Written in the Stars(50)
A neat opportunity. Darcy’s jaw ticked, her ability to tolerate bullshit slim, her ability to tolerate condescension worse.
Could they not have tried to appear authentically enthused? Darcy might not have believed in astrology—most of it honestly went over her head, talk of houses and returns and interceptions—but she listened when Elle spoke about it because it may not have mattered to her but it sure as hell mattered to Elle. How could they not see that? How could they not care? At the very least, Darcy understood what a fucking fantastic opportunity this was. Neat, her ass.
Still gripping Elle’s hand fiercely, Darcy sat up straighter. “Elle’s being modest. The deal with my brother’s company is quite frankly, massive. The dating app industry, as a whole, is oversaturated, and while OTP does a fantastic job of offering a unique user experience, it was brilliant of my brother to look to a rapidly growing, yet still young industry like astrology.” Darcy reached for her wine and took a fortifying sip. “Did you know venture capitalists have invested over two billion dollars in astrology apps because they’re popular with Gen Z and Millennial women? That means there’s money to be made. There are thousands of social media astrology accounts and yet Oh My Stars has more followers on Twitter and Instagram than any of their competitors, so you might not believe in it, plenty of people might not, but a huge number do.” Darcy shrugged. “And like I said, my brother’s brilliant. He wouldn’t take a chance on just anyone, let alone sign a deal this big.”
Linda’s eyes, suddenly wide, darted between her and Elle. “How big?”
Elle’s face had turned the prettiest shade of petal pink, her eyes huge and glassy as she stared at Darcy for a long moment, finally looking at her mother. “Um. Big.”
“Damn, get that bread, sis,” Daniel joked.
“Bread?” Dad frowned thoughtfully. “I thought it was bacon? What’s next, get that guacamole?”
Daniel laughed. “Dough, Dad.”
While Elle’s family argued over the etymology of bread as a stand-in for money, Jane insisting it dated back to Cockney slang, Elle leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of Darcy’s ear as she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Two billion dollars, huh?”
Darcy rolled her eyes, but Jesus. Elle’s breath against Darcy’s skin did outrageous things to her pulse. “I did my research.”
Elle had no idea how many nights Darcy had stayed up, scouring Oh My Stars’s various social media accounts and reading articles from the New York Times on venture capital and astrology apps. It had started as a means of making sure she had her i’s dotted and t’s crossed if Brendon seemed suspicious about the veracity of her dating Elle. After that kiss, that fucking kiss, it had been her way of gaining insight into Elle’s mind. Because perhaps if she understood astrology, she’d understand Elle, and if she understood Elle perhaps, she’d be able to untangle what it was about her that she couldn’t shake.
Why she was so in knots over this impossible woman who had her head in the clouds and wore her heart on her sleeve. A woman with the world’s least refined palate and an inability to sit properly in a chair like a normal person. Darcy should’ve wanted as far away from her as earthly possible and yet her laugh was infectious and made something warm bloom inside Darcy’s chest like stubborn wildflowers poking up through cracks in the pavement, growing where they didn’t belong. And the way she looked at Darcy with those dark blue eyes made Darcy feel seen like Elle wasn’t looking at her but into her and it was raw and uncomfortable and yet—
That she’d tacked on the word yet should’ve sent warning bells off inside her head. Darcy wasn’t looking to be seen. Not like that. Not now. She had an FSA exam to pass, a career to focus on. The only place Darcy had any business being seen was in the mirror each morning as she got ready for work, and yet every free moment—even moments that weren’t free—Darcy spent thinking about Elle. About that kiss. About the sorts of things Darcy could do to put a smile on her face. About—
Something smacked the side of Elle’s head. A bottle cap. Across the room, with his sock-covered feet propped on the coffee table, Daniel grinned. “Quit making out.”
Elle plucked the cap off the floor and flicked it back at him. “We weren’t making out, you douche canoe.”
“Elle.” Jane widened her eyes and tilted her head toward the dining room where Ryland was building a tower out of Legos, none the wiser.
“Oh, come on.”
“Last month after you babysat, Ryland asked me what a”—she dropped her voice—“twatwaffle was and if his could have chocolate chips.”
Darcy pinched her lips together, eyes watering and shoulders shaking as she leaned into Elle who was stifling her laughter—poorly—by biting her knuckles.
“Twatwaffle?” Daniel cackled. “That’s fucking inspired, Elle.”
“Language.” Linda glared briefly at Elle before turning to Daniel, lips curved downward in apparent disappointment. “I expect this sort of thing from your sister, but honestly, Daniel?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elle asked, frowning sharply.
Linda shut her eyes. “Elizabeth—”
“Ahem. Not that this isn’t totally riveting.” Lydia unfolded herself from the couch and stood, tugging Marcus up with her. “But while we’re talking about good news, Marcus and I have an announcement we’d like to make.”