It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(20)

Holycrazyexboyfriends! “Get out!”

Max shrugged, looked at Patricio, and they started making out.

“Shit!” I rocketed into a sitting position from my bed, my body covered in sweat. Dear Lord. That had been the weirdest dream of my life.

I staggered from bed and stumbled to the kitchen. My body still felt heavy and tired. I needed a few weeks off, not just one night of solid sleep.

I went to my small kitchen—Formica brown counters and cabinets with ten layers of dried, lumpy white paint—got my coffee maker going, and checked my cell. I felt grateful to see nothing from Max or Patricio, but super ungrateful to see a text from Danny, who was my old roommate from Chicago, where I’d lived when I worked for Max. When I came back to California, she moved in with her boyfriend, Calvin, but we still texted all the time, mostly about our boyfriends. She was not a fan of Patricio’s, but I always thought it was because she’d been a huge Maxwell Cole fan.

Maybe she was onto something. I stared at the picture attached to her text. It was of Patricio dancing with Adeline at some crowded nightclub, their hips pressed tightly together and his arms wrapped around her midriff.

Danny: You gotta dump this scumbag, honey.

“Wow.” I pushed my hands through my hair. I had heard what Patricio said last night about the pictures being from his past, but my gut twitched with doubt.

Me: I hate men.

The wavy dots on my screen told me her thumbs were tapping away.

Danny: Have you learned nothing?

Me (frowning and getting out my power digits): Like what? That men suck?

Danny: You need to make up with Max. There is no other. FYI, he’s still in my top five.

My mouth sprang into the O position. As in “Ohhh…she did not just go there.” While we’d been roomies, one of our running jokes—not really a joke—consisted of comparing notes about our “lists.” These were the men who occupied our minds when the “power washer” in the shower was set to “stress relief.”

Me: I’m telling Calvin, you horny perv.

Danny: Who says C-man isn’t in on it? For your reference, I offer role-playing wig—evidence #3.

A pic of a brown wig, sort of like Max’s hairstyle, popped up on my screen.

“What! Ewww…” I pulled back my phone with utter disgust. “Keep your kinky to yourself, girlfriend.”

Me: TMI. TY. Adios.

Danny: FU. BTW, when are you coming for a visit?

Me: Not sure. Have business to run.

Danny: Jeez. Thanks. You open a new shop ten minutes from my apartment and you won’t even come by for a coffee? WTH, L?

I simply didn’t understand, but that knot in my stomach had a horrible premonition. This time, I dialed Danny, who answered immediately.

“What do you mean ‘my new shop’ is only ten minutes away?” I asked.

“Well, well, well…hi there, stranger! How the hell are ya?”

“Very bad. You have no clue.”

“Could that be because I was right about Patricio?” she offered.

I sighed. “Not now. What did you mean about the store?”

“You really don’t know?”

“No.”

“How’s that possible?” she asked.

“What? Tell me!”

“Okay! Sorry! Do you remember my friend who’s dating that day trader?”

“You mean that guy Gary, who works out of his parents’ basement?”

“Yeah. That’s the one. But now he works at M.S.—”

“Morgan Stanley?”

“No. Milford and Schleppy. They run it out of his friend’s parents’ garage.”

Gary was moving up in the world. Literally.

She went on, “Well, my friend said that Gary said that he heard through another friend, who’s some big investment broker, that Maxwell Cole took that building he owned downtown and sold it to a private investment firm.”

I’d heard about that because my “Maxwell Cole” Google alert remained active—don’t judge me—but it had said nothing more than Max sold the building.

“So?” I asked.

“So then a few weeks ago, LLL opened. The store takes up the entire bottom floor.”

“And?”

“And I went there yesterday. It’s a cosmetics store and there are lilies everywhere—the walls, their logo, and the packaging. I bought some skin lotion and lip gloss. By the way, Lily, the place is amazing. It’s like visiting girly heaven.”

What? Huh? No. Nuh-uh. Fogettaboutit. Not possible. Olivídalo. Bullshit. Pa-leez. “You’re f*cking with me.”

“No.”

Blinking, I held the phone to my ear with my shaking hand.

She continued, “It’s beautiful, Lily. The kind of place where you walk in and instantly feel at home, but in a cool way, because my home is a pigsty and stresses me the hell out. But if I had a magic home on a cloud to hide from the world, that would be it.”

What. The. Everliving. Hell? “You’re telling me that Maxwell Cole secretly opened,” deep breath, “a cosmetics store?” Deep breath. “With lilies everywhere?” Another deep breath.

“How’s it possible you don’t know?”

Max. That’s why. That was what he’d been doing these past months. But why keep it from me?