She’d have wanted you to have it,” he says, solemnly. The shine in his eyes makes me think he still misses her in his own way.
My throat tightens. It’s like a gift from her too. “I’m overwhelmed. This is incredible.”
He covers my hand. “And thank you for always…keeping things within the family,” he says.
I don’t move for a moment. This apartment is also some kind of payoff for having kept my mouth shut? Like he used her royalties from her last book to say he appreciates my silence? The silence he told me to keep or someone might go insane?
I don’t know what to say, except an uncomfortable thank you.
Truly, I am grateful. An owned apartment is the ultimate extravagance in Manhattan.
Especially since I can put this to good use for my seduction plans.
10
THE DOUBLE TEXT
Harlow
Technically, this is my first job.
Babysitting the Bancroft twins down the block when I was thirteen doesn’t entirely count. Everyone babysits after all.
Then, I read up on babysitting, took a CPR class, and learned the basics.
I don’t know what to study before I start at Lucky 21. I suppose I’ve been studying the ins and outs of TV production for years, absorbing it from the air around me, in the conversations.
But I don’t like to make mistakes. I don’t want to mess this up.
As I head to the door of my apartment on a Monday in late May for my first day on the job, I reach for the knob when my phone buzzes.
I nearly jump. What if that’s Jules? I report to her. What if she wants me to show up early? If she does, I’d have to run.
I grab my phone, slide it open.
Dad: Are you sure you don’t want a ride? I can send Jasper over right now. I don’t need the car for another hour.
That’s so very him. But no.
Harlow: Thanks, Dad. But I’ll walk.
Dad: If you insist! I’m on set all week. Let me know if you need anything.
I tell him that I will, but I don’t plan to need anything from him.
I take off, wishing I didn’t feel so…unsettled.
Maybe the walk through the park will settle my first-day jitters. As I head across Sixty-Eighth Street—my street, something I’m still not quite used to—I talk back to my worries.
This is a summer internship. You’ve got this. You’re smart. You’re diligent.
But as I peer over the canopy of green trees in the distance, my gaze landing on the black skyscraper that houses Lucky 21, the nerves start up again, like little birds flapping their wings in me.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
These aren’t job nerves. They’re man nerves.
And I know why. Since I strutted into Bridger’s office more than a month ago and made my wish, a few things have happened.
I’ve graduated from college.
I’ve moved into my own apartment.
I’ve visited my cousin, Rachel, in San Francisco too. She’s my mom’s sister’s daughter, so it was good to catch up with another Dumont woman.
But I’ve only seen Bridger twice in the last month or so. The first time on the path, he barely slowed, but I still asked him how Afternoon Delight was going. “No complaints,” he’d said. Then he glanced at his watch and said he had to go. He smiled convivially and ran off.
The second time I saw him on the path, he was on the phone. He pointed to his earbuds and mouthed call.
That’s why my stomach is bouncing.
What was I thinking, engineering this internship? Maybe I’ve made a terrible mistake.