Page 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

Blake

POPPY CALLOWAY’S easy to spot. Even if I hadn’t already met her on FaceTime or stalked her Instagram, she stands out in a crowd. You can tell she’s someone . It’s subtle, but it’s there. Everyone at the airport is in comfortable clothing meant for traveling, but Poppy looks like an off-duty model wearing sunglasses even though it’s gloomy. She slips them down her nose as I approach her.

I told her I was more than fine taking a car service, but she insisted on picking me up. Now I know why. She’s letting me know I’m on her turf, and she has the upper hand. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Ella’s best friend.

“I don’t know if I should slap you or hug you,” she greets me, her mouth twisting sardonically.

“Who says you have to choose?”

She gives a breathless laugh at that. When I called Poppy, she seemed totally on board with me coming to New York. I would even go so far as to say she was excited. Now I realize she’s trying to kill me before we even get to the city. Literally. Vehicular manslaughter. Or is it vehicular homicide? Fuck. Ella told me Poppy grew up in the city, but she forgot to mention the fact that her friend can’t fucking drive.

“Do you want me to take over?” I suggest. “I’m more than happy to.”

It comes out snappier than intended, but I’m quickly learning she can’t handle the delicate stop-and-go nature that traffic requires. I’ve never been car sick in my life. Not once. And I hit turns with 5Gs of force. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. When the traffic eases up and we start cruising, expletives fly out of my mouth. Poppy accelerates through turns, only braking after we’ve hit the straight. She’d make a horrendous Formula 1 driver. How can she be so casual and confident in driving that’s so catastrophic? It’s concerning.

“Oh, relax.” She laughs lightly. “I passed my driver’s test, you know.”

“Have you driven since then?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. Which should be laser focused on the turn ahead. “Now would be a bad time to tell you I failed the test twice before passing, right?”

“Poppy … ” My voice comes out half as a warning, half as a question.

“Kidding!” She quickly glances over at me with a frustratingly easy smile on her face. “I only failed once.”

Bloody hell . I managed to survive every Formula 1 crash I’ve been in, but for some reason, I find it wise to leave my life in the hands of a girl who’s failed her driver’s exam. I may be the fastest, but apparently, I’m not the brightest.

“The brakes on this car are just sensitive,” she notes as we jerk forward.

Or you’re just a bad driver.

“If you were an Uber, I’d rate you one star.”

“Noted,” she responds passively. “You know you’re a fucking idiot, right? I feel like we should just establish that first and foremost.”

“It’s well established and documented. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt Ella.”

“Well, I wouldn’t audition to play James Bond anytime soon because mission failed, buddy.”

I deserve it, so I don’t argue.

“I’m assuming you’ve been following the aftermath of your interview?” She changes lanes and my life flashes before my eyes. This must be some type of fucked-up interrogation technique. I give her a quick yes.

“The girls who have come forward plan on suing him.”

“I saw.” I’ll happily pay for the victims’ lawyers if it helps them take that son of a bitch down. Ella didn’t want to pursue a civil suit against him, but part of me hopes she’ll reconsider.

“At least the attention’s moved off Ella.” Poppy sighs and glances at me. “Listen, I get it. Trust me, I do. When Ella told me what happened, what’d been going on, I seriously looked up ways to inconspicuously kill someone. I even asked my weed guy if he knew anything about poison.”

I release a low chuckle. “How’d that turn out?”

“Well, he’s still alive. So not great.”

“I fucked up.” Thrusting an agitated hand through my hair, I glance at Poppy. “I know I did. I don’t think it’s possible to have fucked up more than I did.”

“That’s good.”

“That I fucked up?

“No.” She shakes her head. “That you know you fucked up. It takes a certain type of man to own up to his mistakes. And not only that but actively try to do better.”

“I’ll always try to do better for Ella,” I say. “Pinky promise.”

Pinky promises are the end all be all for Ella, so Poppy knows I’m not fucking around. “Let’s go over some ground rules for when you’re here.”

“Okay, like what?”

“First rule,” she begins. “You have to go incognito. No one can recognize you.”

That’s the reason I flew private. Plus, there’s no reason for me not to. I’m also wearing the most inconspicuous clothing I own and am sporting a beard since I haven’t shaved in over a week. If fans spot me and take photos, or if paparazzi find out I’m here, it’ll be all over social media in minutes. This entire plan hinges on Ella being kept in the dark. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem on my end since our communication has been just short of nonexistent.

“Do I wear a wig?” I’m joking, but I can tell Poppy’s considering it. “I’ll stay undercover. Don’t worry.”

“Ella definitely doesn’t know you’re here, right?” she asks with a pointed look. “She can’t know we’re together.”

“You’re making it sound like we’re having an illicit affair.”

“Illicit affairs are more my dad’s thing than mine.” I can’t tell if she’s serious or kidding and I’m not sure I want to know either way.

“Rule number two. Do you like bagels?” The confused look on my face makes Poppy sigh. “The rule is dependent on your answer.”

Yeah, sure. That makes sense. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay, then rule number two is that you’re on bagel duty every morning. You can just order delivery to my apartment. Oh, and I take my coffee with lots of cream, two sugars.”

Their friendship is starting to make a lot of sense.