1. Claire

CHAPTER 1

CLAIRE

" A nd that leaves… Claire Colt and Conrad Farley."

I jumped in my seat, startled from my scribbling. Had Professor Nolan just stuck me with Conrad? My hand shot up, still clutching my pencil.

"Professor?"

His gaze passed straight over me. He flipped his book shut. I waved my hand, frantic. Conrad stood up.

"I get it," said Nolan, still avoiding my eye. "No one loves group work, but it's an essential skill. You need to learn to co-ordinate, to manage a team. To figure out who to rely on and what to do when you can't. Working in teams?—"

"I have my own concept," I said, cutting in rudely. Professor Nolan ignored me.

"I've put a lot of thought into who's paired with whom. So let me rip off the Band-Aid: no swapping. No whining. No flying solo. I'll be grading you on your synergy with your project partners, so any concepts you've got, direct them at… him ." He locked eyes with me at last, and pointed at Conrad. A few snickers went up. Conrad's mouth turned down. I thought for a moment he might take up my cause, but he just slung his laptop bag over his shoulder.

"I'm hungry," he said. "I'm going to Gold's."

I grabbed for my notebook, my laptop, my coffee. My half-empty cup slipped through my fingers. I lunged for it, caught it, and lost it again. It spun in the air and its loose lid went flying, and a spill of cold latte fanned over the floor. I cursed and went after it, but Conrad didn't wait. By the time I'd cleaned up, he was long gone.

I caught up to him at Gold's Deli and plopped down at his table.

"I know what you did. And it won't work on me."

He arched one dark eyebrow. "What did I do?"

"Power games." I breathed deep, winded from running. "You thought if you didn't wait for me, if you made me chase you?—"

"Breathe." Conrad smirked. "Can I get you a drink?"

"A drink?" I could feel myself flushing, my Irish complexion betraying my fury. "You're still talking down to me. Being condescending. You think if you do that, I?—"

"You spilled your coffee. I thought you might like a fresh one. Some fuel before we fight over whose concept to run with."

I stared at him, Conrad Farley, my nemesis. The one obstacle between me and graduating top of my class. He looked cool, relaxed, GQ-cover perfect. His hair was immaculate, lush charcoal waves. His dark eyes sparkled. His full lips quirked up. Even his stubble looked sexy, not awkward — not patchy or scrubby like most men his age. And then there was me on the other side of the table, redheaded, red-faced, a freckle-nosed mess. I looked away quickly.

"Mine's more developed."

"What, your concept?" Conrad cocked his head. "What makes you say that?"

"My roommate's brother took Nolan's class. He always assigns this, so I got a head start."

Conrad shrugged. "My frat brothers too. And they left their assignments, so I've seen what they did. I know what the trends are, so we can be different. We can show Nolan something he might not have seen."

I opened my mouth to argue, but our waitress glided up.

"Get you anything?"

I smiled up at her. "An everything bagel and a large mint tea, please."

"Me too," said Conrad. "Another mint tea."

The waitress headed off and Conrad pulled out his laptop. "The trend's been disruption. Business plans that essentially ask the question, ‘how can we take a thriving industry and turn it into an exploitative gig economy?' I think we should ask ourselves a different question."

I leaned back, trying to hide my interest. "Oh, yeah? What question?"

"How can we take a struggling industry and make it better? Can we make workers' lives better and turn a profit?"

"That's two questions," I said, just to be snarky. Truth was, I kind of liked his idea. But it needed my spin on it, or it'd be all his show. "How about a gig-to-hire site? Internships, but useful?"

Conrad glanced at his laptop. "How do you mean?"

"Well, you know how so many jobs are being farmed out to gig workers? And the workers get no benefits and basically no rights, and there's no lower limit on what employers can pay? What if we designed a model where the workers are all vetted, and they're all looking for permanent work? And employers can give them essentially a three-month paid trial, and if it's not a fit, they go their separate ways?"

Conrad frowned. "How would you keep them from hiring intern after intern, never paying benefits or a full-time wage?"

I twirled my pencil, trying to think. "I don't know — maybe make it transparent? Like, workers could see each employer's hiring percentage. And what they pay, and employee reviews?"

"Companies wouldn't go for that. They don't want to be transparent. Why do you think all those job sites make workers use their real names, but companies can be like, Widgetcraft Inc?"

I shrugged, frustrated. "It's just an idea."

"No, no, it's a good one. But it'll need some finessing. Ways to make it attractive to workers and employers."

Our waitress swung back and set down our food. "Everything bagel, two large mint teas." She swept off again before I could thank her. I was still squinting after her when I reached for my tea, and my knuckles bumped Conrad's. He made a low sound.

"Sorry," I said. "Go ahead, take it."

He took his tea and sipped it, and heat rose in my cheeks. Was I seriously blushing over a dumb knuckle-bump? Or maybe it was how our eyes locked over his cup, that smoldering darkness behind his long lashes.

Conrad licked his lips. "There's honey in this."

"What, you don't like it?"

"No, I do." He took another long sip and sighed, almost moaned. Was he teasing me? Flirting? Trying to throw me off guard?

"Most places use sugar," he said. "The taste is less rich."

I bit into my bagel to hide my rising flush. "It's warm in here."

"Probably the tea." Conrad set down his cup. "I was thinking, though, this is a lot of our grade. Why don't we take it back to my place and make a day of it?"

"Back to your frat house?" I pulled a face.

"No, I'm a senior. I don't live in the house. I've got my own place, well, me and my roommate. But she's glued to her Xbox. She won't get in our way."

I wouldn't have gone back with him if not for that roommate, if not for the comfort of having another girl around. Not because I thought Conrad would try anything creepy, but because whenever I looked at him, my heart skipped a beat. I'd never been this close to him, close enough I could touch him. Close enough I could smell his earthy cologne. Even his voice made my insides flutter, the dark, rumbling depth of it, rough in his chest.

I wouldn't have trusted myself if not for that roommate — and then, an hour in, she waltzed out the door.

"See ya," she called.

I blinked. "Where's she going?"

"Don't know," said Conrad, absorbed in his work. "I was thinking we'd provide a suite of performance-tracking tools across a spectrum of metrics, from?—"

"I've got to go." I jumped up and fled before Conrad could stop me, and the next night I insisted we meet up at Gold's. But they were closed thanks to a fire in their kitchen, and we ended up back at Conrad's again.

"You're good at this," said Conrad, as our shadows grew long.

I looked up, surprised. I'd been absorbed in my task. "Good at which part?"

"The problem-solving. Most people see a problem, and they kind of bounce off it. They know there's an issue, but not what to do, so they flag it and wait for somebody to solve it. You start in right away, coming up with ideas."

"We have a deadline," I said, secretly glowing. Conrad didn't hand out praise lightly, or stray off-topic often. I'd been wondering what he thought of me, if he found me annoying. If the way he kept smiling was friendly or snide. If he was into our project, or maybe…

Our last night, Conrad's roommate threw a LAN party. I lived in a cracker box with two other girls, so we met at the library to finish our work. By the time we got through it was coming on midnight, and we were both punchy from too much coffee. When I stood up, I swayed, and Conrad caught me. I grabbed hold of his arms and the lights sputtered out.

I shrieked. "What was that?"

Conrad pulled me closer. "Power cut, maybe. Or?—"

The lights came back on. Conrad smiled, sheepish, and tapped on my watch.

"Or it's ten to eleven, and the library's closing."

Gooseflesh ran up my arm, where Conrad had tapped my watch. His fingers slid off it, and across the back of my wrist. I tried not to shiver, tried not to lean in, but his dark eyes were closing. His lips were so close. If I tilted my head back, rose up on my toes — if I leaned up an inch, I could steal a kiss.

Did I want to kiss Conrad? I thought I did. He smelled of coffee and late nights and fading cologne, and his stubble would be scratchy, his lips soft on mine. His breath would catch as my free hand slid up through his hair. He'd pull me against him, against his toned chest. I'd feel his heart racing, my head in a whirl.

"We shouldn't," he whispered, and ran his hand up my arm. He gripped my shoulder, his thumb digging in.

I sucked in a tight breath. "We don't need the distraction."

"I'm distracted already." Conrad tangled his fingers in my loose curls. "I can't focus around you, around those green eyes."

I leaned up. Our lips brushed. I heard Conrad sigh. His grip tightened on my shoulder, then the lights dipped again. We both jumped back, gasping.

"It would be a mistake."

"A mistake," I repeated, my breath coming harsh.

"We're seniors. The pressure — we need to focus."

"Focus," I echoed, hoarse as a parrot.

"Friends," said Conrad, and held out his hand.

I took it and shook it, half in a daze.

"One day, we'll be each other's friends in high places." Conrad cleared his throat and let my hand drop. "We'll be glad then we didn't let this get messy."

I snatched my notes off the table and clutched them to my chest. "See you tomorrow, then. We'll knock Nolan's socks off."

Conrad looked like he was about to say something else, but I was already fleeing. He was right, of course. We'd had a moment, was all. One hot, reckless moment. The last thing we needed was to give in to that. Life was complicated enough on the brink of adulthood, without a college relationship to stir up the drama.

I was right about one thing: we knocked Professor Nolan's socks off.

"This is exactly the type of thinking I look for: identifying a problem and brainstorming solutions. I assign this project to separate the wheat from the chaff, who wants to start a business? Who wants to change the world? You two have potential. You could make some waves. So, for your prize?—"

A murmur went up — the prize? What prize? A voice at the back piped up.

"Why didn't you tell us there'd be a prize?"

Nolan squinted past us and zeroed in on the speaker. "Mr. Sullivan, that's you talking, right?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Are you saying you'd have worked harder if I'd announced the prize?"

Sullivan said nothing. Nolan shook his head.

"Successful people treat every opportunity like it's their big one. Like every chance that comes up for them is make or break. Claire and Conrad did that, and they'll be rewarded… with tickets to the Manhattan Startup Symposium."

The whole class erupted in furious envy. I sat back and basked in it and grinned over at Conrad. He shot me the thumbs-up, and I felt myself glow.

That bright golden glow carried me through to the night, through dress-shopping, through a haircut I couldn't afford. Through practicing my investor spiel in front of my mirror. I had an app in development I wanted to pitch, but it was still buggy, my prototype rough.

"I'm not a coder," I told Conrad, on our way to the venue. "Or a graphic designer, so ignore how it looks. It's just an idea, so?—"

Conrad set my phone down and laid his hand over mine. "Don't do that," he said.

I swallowed. "Do what?"

"Don't apologize for anything when you pitch to investors. As far as they're concerned, your app is awesome ."

"It crashes."

"It's awesome."

"When you tap the shop menu, your screen flashes pink."

"Are you kidding? I love when my screen flashes pink." Conrad squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. "Listen, I have an idea."

I fought my panic back. "What?"

"I'll talk up your app. You talk up my business plan. We'll wingman each other through the whole thing."

The feeling that washed over me was more than relief. It seemed so obvious when he said it, but it hadn't crossed my mind. What I needed was an advocate. Someone in my corner. Someone who'd say the things I couldn't say myself, how brilliant I was, how inspired, how smart. How investing in my app was the way to go. And doing the same for Conrad, that would be easy. He had a great head for business, dazzling instincts. He made my head spin sometimes, with how fast he could pivot.

"You're on," I said.

"Great. It's a deal."

Our taxi pulled up and we spilled out. We strode into the venue and the night passed in a blur — pitches and meet-and-greets, handshakes, champagne. I left with a buzz on and three maybe-investors, half-leaning on Conrad, wobbly on my heels. He guided me to a quiet spot to wait for our ride.

"That was amazing," he said. "I think I might actually have found my next step."

"Me too." I swayed on my feet. The evening was perfect, late-spring balmy, pale pinkish almond petals floating on the breeze. Like a scene from a movie, the kind where they kiss. The kind where the man sweeps the woman into his arms, and he says something like it's always been you . The music swells up and the credits roll by, happily ever after, love conquers all.

I held my breath. My pulse roared in my ears and I was ready, and Conrad leaned in, and?—

"We should always do this."

I stared, thrown off. He hadn't kissed me?

"We should always be each other's plus-one like this. Be there for each other through these big moments. You know my strengths and I know yours. We'll have each other's backs. It's a perfect?—"

"Yeah. Let's." I laughed, partly tipsy, partly embarrassed. Relieved, as well, because my head was clearing. Happily ever after? I was barely starting! What I needed from Conrad wasn't romance. It was what we'd done right here tonight. We might've just kickstarted both our careers, both in one night, like some kind of magic.

I grabbed both his hands. "Plus-ones forever."