Page 26

Dex: I’m bored. It’s ridiculous to get here 2 hours early when you have TSA pre-check. I got through security in 2 minutes and now I have 2 hours to kill.

I sat down on his sofa and replied : Aren’t you going to get drunk at the bar like all the other businessmen do?

Dex: I have no interest in drinking by myself at an airport. It seems too depressing.

I was about to text back with a joke but stopped mid-tap. We were done and I needed to cut this off.

So I tried; really, I did. I texted: I know we both had ulterior motives, but I had a surprisingly good time this weekend. Thank you for changing.

Dex: What do you mean “changing”?

I grinned and sent: You were kind of a dick the day I met you, but you’ve grown over the weekend. You have moments of delightfulness, actually.

Dex: I have never been described as delightful before.

I texted: I’m sure that’s true but I had a delightful time with you at the hangar.

Dex: I had an OK time ;)

I sent: I’m pretty sure it’s like Munchausen syndrome or something, the way I’ve grown to tolerate you after hating you so much.

Dex: (a) You never hated me, and (b) isn’t Munchausen’s when mothers poison their own children because they want medical attention?

I snorted because he was right. I texted: I meant the thing where hostages start to like their captors .

Dex: I knew that’s what you meant. Btw I left your check on the desk in the bedroom.

I walked into the bedroom and wanted to vomit when I saw the check sitting there, on top of the desk across from the bed. The symbolism of that made me feel like trash. Now that I thought he was a decent person, the fact that he was paying me a small fortune for basically nothing felt super ick.

Like I was extorting him or something.

I’d realized at the hangar that I had a decision to make about that.

I desperately wanted my student loans to be paid off, to be able to start fresh on my future without that hanging over my head, but I hadn’t earned forty thousand dollars.

I mean, I had barely earned forty dollars, if I was being honest.

I’d slept in a fancy apartment and went to fancy outings wearing fancy clothing that I would never be able to afford in real life; how was that something I thought I could charge someone for?

I hadn’t come up with my definitive answer yet, but I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to cash that check.

I walked out of the bedroom and texted: That reminds me—I’ll leave your necklace on the kitchen counter when I head out on Friday.

Dex: Don’t. It’s yours.

I groaned and went into the kitchen, raising a hand to touch the chocolate diamonds that hadn’t left my neck since he’d bought me the necklace.

How was I supposed to keep my wits about me when the man was giving me jewels?

I could not keep that gorgeous necklace that he’d so charmingly said reminded him of my freckles, which was why I’d already taken about a hundred pictures of it.

I texted: It most definitely is NOT mine. I saw the price tag. It was a great idea—Warren and the gang ate it up—but there’s no reason you should be stuck for that money.

Dex: I’m not going to return it so you might as well keep it.

The man was an absolute ghoul about money. A fifteen-thousand-dollar necklace that he was going to let sit in a drawer because he didn’t want to return it?

I texted: Save it and give it to someone else.

Dex: I’m not going to do that. It was fun, and if you like it you should have it and wear it.

I sighed and opened the fridge. Texted: You really don’t care about money at all, do you?

Instead of texting, my phone started ringing. It was him, of course.

When I answered, he said, “I don’t care about stuff.”

Stuff. He considered a fifteen-thousand-dollar necklace “stuff.”

I didn’t want to get into it, so I said, “This is random, but do you mind if I use your kitchen implements? I’ll buy my own groceries, but I would really love to bake in your fabulous kitchen one more time before I go.”

“I thought you said you only know three recipes,” he said.

“That’s cooking.” I leaned down to peer into the back of the fridge. “Baking is another thing entirely.”

“Of course,” he said, sounding amused. “Yeah, uh, feel free to use whatever you want and if I have the things you need, don’t go buy groceries.”

I stood back up straight. “Why are you being so nice? Are you so happy this is over that you’re kissing my ass in celebration?”

“I suppose that’s part of it,” he said. “And now that I sort of know you, I guess you feel a little less like a threat.”

“Did you see me as a threat before?” Was I threatening? I kind of liked that thought. “I don’t know that anybody has ever called me that before.”

“It was your attitude. I wasn’t scared of you causing me bodily harm, but I was a little terrified about what you might do to my life and reputation.”

I shut the fridge and wandered over to the pantry. “Is this the part where you’re going to admit that I was fantastic?”

“This is the part where I’m admitting you didn’t destroy everything.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” I said, stepping into what was basically another room. His pantry was stocked from floor to ceiling with dry goods and ingredients, and I’d never be over it.

“So what are you doing with the rest of your day?” he asked, and I thought how weird it was that he was chatting with me on the phone like a friend. Like, what was that? And even weirder was that it felt so…comfortable.

Was Declan my friend now?

“I want to get some ideas outlined before class tomorrow, and I have to work at Benny’s tomorrow morning and clean a unit in your building down on five tomorrow night.”

“Is it weird that I kind of forgot you do that?” he asked.

“Yeah, it is weird,” I replied. “What’s weirder will be the first time I have to clean this place now that I know you.”

“I might have to become a slob,” he said teasingly, “just to ruin your life.”

“That sounds on-brand with who I thought you were before.” I dropped to a squat and noticed he had every single flavor of Doritos, all lined up on a shelf.

“I should probably take advantage of this time before I board and get some work done,” he said. “My inbox is overflowing.”

Was it overflowing with Hathaway work or with Roman work, which was still a giant question mark? My curiosity couldn’t take it anymore so I decided to throw out, “So what kind of stuff do you and Roman do, investment-wise?”

There was a brief pause before he answered.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

What a…weird way to not answer my question.

“I don’t. I mean, I’m just curious,” I explained. “Because it’s unique to see two best friends working on investments together in their spare time.”

And by “unique,” I mean suspicious.

“It’s kind of…complicated,” he said, his tone warning me to butt out.

“And it has nothing to do with Hathaway, you said?” I asked.

“What are you trying to ask me, Mariano?” he said, sounding…defensive? Exasperated, maybe. “Spit it out.”

“Okay,” I said, unsure why it felt important for me to know. “Tell me exactly what kind of work you do with Roman, even if it’s too complicated and boring for me to understand.”

“No.” I heard him clear his throat before he said, “I can’t. It’s nothing illegal or immoral, but it’s confidential.”

“I see,” I said, wondering what that could even mean in terms of investments.

“I’d tell you if I could,” he said, “but it’s just one of those business things.”

Like drug-running and embezzlement?

As soon as I had that thought I shut it down, because he’d given me no reason not to trust him. I might not understand what he was up to, but I didn’t have to.

“So, do you fly first class?” I asked, changing the subject while trying to picture him in an airplane.

“I do today,” he said.

“You don’t always?”

“Okay, I do most of the time,” he admitted, which made me laugh because of course he did. If he didn’t mind buying an expensive necklace and then throwing it away, the man would not care about saving money on airfare.

“Do they really give you hot towels?” I wondered aloud.

“Not on short flights, and not on smaller airplanes, but more often than not, yes, there are hot towels.”

“What do you do with them?” I asked, feeling yet again like the rest of the adults in the world had received a life manual that I’d somehow missed out on. “I mean, I know the obvious answer is wipe down your face, but it just seems like such an odd thing to offer.”

“I guess it is, now that you mention it,” he said, sounding amused, like he’d never thought about it before.

“Okay, you go do your work,” I said, “and I’m going to see if you have enough in your kitchen for me to make chocolate chip cookies.”

“My fingers are crossed for you,” he said dryly.

“Sure they are.”

“Talk to you later,” he said.

Before he could hang up I said, “Text me when you land, just so I know you didn’t crash.”

“Are you concerned about me, Mariano?”

I was speechless for a second, unsure why I blurted that out and unsure why his voice sounded like that , like he was smiling and genuinely curious.

“Yes,” I said, my cheeks warm even though no one was here for me to even be embarrassed in front of. “Only because if you die, I’ll probably get kicked out of this place before Friday.”

“I already wrote it into my will that way. You’ll definitely be dragged away.”

“Goodbye, Declan,” I said, rolling my eyes.

This time, before I hung up, I heard his quiet voice. “I’ll text you.”

I smiled to myself, biting my lower lip. “Good.”

After the call ended, I felt a sense of lightness as I immersed myself in a game of hide-and-seek with the ingredients in his massive pantry.

Declan didn’t have any chocolate chips, but he had enough overripe bananas for me to make six loaves of my grandma’s banana bread. He also had a massive industrial mixer, which was something I’d never used before, so I really enjoyed whipping up that batch of yumminess.

But after I cleaned the kitchen and put away the bread, I felt a little lost.