03: Fake?

ARIANA

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[ Two weeks later ~ Friday ]

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Ivy taps my chin with the heel of a makeup brush.

"Stop frowning," she mutters, "you're ruining my work."

I reluctantly lower my phone while she leans closer, brushing mascara beneath my eye.

My apartment smells faintly of setting spray and expensive perfume, both of which feel a little offensive considering my current mental state.

It's been two weeks.

I unironically took Crawford's advice and spent the last two weeks glued to a couch in one of my father's condos in Soho.

I barely accomplished anything, but it was enough to pretend my life hadn't fallen apart. It gave me room to breathe. No Nathan showing up uninvited. No constant pressure pressing in from every direction until I couldn’t think straight.

Just silence.

I needed that more than I wanted to admit.

Now I’m back in Manhattan, getting ready for a cocktail party I forgot about while being reminded that my problems kept piling while I was away.

Somehow, the company now runs on my cousin Tristan's every opinion, delivered as though it's inevitable instead of debatable. These two weeks benefited him greatly because now the board are cuddling up to him. And that’s a problem. I may not want the responsibility of the company, but Tristan is the last person I want inheriting my father’s legacy.

Ivy moves away once she's done then stares at my face with a critical expression. "You know, other people would've cancelled."

“I forgot it existed until this morning.”

“You forgot you’re a hotshot. Typical.” she moves to stacking up her brushes while I stare down into my phone again.

I scroll to the next email and tense when I see it’s from my author, Susan Rosenberg. The subject of the mail is 'NO!!', and knowing Susan, she'd have yelled it to my face if I'd been standing in front of her. In the content, she has refused to expand the manuscript and even threatened to ditch me.

A frustrated sigh leaves me but because I have no choice but to value our thinning relationship, I don’t immediately reply.

I move on to the next—probably forty-seventh—update from the company’s legal department and blood drains from my face.

Despite publicly firing Nathan two weeks ago, he's still at Halberg Enterprises. Dad refused to let him go.

My jaw tightens. “He retained him.”

Ivy pauses mid-motion. “Who?”

“Nathan. Dad kept him.”

Ivy leans down to read the email and when she’s done she attempts whistling. She then steps back to admire her work before holding my stare in the mirror.

“I mean… maybe there’s a reason for it,” she says carefully. “Nathan, unfortunately, might still be useful to the company even if he’s a terrible human being.”

It irritates me that she’s right. But I’m still mad that Dad didn't let firing Nathan mean anything.

“Besides,” she taps me to stand up which I reluctantly do. “Robert did try to reach you but you were on a phone off retreat so.”

There goes my ‘He should’ve asked me’ excuse.

“Stop giving me reasons to not be mad at him.” I stare at myself in the mirror and despite myself, I am awed by how good I look. Somewhere along those depressing two weeks, I forgot I was capable of looking like this.

The midnight-blue silk gown skims my body perfectly, the fitted waist softening into a sleek silhouette that makes me look far more composed than I actually feel.

If there’s anything Ivy’s great at besides the dubious list of things she already excels at, it’s working what she calls her fashion brain.

“I’m just saying, lay off the old man,” she hands me my clutch and turns toward the door.

I follow behind her.

“The old man should’ve laid off my decision since he handed the company to me.”

“Oh so now the company is yours,”

“That was never in question.”

She laughs but says nothing as we get to the front door. Outside, the car is waiting. And because my father is the one who sent it, I consider sending the car back. Then I remember I do not have the energy to survive the traffic tonight.

Ivy must’ve seen me doing the math in my head because she snickers when I step forward with a frown and slide into the backseat.

She leans down toward the open door before I can close it.

“Have a good time tonight, okay?”

I stare at her.

She heaves a dramatic breath. “At least try a smile for the sake of it. Please.”

“I can manage that.”

“Good enough.” She shuts the door.

The car pulls away into the evening traffic.

~~~~~~

Maybe, I should’ve bailed and slept over in a hotel.

The cocktail dinner the Lockwoods have thrown is the usual New York display of old money and polished connections. Soft jazz hums through the ballroom while executives and socialites drift between conversations in expensive clothes and practiced smiles.

I’m standing near the food stand, nursing a glass of Chardonnay, grateful there aren’t many people here who care enough to corner me. The few who tried were quite persistent.

Everyone has heard about the situation at the company.

Marinette Lockwood alone has cornered me five times tonight asking about my father, and every “he’s busy” I give her earns me the same carefully restrained smile. She wants more than that, but being raised around people like her taught me to never give them more than they need. Though, I’m expecting her to circle back any minute now because she strikes me as someone who’d think the sixth time is the charm.

“Ariana.”

The voice makes me freeze for a moment. My grip tightens around the stem of my glass before I turn.

Nathan.

Why is he here?

My jaw tightens and despite the irritation I feel, my eyes drift.

He looks exhausted.

The kind that settles beneath expensive clothes and still refuses to disappear. His tie is gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone beneath the dark suit, and there’s a sharpness to his face I don’t remember from two weeks ago.

It doesn’t stop him from being handsome.

I hate that I notice.

He steps closer. “I need to talk to you.”

My teeth clench. I don’t. But the last thing I want is a scene happening over here. Already, I can feel attention shifting toward us in subtle waves. Curious glances. Recognition. The kind of interest people in rooms like this pretend not to have.

Without answering him, I set my glass down and walk toward the corridor.

Nathan is right on my heel.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he says once we’re away from the ballroom noise. “You disappeared for two weeks.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ana—”

“I’m not here to entertain you tonight, Nathan.”

“I know.” he says solemnly. “I know you’re mad, Ana. But hear me out, please?”

“Hear you out? About what?”

About the flights he booked for her whenever he travelled? The dinner reservations under associates that turned out to be hers? The times he brought her into my office and did god knows what?

The countless excuses that stopped sounding casual once I really looked?

I'd investigated just to see how deep it went.

Turns out, very.

In the course, I'd realized that he was a better actor than I'd ever given him credit for.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me anymore.” I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Whatever we had is over. You’ve obviously moved on and so have I.”

I haven’t. I still think about us. I shouldn’t, but I do. And I hate that I’m going to such lengths just so he feels even a fraction of what this has done to me, but his expression hardens with disbelief instead of hurt, like the idea offends him.

“No, you haven’t,” He murmurs and my stomach drops. Did my face give it away? “I know what you’re doing Ana.”

“And what is that?” I ask, feeling my heart race as he takes a step forward. If he takes another step, I’m not sure that I won’t forget why I hate him.

“You’re bringing up that topic to chase me away but it’s not true. It’s been two weeks.” he says, “And you love me. I know you do.”

The confidence in the statement stuns me. Maybe that’s the problem.

I look at him for a moment before letting out a small breath.

“If you knew anything about me, you’d know I don’t dwell on insignificant people for very long.”

Something flashes across his face then. Anger. Frustration. Maybe both.

“I checked at Blackwood. You left your work behind for two weeks. The company is obviously not doing fine.” he lists instead, like the past two weeks are something he can arrange into order if he says them correctly. “Can you stop being unreasonable and let’s talk this through?”

I’m too stunned to speak so I just blink at him.

He’s just called me unreasonable, as if I didn’t walk in on him eating my cousin out in my office at all.

Before I can say anything, he lets out a sharp breath and drags a hand down his face.

“It just doesn’t seem fair that you’d rather fake moving on than have one conversation with me, Ariana.”

For a moment, I don’t react, because I can’t decide which part of this situation has frizzled me the most — The part where he’s never apologized, or the part where he’s never acknowledged what I saw, but has somehow made it a me problem. Like I’m the thing that needs addressing instead of the fact that he’d been cheating on me.

Something inside me quiets after that realization, though, it’s anything but calm. It’s just… enough to make room for something reckless.

The elevator suddenly dings behind him, the sound cutting through the corridor at the exact moment he opens his mouth to speak again.

The doors slide apart.

Dark suit. Dark eyes.

For a second, I don’t think at all. I just look at Nathan, at the certainty still written all over his face, and something sharp twists through my chest.

“Fake?” I repeat softly.

Then I move.

I step around him and head straight for the man coming off the elevator before I can give myself the chance to reconsider it. My fingers curl against the front of his suit as I rise onto my toes—

—and kiss him.