“Absolutely,” she says, looping her arm through mine. It feels so oddly familiar now. “I needed to thank you for the catastrophe that was the beach house, and you look tense as shit. It’s a win, win.”
It had been slightly strange to receive her call a week ago. At first, I thought she wanted me on another job, but as it transpired, she’d just wanted to talk.
It started with her just trying to process what had happened at the beach house. But then she started to complain about Ivan, which turned into worrying that Ivan had gone missing. Then, inexplicably, she was asking me about school and my goals, and my life.
In the boring monotony that had become my life, Carmen had become something of a highlight.
Especially as Leon hadn’t been back to the brownstone all week. Not that I’d been checking (I had). I hadn’t really confronted him about anything after the blowout with my father.
He’s been busy ever since Ivan “went missing”, and I’ve honestly appreciated the space.
Somehow, this week of distance felt easier than the last. I think knowing that there would be a conversation at the end of it made it easier.
One where I apologize for thinking the worst of him.
One where, maybe, we can start to fix something that shouldn’t have been so broken in the first place.
It feels like something…important. Something to take our time over. And I can’t deny having a week to get my thoughts together has done wonders for my general anxiety over the entire situation.
“Fine, but if you get into trouble, I’m hauling your ass out of here,” I jest back.
As we approach the bouncer, Carmen barely spares him a glance. He steps aside immediately, lifting the velvet rope with a nod—the perks of her last name.
Inside, the club is pure, glorious chaos. The music is deafening, a thundering beat that reverberates through my chest.
Colored lights slice through the darkness, flashing across a packed dance floor where bodies move in a hypnotic rhythm. The air smells of sweat, alcohol, and just a hint of danger.
Carmen drags me straight to the bar, leaning in to shout her order to the bartender. “Two shots of tequila and two margaritas!”
“Carmen—”
“No arguments!” She grins, pressing a shot glass into my hand. “We’re celebrating.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Celebrating what?”
“Us. Surviving. That we’re still breathing.” She clinks her glass against mine. “That’s enough, don’t you think?”
I don’t argue. I pretend to down the shot in one go, wincing as if the burn is setting a fire in my chest when in reality, I dumped the liquid on the floor. Carmen is too preoccupied with her own shot to notice.
For the next few hours, we lose ourselves in the wonderful chaos.
Carmen is a natural on the dance floor, her movements fluid and carefree. She twirls, pulling me into her orbit, and for a little while, the tension in my shoulders eases.
I stay close, scanning the crowd out of habit, but I let myself relax enough to enjoy the moment and the buzz of bodies around me and the beating of a collective heartbeat through the speakers.
I’d told Leon I’d be here, just in case. It felt like the smart thing to do, and he’d texted me to be careful. Which was fine, honestly. It was very cool of him, very reserved, very mature after his response the last time I went out with Carmen.
Except there’s a part of me that really does want him to be here this time. Maybe it’s the press of skin against skin all around me, maybe it’s the hypnotic dancing, but I’m looking for chocolate brown in the eyes of every stranger who crosses my path.
By the time we make our way back to the bar, we’re both flushed and breathless. Carmen orders another round, her smile wide and genuine.
“See?” she says, leaning against the counter. “This is what we needed!”
I study her, the way her eyes sparkle in the flashing lights, the way her laughter seems to make the world a little brighter. It hits me then how much I’ve come to care for her.
Not as a client, not as the daughter of my enemy, but as Carmen.
“I think you’re good for me, Cammy,” I admit, and her grin widens.
