Thrive (Addicted, #4)(86)

“Was…like you,” I say. He’s finally admitted to loving Rose.

He smiles. “Love still seems like an irrational concept to me.” He pauses. “But in believing in it, I’ve become like everyone else.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“More than okay,” he admits.

I nod, happy that he’s not such a cynic on a matter that seems obvious to the rest of us. “Are you going to the funeral?” I scratch the back of my neck. “I mean, when it happens…” I cringe. Everything sounds wrong. Is there even a right way to talk about someone’s mother dying?

“She doesn’t want one.”

I open my mouth to ask why, but he cuts me off.

“She doesn’t want people from Cobalt Inc. to waste their time mourning a corpse when they should be working. Her words.”

Ouch. I change the topic as soon as I see stress tightening his shoulders. “How’s the lawsuit?” I ask. They’ve been trying to take Scott Van Wright to trial for weeks, or at least come to a settlement out of court. A whole team of lawyers gathered evidence while they were on their honeymoon.

“It’s complicated,” he tells me. “The videos are already online. Winning the lawsuit won’t win us back our privacy. It may destroy Scott, but it doesn’t gain me anything.” He sets his mug on the counter. “I’ve never had to use so much energy on an outcome that has no direct benefit for me.”

I frown. “The benefit is watching that douchebag burn.”

He lets out a short laugh and rubs his lips. When he drops his hand, he says, “Revenge isn’t a benefit, Lo. It’s self-gratification, an emotional response with very little logic and even less reward.” He exhales and shakes his head. I’ve never seen him this conflicted. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.” He flashes his billion-dollar smile, reminding me in one single second how different we truly are.

And how grateful I am to have him as a friend. And a roommate.





{ 39 }

1 year : 01 month

September





LILY CALLOWAY


“Should we walk?” I ask my bodyguard, whose mammoth body occupies two cushions on the couch. Garth reads a gardening magazine (I don’t question it) in the break room of Superheroes & Scones. “Or maybe we should drive? Have you seen the crowds outside? Are they big?”

I reach over the blue couch with red pillows, flipping a blind to peek outside. A long line of bodies winds across the sidewalk, black velvet ropes barricading them from the street. The line never shortens until thirty minutes from closing.

“Whatever you want, Lily,” Garth tells me.

“It’s just across the street,” I mention. “It’d be kind of silly to drive, right?”

He shrugs, not giving me an answer.

My nerves are already heightened, and I’ve practiced my apology into the mirror about a million times. I don’t want to pussy out though. Not like yesterday and the day before that.

I value my relationship with my sister too much to keep going on like this. “Okay.” I jump off the couch. “We walk. Quickly. And we don’t make eye contact with any of the cameras.” Paparazzi always linger outside the store to catch footage of me leaving.

“All right.” He closes the magazine and stands, just as the store manager breezes into the break room. Michelle, a curvy college grad, has on a Superheroes & Scones T-shirt with the slogan: Channel your inner superhero.

“Hey, are you leaving?” she asks, her brown bangs nearly hiding her eyes, but I catch her looking to Garth who rarely ever moves off his post on the couch.

“Yeah, I’m going to finish the day at my house. Do you need anything?”

“We just sold out of the Guardians of the Galaxy, Volume 1: Cosmic Avengers, but I can make a note of it in the inventory list.”

Michelle used to help run this small Indie comic book store in D.C., and after many, many interviews with other potential store managers—and having to let go of a few others before her—we’ve hired Michelle full-time.

I wave her goodbye. The biggest benefit with Michelle, she never asks about my personal life. Our relationship is purely professional and comics based. I kinda love it. “See you tomorrow.” I push through the door and Garth follows, keeping up with my quick stride.

When the crowds spot me, the familiar screams of glee and click, click of cameras overwhelms my senses. Focus on the ground, Lily. The gravel is your friend.

I concentrate on the pavement, crossing the street with little traffic and then reach a new store window. I dig into my pocket and try to find the right key on my jangling ring.

Last week, Rose set the key on the counter with a note.

Lily,

This key is for you if you ever want to stop by.

Love you, Rose

Our relationship hasn’t mended enough for her to hand me the key in person or for her to say those words to my face. Today is the day that everything changes. It has to.

The brick store has newly-painted letters up above: Calloway Couture. After the sex tapes, as in plural (the online porn site has already released two), Rose gave up her dream of having a fashion line in thousands of department stores. She settled for a boutique in Philly.

The coming soon sign hangs across the front window, and my hands sweat as I struggle to open the door.