Written in the Stars(22)

“You know how you could make it up to me?”

She arched a brow. “How?”

Brendon dimpled. “This Saturday, eight o’clock. You, Elle, me, and Cherry. Double date. Say yes.”

Darcy shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say Cherry?”

When she opened her eyes, the corner of Brendon’s mouth twitched. “She’s sweet.”

She was choosing to ignore the innuendo wrapped up in that statement because gross. “Brendon, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Please, Darce,” he begged. “Say yes. Please say yes. Please, please, please with a cherry on—”

“Jesus, all right!” She lifted her hands in concession. Anything to make him stop before he finished that sentence.

Brendon’s entire countenance shifted, posture relaxing into his usual laissez-faire, long-limbed slouch. He grinned, looking pleased at having pushed the right buttons to get his way. “Thank you. You and Elle, me and Cherry. We’re gonna have a blast.”





Chapter Six


DARCY (4:57 P.M.): I think we need to discuss the details of this arrangement sooner as opposed to later.

ELLE (5:08 P.M.): how come?

ELLE (5:09 P.M.): i mean that’s fine

ELLE (5:09 P.M.): jw if there was a reason

ELLE (5:09 P.M.): something i should know

Elle wasn’t keen on being kept out of the loop again anytime soon.

DARCY (5:16 P.M.): My brother has invited us on a double date this Saturday. And by invite, I mean strong-armed me into agreeing. In the interest of selling this, I believe it would be best to have our ducks in a row ahead of time.

Elle had already had several stress dreams about Brendon finding out this was all a ruse and hating her for it. In her last dream, she had been on a trashy tabloid talk show. Brendon had forced her to undergo a lie-detector test and after she’d failed, he’d torn up the contract negotiations between OTP and Oh My Stars before storming off the set. In the audience, her entire family had booed. Darcy had been conspicuously absent.

It was just a dream—Elle didn’t really believe the deal with OTP was predicated or somehow tied to the success of her relationship with Darcy—but Darcy had a point. She didn’t know Darcy’s birth date or . . . well, anything about her beside the fact that she was an actuary and workaholic. They needed to get to know each other better before this double date or else it’d look like the sham it was.

ELLE (5:20 P.M.): what are we doing?

ELLE (5:20 P.M.): on the double date i mean

DARCY (5:24 P.M.): I didn’t ask. Is it relevant?

Elle rolled her eyes. Looks like she’d have to ask Brendon.

ELLE (5:25 P.M.): okay np

ELLE (5:26 P.M.): you free tonight?

ELLE (5:26 P.M.): say 7?

ELLE (5:26 P.M.): we can rendezvous at your place since i know where you live

DARCY (5:33 P.M.): That’s fine.

Elle tucked her phone inside her messenger bag and slipped the strap over her shoulder. It was—she peeked at the Kit-Cat clock that hung crooked on the wall beside the microwave—ten to six. Just enough time to stop by Safeway before darting over to Darcy’s posh Queen Anne apartment.

Hopping off the barstool, Elle glanced at Margot who continued to click away at her keyboard, pausing every now and again to glare menacingly at the screen. “I’m headed out. I guess I’ll see you later if you’re still awake.”

She made it halfway to the front door—the whole two steps it took—when Margot sighed. “Elle, wait.”

Elle bit the inside of her cheek and braced herself for another dig at what she was doing with Darcy. “Yeah?”

Margot set her computer aside and rested her elbows on her knees, fingers laced loosely together in front of her. “When I said you were making an epic mistake the other night, I was out of line. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

Elle shut her mouth. Apologies from Margot were rare. Just as rare as the arguments between them. “You don’t have to—”

“No, I do.” Margot blew out a breath, the thick fringe of her bangs parting like a curtain. “I’m pissed off, okay? On your behalf. And I know you think because Darcy apologized that it’s fine now, but sometimes sorry isn’t good enough, Elle. The last thing I want to do is harsh your vibe or rain on your parade, but I take no shit on your behalf. I haven’t since the day we moved into the dorms freshman year and you demanded we stay up all night bonding over burnt microwave popcorn because you, and I quote, have a feeling we’re supposed to be best friends. I’m not going to start now.”

Elle wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to laugh or cry. Caught in a state of flux, she did both at the same time. She swiped at her face, no doubt smearing eyeliner all over the place. But the pressure inside her chest that had taken up residence during her sort-of tiff with Margot deflated, leaving room for her heart to swell. “Margot. That was nine years ago.”

“Stop crying.” Margot sniffed, her expression shifting into a put-off frown. “You’re going to make me cry. I hate crying. Don’t hate me, but please hear me out?”

It would take an utterly uncharacteristic move on Margot’s part, like murdering someone, to make Elle hate her. Even then, Elle would at least ask why before passing judgment.