Luna already has one out of her clutch, uncapped, held out.
Holt writes. The date goes at the top (“my lawyers like their miracles dated,” he says, mostly to the napkin), then all three names in full, then the terms:$2,000,000 to Apple Blossom Orchard (“Hollow Gold”) for 8% of cider revenue until $6,000,000 paid, then 5% for 3 years. Introduction: Pacific Crest. Contingent: 1,000 bottles delivered to Pacific Crest byDecember 1.He signs with a flourish, then spins the napkin around, sliding the pen to me.
I sign, then I slide the pen to Luna, who signs without a flicker. Her name, next to mine, on the founding document.
Holt stands, buttons his jacket, and raises what’s left of his glass. “To Hollow Gold.”
He drains it. Then, to Luna: “If you ever tire of apples, call my office. I find the right people awesome jobs, too.”
“I’m right where I need to be,” she says, smiling. “But thank you.”
A sudden flutter takes flight in the pit of my stomach.
He claps my shoulder, and then goes back to his guests, pointing at our table with what I’m guessing is the story of his new genius discovery.
Across the table, Luna sits very straight, hands folded, face serene. Under the table her knee is bouncing fast enough to power the building, and her scent has gone bright as sparklers. Holt is still in the room. We can’t scream. We can’t dance on the table.
“I knowexactlyhow we should celebrate,” she whispers in my ear.
***
I take the glass elevator up to the sky bar. Stepping out, I spot her at the far curve of the bar. Her spine is straight, her hair pinned back, with half of Seattle stacked in the windows behind her.
For half a second, I let myself admire how gorgeous she is. Then, I cross the room and slide onto the stool next to her. “Excuse me miss, is this seat taken?”
She turns with magnificent slowness, taking me fully—shoes, belt, collar, jaw—and finishes on my eyes with no particular mercy.
“It is now,” she says.
The bartender drifts over, and Luna lifts two fingers without taking her eyes off me. “Two of whatever has elderflower in it, please.” Then, to me, gravely: “Trust me. I hear it’s delightful.”
“Delightful,” I say, leaning one elbow on the bar. “That’s a bold word.”
“I use it without irony,” she says, her eyes fixed on mine.
The drinks arrive in seconds, sliding onto the marble, pale gold.
“Ash,” I say, offering my hand.
“Luna.” Her hand slides into mine, neither of us letting go.
33
Luna
The hotel room door clicks shut, cutting off the muted hum of the hallway. Ash tosses the keycard onto the desk, picking up the silver ice bucket and bottle of champagne room service left by the door.
“We actually did it,” I say, the adrenaline of the play still buzzing under my skin.
Ash pops the cork with a muted thump, catching the overflow before it spills. He pours the champagne into two water glasses from the bathroom and hands me one, his eyes bright and fiercely alive. “You did it, gorgeous. I just stood there and looked pretty.”
“Please,” I snort, taking the glass. “You looked terrifying. Holt didn’t even see the train coming.”
He laughs, a low, loose rumble that vibrates in the narrow space between us. Setting his glass down, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the literal bar napkin. Two million dollars, an eight percent revenue share, and a December deadline, all scribbled in smeared blue ink. He stares at it for asecond, a quiet awe washing over his features, before he places it securely on the nightstand.
He steps closer, wrapping his free arm around my waist, and pulls me flush against his chest.
“You’re a menace, you know that?” he murmurs, playfully nipping at my jaw right as I take a sip of champagne. A bolt of heat shoots straight down my spine at the contact, making me shiver.
