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This money is freedom.
This money is security.
I spend the rest of the afternoon loading up on art books and supplies. The smell of sharpened pencils recalls so many nights spent drawing. I buy one of everything in every color. Markers, ink pens, pastels, watercolors, graphite pencils, acrylics, oils, canvases. Being in the store makes me dizzy. Something about it feels so right.
A call from Blake interrupts my bliss. When I answer, he's all business.
"We're meeting my family tomorrow. I'll send a car to your apartment at four-thirty," he says.
A surge of irritation passes through me. He could ask. He could pretend like he cares that I have my own priorities.
"You're supposed to meet my sister," I say.
"Trust me. You don't want to bring her to dinner. Not with Fiona's mood."
Deep breath. I have to push back to get what I want from Blake. "Then meet her tonight. Come over for dinner."
"I'm entertaining a friend."
Since when does Blake have friends? I bite my lip. No backing down now. "Bring him."
"I'll make reservations for four. Eight o'clock. I'll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty."
"Good." I'm not sure which of us won that argument. Or if it was an argument. "I'll see you then."
"You too." The phone clicks.
I'm getting what I want, but, somehow, I don't feel victorious.
Lizzy is not impressed by the car service. She sits with her arms folded over her chest, her eyes on the window. "Is all this fuss necessary?"
"It's faster than the subway."
"The subway is better." She stares out the tinted window, her lips curled into a frown. She's upset, yes, but I don't think it's about Blake.
It's something else.
"You okay?" I ask.
"You know I don't like being in a car."
"We can take the subway."
"No. I'll be fine." She squeezes her purse so hard her knuckles turn white.
Lizzy is strong, but she's like me in her inability to admit she needs help. She used to love being in a car. It was a rare treat. But since the accident, she gets quiet and skittish in autos.
I don't blame her—she almost died in the backseat of a car.
But I have no idea if it's a slight annoyance or a crippling fear.
She's silent for the rest of the ride. As soon as she steps onto the concrete, the tension falls from her shoulders. She sighs with relief.
"It looks like a nice place." She nods to the restaurant. "You think the food's good?"
"Probably."
"You think they'll card Mr. Blake Sterling's guests?"
Oh, hell no. I shoot her a death glare. "Not funny."
She laughs. "It's actually really funny. You look like a cartoon character. Like your head is a balloon that's going to pop."
I'm too overprotective. I know that. But she's all I've got. "Don't talk about alcohol at dinner, okay?"
"Why?"
"It's a sore subject. Trust me."
"Okay."
I follow her inside. The restaurant is dark in a romantic way.
I nod hello to the hostess. "Kat Wilder. I'm meeting—"
"Of course, Ms. Wilder. Your party is in a private room." She grabs two menus and leads us upstairs.
The room is impressive—a table big enough for eight people and tall windows that let in the intoxicating mix of sky and steel.
Blake is sitting opposite Declan, the guy I met at the company party. He must be the friend. I guess he's visiting.
Blake stands. "We're fine. Thank you." He takes the menus from the hostess.
She nods and disappears back down the stairs.
Blake offers Lizzy his hand. "Blake Sterling. You must be Lizzy."
"Yeah." She shakes his hand. "It's nice to meet you. About time, really, with you engaged to my sister."
"You can't blame me for wanting to keep her to myself," Blake says.
She shoots me a nice line look. "You can't blame me for objecting."
"No. Anyone would want Kat around." Blake motions to his friend. "Declan Jones. Too much of an ass to introduce himself, apparently."
Declan makes his way to Lizzy. They shake. "Nice to meet you." He turns to me. "And nice to see you again, Kat. I thought Blake was fucking with me when he suggested we invite two more people to our dinner."
Lizzy laughs. "Kat doesn't ever go out with me either."
They share a knowing look at our expense.
Blake pulls out my chair. His fingertips skim my neck as I take a seat. It makes me warm and hot at once. It's sweet and possessive. Affectionate and sexual. But which part is real and which part is fake?
I turn to Declan. "Have you ever met one of Blake's girlfriends?"
"A girlfriend? Blake? No. He's never had one." Declan shoots Blake a wink. "Maybe not even a girl-space-friend. You should have seen him in college. Girls went crazy for him. He was a legend—the kid with the company, the one who ignored female attention. There was a bet in our class. A bunch of women thought they'd be the first to seduce Blake. They'd come up to him with gaga eyes and offer to blow him right in the computer lab."
Blake's cheeks flush red. "It wasn't that explicit."
"It was worse. It got to be a thing—who was hot enough to tempt him away from his work? But no one ever did," Declan says.
Blake is actually blushing. It's amazing. I want to capture his expression forever. I want to draw it in a million panels and a billion portraits.
"I wasn't exactly a monk," Blake says.
Declan laughs. "He can't have you thinking he didn't get laid."
Blake motions to me and clears his throat. "I'm trying to convince her I'm a gentleman."
Lizzy laughs. "Kat is the same with guys. She always thinks they're friendly. There's this waiter who's always flirting with her, but she insists it's just professional courtesy."
"Is that so?" Blake shoots me a knowing look.
"He's just being nice," I say.
"He invites you to meet him after his shift all the time. And he gives you free drinks," Lizzy says. "He's cute too. You should have taken him up on it when you had the chance." She smiles at Blake. "Well, maybe not as cute as your fiancé."
She and Declan share another knowing look.
This is flirting.
I swallow hard.
No way in hell is my sister hanging out with an entitled player.
There's a knock on the door. A waiter steps inside and takes our drink orders. Lizzy sticks with her usual Diet Coke.
I relax into my seat.
This almost feels like a normal dinner.
Blake turns his attention to Lizzy. "Kat tells me you're a programmer."
"Nothing of your caliber, but yes," she says.
"What languages?" Blake asks.
"Work at dinner?" Declan asks. "You have more game than that, Sterling."
"It's fine." This is one time I'm happy to suffer boredom. I want Lizzy and Blake conn
ecting. I want her on board with this plan instead of tolerating it.
"I mostly do Java and Python," Lizzy says. "But I'm learning C++."
Blake leans over, unzips a bag, pulls out a laptop, and sets it on the table. "You want to see any of the Sterling Tech code?"
Her eyes go wide. "Uh, yeah. If you're sure that's okay."
"We'll call it a family secret," he says.
She nearly jumps out of her chair and kneels next to the laptop. "The chat bot has always been my favorite thing."
"Kat told me you're interested in A.I."
"That's like saying a fish is interested in swimming."
Blake smiles.
I melt.
Programming talk slows to a minimum. Blake offers Lizzy an internship for next summer. Declan matches the offer. It takes everything I have not to throw my drink on the floor and scream no way in hell is my sister working with a flirting player, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. The guy is nice. Flirting isn't a crime.
It's a nice dinner. Blake and Lizzy actually seem friendly. And the way he kisses me goodnight… I can feel the affection in it. Some of it is real. He does care about me.
Lizzy waits until we're seated on the subway to talk. She shifts in her seat, still bouncing from her caffeine high.
"I can see why you like him." She takes a slow breath. "But you have to be careful. He'll rip your heart out like it's nothing."
Chapter Fourteen
After another long day I struggle to fill, I take the subway to Blake's building. There's a key waiting for me with the doorman. Apparently, my fiancé is still at work.
I settle into the big, empty room.
The sun is sinking into the sky, casting soft orange light over the den. It doesn't suit the space. The light is warm, inviting, alive. This apartment is sterile. Lifeless. Dull.
It's a beautiful room, but it looks more like a model house than a home. There isn't a single crumb out of place. The tile is shiny, the appliances are sparkling, the floor is spotless.
I settle onto the plush leather couch and fish my new sketchbook from my purse. It's pocket-sized. Well, purse-sized. Perfect for capturing what's in my head. I'm not sure what I'm doing with my life now that I'm not getting by twenty-four seven. This will help me figure out what's in my head. What I want.
