13. Juliana

THIRTEEN

JULIANA

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mumble to myself, ripping the lid off the next bin stuffed with clothes. "Stupid stripper pole..."

Grunting, I heave a large pile of shirts with the hangers still on them, barely able to wrap my arms around the stack. I aim for my closet, passing under the sparkly sphere attached to the ceiling, grumbling some more. "Stupid disco ball nonsense... said it's an expensive light fixture... no way of removing it..." Grumble, grumble, grumble.

When I enter the closet, I'm so determined to stay grumpy, I don't stop and stare like the last ten times. Is it the nicest—and largest—closet I've ever seen? With everything a girl would ever dream of? Drawers that stretch to the ceiling. More clothing racks than I can count. Display cases with moody, accent lighting for purses, bags, and jewelry. A marble center island beside a chaise lounge beneath a crystal chandelier...

Sure. It has all those things. But it's also a couple of doors down from a womanizing pig.

A pig you sure seem eager to please, a voice interjects inside my head, laughing snarkily.

I huff an irritated breath, slamming the hangers next to the rest of my clothes. My entire wardrobe doesn't fill one-tenth of the space, not to mention how unusual my casual attire looks surrounded by such luxury. Most notably my apron.

On my way back to the boxes, I don't acknowledge the vastness of my new room or the surrealness of my life or gape at the spectacular views, even though the walls of my corner room are a solid sheet of glass. I only give the support beam that's smack dab in the center of everything the stink-eye, as if it's some mean girl I'm beefing with in high school.

When Hayden's comment replays in my mind, I can't help but scoff aloud with an annoyed, high-pitched voice. "You should think about giving it a spin or two sometime— blegh!" My face screws up like I bit a sizable chunk off a lemon, unsure of who it is I'm more mad at, him or myself.

Knowing the answer, I mumble, "Stupid hormones..." With a sigh, I plop down, criss-cross on the floor beside the final box. "They're always getting me into stupid situations with Mr. Wrong..."

I rip off the lid, only for my anger to subside when I see what lies on top, covered in protective paper. Unwrapping the layers, I pull out the lousiest flower vase Columbia University's pottery club had probably ever seen in its history.

Handcrafted by yours truly.

Lacking any semblance of symmetry, the vase sports uneven bumps and ridges, two mismatched handles, and streaky garnish over a vomit yellowish-green color. Overall, it's similar to a toddler's first attempt at building a sandcastle, except it's not their first time. But their tenth. Maybe even their thirtieth...

Unraveling another, I behold in my hands a vase on a whole other caliber. Polar opposite in every way. Elegant, smooth, and pearly white. Worthy of a mantel place inside some Victorian chateau, where it can boast its graceful curves, having been crafted by—at the time—a second-year Fine Arts student with a focus on sculpting.

My sister from another mister, Mei.

Well, my adopted sister is more accurate. As in, she adopted me, sophomore year of college in a shared elective class, vowing she was to be my new best friend and I had no choice in the matter. To anyone else, that may sound like strange behavior, but not for socially fearless, hyper-extroverted Mei.

Why she chose me, of all people—the girl with straight As, zero social life, and an obsessive habit of programming her new strange game during lecture—I have no idea. But she sure made it her mission to push me out of my comfort zone, because she immediately began signing us up for workout classes, artsy clubs like pottery and photography, school dances, dragging me to bars, and even tried convincing me to rush her sorority house and go to frat parties.

The latter two she never actually pulled off, maybe because students in video game design and Greek life are like oil and water, but that's not from a lack of her trying. Like I said, the girl's got a vendetta against my V-card.

Frankly, I don't think we would've stayed friends all these years, if we didn't share something in common. That something didn't reveal itself until three months into our friendship, when I happened upon her name on the Dean's list, spanning her entire time at Columbia. The little discovery rocked me to my very core.

Sure, it's safe to say that students attending a prestigious university are going to be smart, but it's no secret that those from ultra wealthy families—such as Mei—often gain acceptance through private donations. A.k.a. bribes. An unethical practice that, at the time, had higher correlations with those in Greek life.

So, in the back of my mind, during those early days of our friendship, I put two-and-two together, coupled with Mei's girly exterior—the big lashes, skimpy outfits, dyed hair, acrylic nails, and arm tattoo—her affinity for large parties and living the high life, then poof. She was a subpar student from an affluent family who cuts corners, searching for the next geek to do her homework for her, in exchange for an upgraded social life.

I couldn't have been. More. Dead. Wrong.

My girl Mei Nguyen's all smoke and mirrors.

She may drink like she's got no liver to lose and pull the quarterback and the captain of the hockey team in one weekend, but she's an academic try-hard, through and through. It runs through her veins— her words, not mine—because she's a Vietnamese, first-generation college student and the eldest child of immigrant parents, who struck it big in the manufacturing industry, with all the same pressures and expectations of those who didn't.

Since the very first day I met her, she's never wasted a single minute of her time. Her schedule's fully booked out, like a celebrity hair stylist or some high-profile lawyer.

Even now, she's in the first year of her PhD program and is an adjunct for a lower-level arts class, in hopes to one day become a professor, all while somehow juggling being the president of the pottery club, participating in Greek life as an alum, and working part-time at The Caffeine Cove. A job she took to, "fill up her free time," when I know the girl must hardly have time to sleep.

All of which is a total roundabout way of saying...

Mei is a badass. In every sense of the word.

Sadness ripples through me as I brush my thumb across her vase. A badass I'm lying to, despite never keeping secrets. But she can never know the truth about the guy she set me up with or the strange arrangement I now find myself in, because there's no predicting her reaction. Too much is on the line for uncertainty.

What a shame, though. I cross the room with her vase, the city lights like a galaxy of fallen stars as my backdrop. She'd love the view of my new life, even if it's temporary.

Turns out, my room doesn't do Mei's vase justice. My nightstand is too small for my new bed and looks like a duck in the desert, surrounded by such luxury. There's no room at my workstation, I don't have an accent table to put near the windows, and my whole closet is off because I have approximately two outfits.

So, I'm on the prowl for the perfect spot, walking the halls all over again, this time quietly in the dark with my fuzzy bunny slippers while still avoiding a certain playboy billionaire. Who I haven't seen since what happened by the—

I shake my head violently, denying the thoughts from taking shape. Don't go there.

Slowly but surely, I memorize the penthouse's cavernous layout. Taking a more thorough route than before, I breeze past a dining hall, guest bedrooms, a private workout facility, a state-of-the-art kitchen, a large, empty space—which seems to be for entertaining guests—an exit door labeled rooftop terrace, a hallway I avoid because I'm ninety-nine percent sure it leads to the main bedroom, and a surprising amount of paintings on the walls.

Scratch that. A ton of paintings—and pastels—most unlike anything I've seen, some even encased in protective glass with overhead, focused spotlights, as if curated for The Louvre. I make mental notes to revisit a few later, which only worsens my guilt. Mei would have much more to say about them than I do.

I bank a left and discover an enormous opening—the main living room, cloaked in metallic grays and modern furniture. My jaw drops as I follow my gaze up a windy floating staircase, which leads up to yet another floor I haven't ventured. Iron rails line the balcony above, and two-story glass encases the one-eighty views of the city, all seemingly centered around one main focal point.

A marble fireplace.

I approach with a smile, having finally found the vase a home—one long slab of oak above a roaring fire that flickers through a bed of glass beads. When the vase sits comfortably off to one side, I backpedal a few paces and rub my jaw with a hmmmm , as if I'm some fussy art critic.

My unparalleled, super qualified insight, you ask?

The floral pattern may clash with the modern decor, and this is no Victorian chateau, but anything's better than the second-hand furniture I bought off online marketplaces... Oh, who am I kidding? Screw the chateau. I'm in a twenty-thousand square foot penthouse. I think I did Mei's expert pottery justice. At least now she's here in some capacity.

When I'm not even ten paces into retracing my steps, my phone rings in my pants pocket. Loudly echoing through the dark hallway . I curse under my breath, shut up, shut up, shut up, only to expand upon my vocabulary when I see the caller I.D.

Mei.

Is she some kind of psychic?!

I silence the ringer, letting out an anxious breath, as I slip it back into my—

RING, RING, RING...

Jolting backwards, I nearly slip on the polished hardwood. When I check the I.D. again, I feel stupid. I nibble my lip, my heart rate skyrocketing as the tone blasts through the penthouse. Mei's not one to be ignored. She'll keep calling. Shit, shit, shit...

I whip the phone to my ear, speaking right above a whisper. "Hey."

"Hey, girl!" Mei's voice booms in my ear, doing little to curb my anxiety. "What're you up to?"

"Oh, nothing. Just, uh... working on some features," I lie.

"What...? Hold on, I gotta turn you up. What did you say?"

Like a thief in the night, I tiptoe around a blind corner, eyes squinting in the darkness. "Just working on some features." I brave a little louder.

"Am I crazy, or are you whispering?"

Dammit.

"Yeah, sorry... The, uh... My next-door neighbors, they put in a noise complaint."

The line goes dead for a few moments, and I realize just how stupid that lie was, seeing as I spend all my time on the computer. Alone. Programming. Not uttering a word.

"Really...? That's surprising. Also, it's not even ten o'clock."

I clear my throat, dropping my voice lower as I enter a large corridor. "I think they may have got the wrong room. I don't know. I'm just playing it safe for now."

She hums, feeding into my lie, which only adds another brick onto my pile of guilt. "Makes sense. I was probably too loud last Saturday when we watched The Shining. I haven't been able to sleep since... Anyways, my class just got let out, so you know what that means."

Yes, I do. She's going out bar hopping, and I'm semi-obligated to show. "Ohh... I can't tonight, Mei."

"Boooo. That's what you said last Friday."

"The kitty litter sand trap releases next week"— not a lie —"and I still got some bugs to work through"— lie.

Completely immune to my game's ridiculous diction, Mei doesn't slip a single chuckle through the line, but she does sigh. Heavily. "Fine. But you're coming out next weekend. Even if I have to drag you by your feet."

Whew. "You won't have to," I whisper.

"Alright, well, don't work too hard."

Passing the kitchen, I pick up my pace, confident I'm in the clear, making to round another corner. "No promises. Have a good nigh— Oof."

I smack into something hard, knocking the wind straight from my lungs and almost dropping my phone. My head rattles in a daze, and I grasp against what I presume to be a wall, except... I explore with my hands... the wall is rather warm... and smells like aftershave... and is chuckling above my head?

I gasp, lurching backwards, only to trip over my own feet after I catch a full view of Hayden. Losing balance, the ceiling crosses into my vision as I freefall—

Strong hands catch my arms, tilting my world back to center—and revealing the most mouthwatering sight I've ever beheld with my own two eyes, a vision now etching itself into my consciousness that will surely haunt me forever.

Moonlight washes over Hayden's damp skin, highlighting the defined grooves of his abs and pectorals and brightens the towel wrapped low around his waist. Low enough to see the V pointing down to his...

My mouth dries like I swallowed a ladle of sand as I breathe in his glorious scent that mingles with a citrusy body wash.

"What was that?" a tiny voice asks through the speaker, right when a deeper one purrs above my head. "Did you get lost on the way back to your room, baby? Or were you looking for mine?"

I tilt my head back—and back—until I meet his smoldering eyes. A playfulness churns behind them, exactly like our mishap outside my room earlier. But this time, determined to seem unphased, I hold his gaze tightly, even though every muscle in my being wants to explore his body, to look straight down at his...

He leans forward, his nose nearly touching mine, and chuckles, the sound blasting heat between my thighs. "You can look, Jules," he whispers in the dark. "I won't tell anyone."

I open my mouth, but no words come out, not even a sound, which only satisfies him more. Time slows to a measly crawl as he sweeps a loose bang behind my ear, his touch possessive, and nicks the side of my glasses, before it travels down, down, down, sloping across my sensitive nape, shoulders, then explores the middle of my back.

I suck in a shallow breath, gravitating into him, as—

"O.M.G. Do you have a boy over?!"

Mei's quiet screech awakens my common sense. Girl, what is wrong with you??? Your brother's best friend may look like a snack, but that doesn't mean you need a taste. Hayden Kingston is bad, bad news.

I jerk back, making the mistake of pushing off his abs, which will surely linger on my fingertips for the rest of the night. He seems to know that, too, as his devilish grin grows wider, along with his already over-inflated ego.

He winks. "I could text you a pic instead."

Gosh!

I dash down another hallway as fast as my bunny slippers can manage, yet again leaving his chuckles in my wake. Huffing and puffing, I take the back roads to my bedroom. In minutes—or maybe hours, not that time is of any concept in my frantic reality—I'm slamming my door closed, then sliding down its wooden frame.

Indescribable sounds spew from my pants pocket, before I remember Mei, who's still on the line. I retrieve my phone and put her on speaker, letting her gibberish ring free across my dim room, lit only by the light trickling in through the windows.

"Did I hear him say you were going back to his bedroom?!" There's no mistaking the joy in her tone.

"N-no..." I gather my breath. "You heard wrong."

"No, I certainly did not!" She laughs, literally woo-ing into the microphone, obviously drawing conclusions about my long-lost virginity.

"I'm being serious—"

"Is it that guy you went on a date with? Oh my god, I can't believe you invited him over to your place—what a twenty-first century move..." She blabbers on, bypassing each of my protests. "No, wait. It sounded like you left him, not the other way around—so you must be at his place. Holy shit, you did the walk of shame after doing the dirty deed, before the sun even rose?! God, Juliana, I didn't know I created a heartbreaker! Did you... "

I rub my palms into my eyelids, vaguely answering her questions as they dart out one after the other. Each of which breathes life into more and more lies, seemingly feeding the rift in my mind between protecting this arrangement and being a good friend, until I'm adrift, lost in my own sea of guilt, and confronted with the truth.

Mei wouldn't jeopardize this arrangement.

Sure, she may freak out and go all big sister mode on Hayden, threatening him with a long list of social repercussions if things were to turn sour, but beneath it all... she would listen with open ears and hear out my reasons for signing the contract. Which only leaves one explanation for all my lies.

I'm embarrassed. Afraid of her judgment that may never come. And what a weak reasoning that is, because this deal with Hayden? It's temporary. But my friendship with Mei might span over a lifetime and, frankly, every lie crossing my lips right now is undermining its weight, regardless of my peculiar circumstances.

Because a true friend shouldn't suffer at the helm of your shame.

"Mei..." I whisper, a hush even ghosts couldn't hear.

"... well, it was your first time, so surely not everything went perfectly, but sheesh, from the outside, he sure looks like he knows what he's doing down there—"

"Mei."

She quiets abruptly. For several heartbeats, there's an aching silence between the phone lines, before worry slithers through her tone. "Yeah?" she says, so soft it grips at my emotions, as if I'm moments from confessing secrets to my own mother.

Picking at the sides of my nails, I take a considerable breath, suddenly glad I'm not looking her in the eye for this. "I need to tell you something." And I do, tell her. Every uncomfortable little detail. Down to the last drop.