46. Juliana

FORTY-SIX

JULIANA

All publicity is good publicity.

I've heard the old marketing adage countless times. Everyone has. Although, I never gave much thought to the saying, and always dismissed it as sounding more catchy than true.

Take, for example, the idea of one of New York City's wealthiest men plagiarizing the game I've worked five years on and flaunting it as his own on gaming's biggest stage. That would be straight out of my nightmares... and crawled into reality three weeks ago.

Now, I should be screwed, right? I mean, without my pending lawsuit, my game should be in the gutter. No one wants to play a game surrounded by controversy and ever-growing propaganda on internet forums, where allegations of who stole the game from who are being thrown left and right... right?

Wrong.

One-hundred-and-ten-thousand-percent wrong.

Cosmic Kitty Defense has been soaring—and I mean soaring— on the mobile app charts to levels that make me want to happy cry, then anxiously sad cry, then vomit into a nearby toilet, only to circle back again.

Truth be told, imposter syndrome is a bitch who regularly flirts with the devils on my shoulder, especially after DreamScape reached out for an indie feature a few days ago—this time, for next year's convention. Determined not to make the same mistake twice, I've never responded to an email faster with an enthusiastic YES!

Though, I keep waiting for the comedown, a dip in sales, but the surge shows no signs of letting up. I've even seen people walking the streets playing my game, or while they're riding the subway seated two rows ahead of me. With my own two eyes, I've seen all this.

Pinching me isn't the right way to wake me from this dream. Frickin' slap me. Dump a bucket of water over my head, the precise temperature of a glacier, because this cannot be my life.

Would Cosmic Kitty Defense have achieved such popularity without the tragic events at DreamScape? Would PixiePlays testing out my game in front of fans have been enough to jumpstart this type of avalanche effect on its own? Maybe. Maybe not. There's no answering that, for certain, but I do know one thing.

Even though I would never, ever, under any circumstances, thank Warren Kingston for anything, I almost feel like I should—in the most smug, backhanded way possible. Not just for concocting a twisted plan that blew up in his face, and for making such a dramatic scene while being dragged out of his company that videos are now plastered across gossip news, but also preemptively for the hefty check he will write me following the verdict of our civil court case. And that's not just speculation, as Lauren has assured me...

Warren is toast.

His image. His dignity. Everything, thanks to the mountains of evidence we have against him: from those in DreamScape's live audience who recognized his trickery, and testimonies from my fans who have been with me since the beginning, to the digital footprints left behind on my laptop from that malicious flash drive. Hopefully, he'll end up behind bars after the criminal case, though Lauren mentioned those tend to drag on longer than civil cases.

So yes, even if I wasn't destined to become my family's first millionaire by ways of the judicial system, I may just achieve the title solely from a cutesy, most-cherished mobile game.

While these past few months may have been unconventional and chaotic, I couldn't be more grateful for the way things turned out. Foremost, for how close I've gotten with Hayden and the unique struggles we overcame together, but it's everything else, too. Helping my mom find her path toward justice, being pushed out of my comfort zone, quitting my awful job, watching my indie developer career flourish...

And getting the keys to my new apartment.

"Your view is amazing," Hayden sighs, for perhaps the fifth time since our arrival. Meandering along the wall of solid glass, his loafers echo in the empty space, and paired with that long overcoat, he looks like he owns the building.

He's not wrong. The view here is infinitely better than the one my last apartment offered—just staring straight into a brick wall, but... "You do realize you live in a penthouse that has an unobstructed view of Central Park, right?"

Passing the concrete column at the corner where the glass walls meet, he hums, somehow contemplating the obvious fact. He swipes a hand through his wavy locks lazily, then sinks it back into his chino pockets, soaking in the view, as do I—though, I'm not talking about the skyline.

"I do, but there's no comparing our views of the Hudson."

I blink...

While both landmarks are highly coveted in New York City and nearly impossible to view from the same apartment, Hayden's penthouse is an exception, because of its staggering height. Certain rooms offer an amazing view of the Hudson. In fact, his studio is one of them.

"You're just blowing smoke up my bum."

He flashes me a grin, pearly-white, playful, the kind that has my knees wobbling, a feeling I pray time never desensitizes. "Now, why on earth would I do such a thing? Look around, baby. You clearly have impeccable taste when it comes to real estate."

I hold up a finger. "You mean, Mei has great taste."

This apartment comes with a lot of perks, namely that my best friend lives next door—literally my next-door neighbor on this exact floor. We're perfectly situated for movie nights, gossip sessions, and catching up on her new job working at a museum as a gallery assistant. Quite the upgrade over bossy Meghan, I must say.

But there are other upgrades, too, aside from the obvious things like having a dishwasher, a washer and dryer set, and a bathroom that's not in the kitchen. The apartment is high enough to drown out the street-level noises, and with two bedrooms, there's ample space for both a bedroom and an office.

As for the apartment building, not only are there amenities like a gym, co-working spaces, and elevators—yes, elevat ors , plural—capable of accommodating more than two people, it's also ten blocks from Hayden's complex. Which brings us to the most intentional of all the perks...

The opportunity to take things slow.

We talked about it, days after the commotion following the board meeting died down. Our feelings haven't changed—if anything, they've grown stronger—but that's just it. We love each other. That's something that doesn't come around often in life with another person, if ever. Now tag on the little fact I've never been in a relationship before... that's a lot of pressure.

What if Hayden and I—we're it? He's the only one for me, and I'm the one for him? Forever. Then that would mean this is the only romantic relationship I have to explore in this lifetime. So, I want to do it right. No shortcuts. No skipping milestones, ones I can hardly name from lack of experience, which is why we haven't put a label on anything yet.

I want to wonder when he will ask me to be his girlfriend. Will it be on our third real date? The fourth or the fifth? And as the relationship progresses, how will it feel to cross that line and move in together? Not pressured by a contract, but because we love each other and can't stand the minutes apart.

That's what I want.

Hayden took some convincing, especially once the movers arrived for my stuff. He said if it was up to him, he'd lock me up in his penthouse so he can have his way with me, to which I—much to the dismay of literally every heterosexual woman in existence—told the billionaire's son he would do no such thing.

Begrudgingly, he agreed to take things slow on the stipulation we remain exclusive to one another, which I found quite amusing. Not for the obvious reason you might think—that he's a reformed playboy, and all. No, I found the idea funny, as it was unnecessary, because label or not, we belong to each other.

Exclusivity comes with the territory.

"Fine," he says, amused, as he watches me approach the wall of glass, stopping at a safe distance. "Maybe Mei deserves some credit, but I saw those nightstands you picked out. They're fancier than any I've seen."

I glance at my bedroom, through the door left partially open. Inside, next to the pearly-white bed frame Hayden bought me the day I moved into his penthouse, are two matching nightstands. With an antique flair, they stand on delicate brass legs that complement their handles. Positioned proudly on my side of the bed is Mei's perfect vase, having finally found its worthy spot in my bedroom.

"I splurged. Consider them my house-warming gift to myself." Even though I found the refurbished pair at an estate sale, they were still two-hundred dollars each— after I haggled the price down. They're a luxury I could've never afforded months ago.

Turning back, I'm weightless as I study the Hudson from this height, but I regain my footing, only to wobble all over again when a warm presence envelops my backside. Steady arms loop around me, the fleece of Hayden's coat tickling my skin.

"So, you have put your money toward decorating, after all. Now you'll let me pay for the rest?"

I tense, meaning to turn around and argue, but he locks me into place, chuckling.

"No, Hayden. You already went overboard with your gift." In the window's reflection, I catch the ginormous flatscreen leaning against the wall, still in its box. "Just one is plenty."

"Well, what ever am I going to do about the other gifts I ordered? They're nonrefundable."

My jaw drops, lost for words. Nonrefundable?! What a liar! Is that even a thing in this day and age?

"It's nothing crazy, don't you worry."

"Hayden..." I warn. "What did you order?"

"Just some small stuff."

"Like?"

He hums. "Oh, you know. The usual stuff. A dining table set."

"Wha—"

"And barstools... And a new couch, which may or may not have come with a coffee table. I can't recall. Honestly, Jules, it's nothing to fluster yourself with. Think of it as one step above buying you some wineglasses."

"Hayden!" I screech. "We talked about this. I already have a new wardrobe, thanks to you—most of which I can't even fit in my new closet. You can't go off and slap down the funds to furnish my whole apartment."

"Oh, sure I can."

Gosh! The ego of this man.

I squirm to no use, his grasp growing tighter, until I give up and whine, "What about taking things slow?"

Soft lips brush my ear, skating a shiver up my spine. "This is me taking it slow," he murmurs. "You're the girl I'm desperate to impress, baby. Of course, I'm going to shower you in gifts."

My toes curl, teeth sinking into my lower lip on a giggle. How is this my life?

Flashing me a smile in the glass's reflection, he squeezes. "Does that sound alright with you?"

"Why do I get the feeling my answer won't change much?"

Swinging to my other ear, he whispers, "Because it won't."

I bat his arm, giggling some more, as his contagious baritone mingles with mine, chuckling over the—

Hayden stiffens behind me, his arms going slack, causing my laughter to die out as I spot what he's looking at—or should I say, who he sees, standing there — in the glass's reflection.

Jeremy.

My heart lurches with excitement, yet quells with anxiety. Jeremy hasn't seen us together, and if his reaction at DreamScape is anything to go by, then this might not bode well.

I whirl around as Hayden puts considerable distance between us, something that immediately irks me.

"Hey, Jeremy!" I say, way too chipperly for the way my brother looks between the two of us, his eyes spelling out the word murder every time they touch Hayden. I plaster on a smile. "I didn't hear you come in."

More silence.

Sweat nicking my brow, I clear my throat, trying again. "Oh my gosh, is that an espresso machine?!" I gasp, the sound all but genuine, when I recognize the upscale brand on the side of the box he carries, a bright red bow pinned at the top.

Color returns to Jeremy's face as he focuses on me— thank God. "Of course, it is. I thought the color would go great with your dishware."

"Awww, you shouldn't have." I give him a side-hug. "I know that brand. You didn't have to spend so much."

"Nonsense." His voice rumbles against me. "Anything for my little sister."

Oh, no. I hold back a sigh, watching him stare down Hayden, who's paler than a ghost and can't even meet his gaze for a split second. Okay... maybe I should let them sort things out.

"I'll take this to the kitchen."

I grab the box, forcing a smile that slicks right off my lips, as I round a corner. Then, I take languid steps, all the way to the kitchen. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three... until I'm standing where my barstools soon will, unboxing my espresso machine with the urgency of a snail, taking another minute or so to appreciate the view.

That should do it.

Humming merrily, I retrace my steps, rounding a blind corner. "Wow, it's gorgeous, Jer! You couldn't have picked a better—"

I skid to a halt. Oh, for criminy's sakes!

In dead silence, in the exact spots I left them, Jeremy folds his arms across his chest, his eyes shooting bullets at Hayden, who gnaws on his lower lip so hard, I'm surprised there's any skin left.

To Hell with the nice act.

"Have you two said anything to each other?!"

When I don't receive any form of a response, I scoff, stepping right between the two of them. "Hellooooo..." I wave a hand, earning Jeremy's attention. "Good, you didn't fall asleep standing up, I see. How about using some words, shall we? How does that sound?"

Pursing my lips, I move over, then raise an eyebrow at Jeremy's stubborn will, a teacher scolding a student.

He sighs dramatically, looking elsewhere. "Hey."

Jesus H. Christ.

Well, luckily Hayden has impeccable social skills, so I'm sure he'll—

"Hey," Hayden greets the floor, an obvious tremble in his tone—and in his knees. He's like a shaking chihuahua moments away from standing in a yellow puddle of his own making.

"Are you guys serious right now?"

Crickets.

Un-be-lievable.

"Hey!" I snap my fingers an inch from Jeremy's nose, catching his eye. "So, this was your grand plan, after I admitted to having feelings for your best friend? To just cut ties and never speak with him again?"

"Ohh, we've spoken since then. Over text."

My shoulders release some tension. "Good, good. That's a start. It was constructive, then?" I smile, my gaze ping-ponging between them, until I spot the shadows casting along Hayden's features. "Jeremy," I warn when I see his lips twitching.

"Don't worry, Sis. They were very civil, considerate conversations, and I've been meaning to catch up with Hayden here, my good buddy ol' pal, in person. I just had to take a few weeks to... blow off some steam, is all."

I blink, studying his crooked grin.

"Let me see the texts."

He snickers. "Juliana, I said don't worry—"

My hand slashes through the air, palm up. "Give me your damn phone." As I hold his stare, I anticipate a sigh, but his amusement only grows as he slips a hand into his pocket, brings up the messages, and passes it over.

Finally. Now we can get to the bottom of this—

My jaw freefalls to the floor, the instant I see the first string of text.

Jeremy: Did you know I used to box in high school? I'm thinking of picking up the sport again. Maybe we can spar sometime. No gloves, of course.

"How the hell is that civil?!"

His lips tug at the corners. "Check the others. I think they were more helpful in getting my point across."

Skeptical, I read another.

Jeremy: Just so we're clear. If you mess around with other girls while you're with my sister, I got a metal bat with your Bugatti's name on it.

My heart contracts, as I scroll to see the rest of the text. Awww, that's actually kind of touching. A little violent but—

Jeremy: ... and I'll cut your balls off.

"Jeremy!"

A laugh bursts from his lips. "Which one are you at?! Tell me, tell me. Oh, I got it! Is it the one about arson?"

My eyes bulge. ARSON?! They had a conversation that resorted to FIRE??? I scroll through, not believing my ears, except... wait a minute... hold on, that can't be...

"Why is it only you sending messages...? And why are they so frequent?" I scroll farther, adjusting my glasses at varying lengths down my nose, as if they might provide some insight into such madness. Every day, there's a new text with no response. Sometimes three or more.

Jeremy: I've got my eye on you. If I hear you're playing games with my sister's feelings, I'll...

"Oh my god," I mumble, swiping to the next.

Jeremy: Just know this. If you're pressuring my sister into anything she's not comfortable with, I'll take a little night drive over to that penthouse of yours and...

I shake my head. "Jesus, that's uncalled for."

Jeremy: If I find out you ever lay a finger on my sister, I'll make you scream like a—

"JEREMY brOOKS!"

His hysteria bellows through the open space, tears stinging his eyes. "I'm sorry— oh!— I'm sorry, that's just too funny. Look at him!" He points to Hayden, who's still in a fear-locked state.

I shove his phone into his chest. "Well, no wonder he's scared shitless!"

Anger simmers in my belly as I watch my brother wipe those tears, battling an onslaught of enjoyment at Hayden's expense. "That's just great, Jer. Instead of sitting down and talking with me over your discomfort, you harass your best friend and forbid him to date me, like I'm some child and have no say in the—"

"I didn't forbid anything."

I suck in a breath, hearing the same reaction behind me. "What?"

"Where in those texts did I say Hayden couldn't date you? Or that I disapprove?"

A little sound escapes me. Nowhere.

He focuses on Hayden, his expression still hard as stone. "The point of the texts was simple. I'm just letting him know what's coming his way if he slips up with you."

"Uh-uhm…" I falter, studying the hesitation on Hayden's face, the hope in his eyes, as he gapes at his friend. "I-I don't understand. So... you do approve?"

"Of course I do, Juliana. Hayden loves you."

Out of the corner of my eye, Hayden stumbles back, as if physically struck. And it's all I can do to just watch and stare, hand covering my mouth, words beyond me, as Jeremy approaches his best friend. His steps are hesitant at first, as if he anticipates receiving his own well-deserved verbal lashing, but then, in unison, they spring forward and embrace in a bear hug.

"I can't believe it. You... believe me?" His jaw drops, slightly agape, earning pats on his back, which are more like heavy thuds that rock his body.

"Yes, yes."

"What the hell, man?! Why'd you—"

"Oh, come on. You really thought I wouldn't give you a stare-down? What better way to make sure my point sticks?"

"What?! I think you took it far enough already!"

Another wave of thunderous back pats, mutual this time, as their laughter fills the air, harmonizing just like it did when we were kids.

"But Jeremy... I still don't understand. What did I do that convinced you I loved your sister?"

I smile, warmth tingling my toes.

"You should be asking what you didn't do."

"Huh?"

"Hayden, you haven't gone to a nightclub in two months."

I freeze, playing back those words, studying Hayden as he seemingly does the same, stiff like a board in my brother's arms. Is that right? The infamous playboy of my childhood, the heartbreaker of New York City, abdicated his title from the moment I set foot in his penthouse, beyond the conditions set forth in our agreement?

That can't be true.

Except, when Hayden looks over his shoulder, fixing those dreamy-blue eyes on me...

I know it is.