One burned hand, one opened window, and several fans of a magazine later, the alarm cut off, plunging us into silence.
We stared at the tray of blackened cupcakes on the table.
Xavier dropped the magazine he’d used to fan the smoke into the recycling bin. “Crumble & Bake delivers,” he said carefully. “Perhaps we should order in.”
My shoulders slumped. “I guess we should.”
Half an hour later, we curled up on my couch with a Nate Reynolds movie and a box of Crumble & Bake’s cupcakes. I’d abandoned my cookie batter in the kitchen, which was for the best, though I wasn’t happy about it.
“I wanted to try something new,” I grumbled. “Baking is an essential life skill.”
I was too embarrassed to admit I’d been trying to impress him. It was so stupid and backward, the notion that a woman had to be good in the kitchen. Hello, wasn’t that what food delivery was for? But I liked Xavier so much, and baking had seemed like a nice, domestic activity to add some life into the apartment.
I tried not to look at the side table where The Fish used to reside. I’d tossed the aquarium days ago, but I still felt its absence. “You know what else is an essential life skill? Living,” Xavier teased. “I’m concerned any future baking attempts will result in your kitchen burning down.”
“Very funny.” I tossed a balled-up napkin at him. “Next time, you try to bake.”
“I’m good. I know where my talents lie, and it’s not in the kitchen.” His arm rested on the back of the couch, his fingertips grazing my shoulder. “But you don’t need to cook for me, Luna. I’m happy ordering in.”
“Because restaurants do it better?”
“Well, yeah.” He laughed when I knocked my knee against his in reproach, but a smile broke through my disgruntlement.
If I put enough time and effort in, I was positive I’d kick baking’s ass. There was no way a little sugar and flour could beat me, but I didn’t like baking, and I didn’t have to be good at everything (even though I could be if I wanted).
“In better news, Perry’s social media accounts got banned,” I said as Nate Reynolds engaged in a shoot-out with a group of mercenaries onscreen. Xavier always watched rom-coms with me, so I suffered through the action thriller for him. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. It was actually pretty good, and Nate was delicious eye candy.
Xavier’s eyebrows shot up again, this time in surprise. “When did that happen? They were working last night.”
“Less than an hour ago, right before the smoke alarm went off,” I said. “I saw Isa’s text on my lock screen.”
I’d eagerly googled the story while Xavier paid the delivery guy. After Soraya posted her denial video earlier this week, her fans had swarmed Perry’s accounts with vicious determination and successfully gotten all of his social media banned. Apparently, the platforms had denied his appeals, and he’d already uploaded a new blog post begging for help reinstating his accounts.
It wouldn’t make my father rehire Rhea or help me see Pen, but it was deeply satisfying.
“So revenge has been served,” Xavier said.
“Not yet. There’s still the matter of his blog.” I tapped my phone. “A little birdie told me Bryce is suing him for libel and the emotional distress it caused in his marriage.”
“Plenty of people have sued him for libel before. It’s never stuck.”
“This time is different. There’s proof Perry acted with reckless disregard and published that post without verifying any of the ‘facts.’”
“Perry Wilson in court. That would be a sight to see,” Xavier drawled. “I’m surprised he was foolish enough to do that. Say what you will about the man, but he’s usually more careful about these things.”
I shrugged. “Man’s ego is always his downfall.” A tiny smile crept across my mouth. “Plus I may have planted a rumor that an upstart blog was about to scoop him on the scandal of the year.”
Besides his general mean-spiritedness, Perry was famous for his paranoia over someone usurping his throne.
“His advertisers are already spooked,” I added. “If this libel suit has legs, which I think it does, there’ll be an exodus, which means he’ll need money, which means…”
“It’ll be primed for a takeover,” Xavier finished. “Kai Young?”
“He emailed me yesterday. He said he’s open to it if the price and conditions are right.” I didn’t doubt Kai’s ability to squeeze the best deal out of Perry’s soon-to-be-dying blog.
“So you’ll be rid of Perry Wilson the man, and you’ll ensure his only remaining platform will be in friendlier hands.” Xavier whistled. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“I don’t do stuff like this often, but he deserves it,” I said. It wasn’t about just me or Xavier; it was about the entire culture Perry had propagated. Gossip and rumors had always existed, but he’d taken them to a new nasty, underhanded level.
And yeah, okay, it was also a little personal. My blood boiled every time I thought about his blog post on Pen. Attacking adults was one thing; dragging a child into it was another.
“If I had access to my inheritance, I’d buy it out and save you the trouble,” Xavier said. “I’ve always wanted a little slice of the internet kingdom.”
I laughed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but the thought of you running a news blog is terrifying.”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
“I think you can do it too well.” Except instead of celebrity news, he’d probably use it to document his adventures, many of which would land him squarely in the middle of the press’s crosshairs.
I tore off a piece of cupcake, my mind churning. If I had access to my full inheritance…
“If I ask you a question, will you answer truthfully?” I asked.
Xavier glanced at me, then grimaced and paused the movie. “Uh-oh. Nothing good ever comes after that opening.”
“It’s nothing bad,” I reassured him. “I’m just curious. Why do you want your inheritance so badly? It can’t be about just the money.”
At first glance, it seemed obvious why someone would want billions of dollars. But Xavier had his hang-ups about his father’s money, and while he blew through cash the way certain celebrities blew through cocaine, he didn’t strike me as someone who’d sit on that much money simply to have it.
“Why not?” he asked lightly. “Maybe I’m a greedy bastard, plain and simple.”
I merely looked at him without saying anything, and after a long, tense silence, his irreverence dissolved into a sigh.
“I’m giving half of it to charity.”
I almost choked on my cake. That wasn’t what I’d expected.
At all.
“Not that I don’t think giving to charity is admirable, but isn’t that exactly what your father’s will stipulates will happen to the money if you don’t pull off this CEO thing?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“So why…” My question trailed off at Xavier’s smirk. My eyes narrowed and drifted to the tattoo of the Castillos’ rival family’s crest on his bicep. It represented the duality of Xavier: his stubbornness and resentment, but also his dedication and passion. He was the type of person who’d ink a permanent symbol of his war against his father on his body, and I suddenly knew exactly what the catch was. “You’re donating to charities your father hated, aren’t you?”
His smirk widened into a grin. “I wouldn’t say he hated the charities themselves,” he said. “But he certainly wouldn’t have approved of donating to some of their causes.”
He handed me his phone. The Notes app was open, and I scrolled through the list of charities he’d put together. Most of them focused on civil and human rights, with a few arts and music causes thrown in. I’d bet my apartment those were for his mom.
She loved art, so she donated a lot of money and time to local galleries.
I also flashed back to the organizations listed in Alberto’s will.
All of them had been business or commerce oriented.
I reached the last name on the list and laughed out loud. “The Yale endowment fund?”
“My father was a Harvard guy; he hated Yale with a passion. School rivalry and all that.” Xavier’s dimples played peekaboo. “I’ll make sure he gets a nice library on campus.”
“You’re evil but genius.” I handed his phone back, still laughing. “You’re an evil genius.”
“Thank you. I’ve always aspired to be both those things. Evildoers have way more fun, and geniuses are, well, geniuses.” Xavier pocketed his phone. “To be fair, I would’ve donated to those causes anyway. The fact my father would’ve disapproved of ninety percent of them is the cherry on top.”
I lifted my half eaten cupcake. “To revenge.”
“To revenge.” He tapped his chocolate against my lemon raspberry. He chewed and swallowed before adding, “Don’t get me wrong though. I’m definitely keeping some of the money. I like my cars and five-star hotels.”
“You mean you like trashing five-star hotels.”
Xavier pointedly ignored my allusion to his birthday weekend in Miami. “But I don’t need all of it. It’s more than any reasonable person could spend in a lifetime.” His expression turned pensive. “Once I get the club off the ground, I’ll make my own money, and I won’t have to rely on his. It’ll be a clean break, once and for all.”
He didn’t mention Eduardo’s theory about the will’s loophole, and I didn’t bring it up.
“You’ll succeed,” I said simply.
Xavier’s answering smile was pure warmth, and later that night, when we lay sweaty and sated in each other’s arms, I still felt the brush of it against my skin.
For the first time since The Fish died, I fell into a dreamless sleep.
Xavier
Bad luck comes in threes.
I’d been exposed to that superstition since I was a child, but no one ever defined the time period for when those three bad things happened. It could be a day, a week, a month or, in my case, three months.
My father’s death and new inheritance clause in October. Perry exposing our outing with Pen in November.
That was two, but the relatively smooth period after the blog exposé lulled me into a false sense of complacency. The issue with Pen and Rhea still hung over our heads, but at least Pen was in the city for the foreseeable future and Rhea was taken care of until she found a new job.
After Perry’s social media takedowns and the unspoken but significant shift in my relationship with Sloane—namely, the realization that I loved her but couldn’t tell her lest I send her running for the hills—life resumed its normal pace. That was to say, it was batshit busy.
Despite the upcoming holidays, work on the club was in full swing. I’d hired a construction crew, plumbers, electricians, and everyone else I’d need to get it up to speed before Farrah could start on the actual design, and I was already knee-deep in grand opening plans by the time late December arrived.
We were making good progress on the club, but it wasn’t enough. The clock ticked down toward my thirtieth birthday, and every passing day amplified my anxiety. Whenever I thought about my endless to-do list, my breath ran short and a tidal wave of overwhelm crashed over me.
However, I kept all that to myself as I took Vuk and Willow on a tour of the vault.
“We’re preserving the original floors and windows, but we’re turning the teller enclosures into bottle displays,” I said. “The bathrooms will be where the private counting rooms are, and safe-deposit boxes will be painted over so they form an accent wall.”
Vuk listened, his face impassive. Instead of the designer suits favored by most CEOs, he wore a simple black shirt and pants. Beside him, his assistant took copious notes on a clipboard.
Willow was a fortysomething woman with bright coppery hair and a no-nonsense attitude. Either she could read minds or she’d worked for Vuk long enough to read his mind because she asked all the questions he would’ve asked had he, well, actually talked.
“When’s the construction going to be finished?” she asked.
Since it was an active construction site, all three of us wore personal protective equipment, but I could picture her eagle eyes drilling into every detail behind her safety glasses.
“End of the month,” I said. “Farrah’s already sourcing most of the furniture and materials we need so we can hit the ground running as soon as this is done.”
I swept my arm around the vault. Workers bustled back and forth, hammering nails, installing wiring, and shouting to one another over the whir of drills and saws.
Having so many contractors here at the same time wasn’t ideal. It increased the risk of accidents, but given the ticking clock, I had no choice. I needed the basics in place before the New Year so we could focus on the design. That took the most time, and I wasn’t even counting other things I had to do like hiring and marketing.
Vuk was a silent partner. His primary contributions were his name and money; the rest was up to me to figure out.
I tamped down a familiar swell of panic and answered the rest of Willow’s questions as best I could. I wasn’t an expert on the nuts and bolts of construction, but I knew enough to satisfy her curiosity for now.
“Hey, boss.” Ronnie, the lead electrician, approached me halfway through my tour. He was a short, stocky man with eyes the color of old pennies and a face like a rock, but he was the best in the business. “Can I talk to you for a sec? It’s important.”
Shit. That tone of voice didn’t bode well for my blood pressure. While Vuk and Willow examined the teller enclosures, I followed Ronnie to the back of the club, where a mess of wires crisscrossed in some sort of nightmarish Gordian knot.
“We’ve got a small problem,” he said. “This wiring hasn’t been updated in decades. The situation isn’t dire—you’ve probably got a year or so left before a rewire is no longer optional—but I figured you might want to get this done before you open.”
“What’s the catch?” An update was simple enough. Ronnie wouldn’t have called me over unless there was something else.
“Can’t get it done before the New Year” he said. “A full rewire of this scale will take at least ten days, and that’s not counting the necessary finishing decoration works.”
There were fourteen days left in the year. Ronnie went on holiday starting Wednesday. I opened my mouth, but he shook his head before I uttered a single word.
“Sorry, boss, no can do. My wife has been planning our Christmas trip since last Christmas. If I cancel or postpone, she’ll cut off my balls, and I’m not being figurative. No amount of money is worth my balls.”
“It’s a matter of timing. I’ll cover all the expenses for your trip if you take it after the New Year.”
Ronnie grimaced. “She’ll cut off one ball for even suggesting that. Christmas is her thing.”
I could tell there was no swaying him, which left me with limited choices.
Choice #1: I could try to find another electrician who could get the job done in time (possible, but the quality of their work might be lacking and would lead to bigger headaches down the road).
Choice #2: I could wait until the New Year to rewire, but that would mean pushing the design plans back. Considering the timeline and all the scheduling and labor that went into that process, it was the least desirable option.
Choice #3: I could stick with the current wiring and update once the club was up and running. Again, it wasn’t ideal, but nothing about my situation was.