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Three
The oversized, polished wood door swung wide, the beep of a security system announcing Arlie’s arrival at Retrospect, the upscale vintage store in Philadelphia’s trendy Fishtown neighborhood. More art gallery than thrift store, the shop was clean, white-walled and spacious. All the better to show off the dresses artfully arranged like installations at strategic points in the interior.
“Be right with you.” A warm, throaty voice floated out to her from somewhere in the back.
“Damn right you will,” Arlie called back with far more bravado than she felt.
The simple black curtain behind the counter parted abruptly, revealing the store’s owner.
One look at her, and it was easy to see why Philadelphia’s moneyed elite lined up to shove their cash into her pockets. With wide eyes the exact color of burnt sugar, full lips painted a stylish matte burgundy, gleaming onyx hair knotted into braids at her temples and tumbling into riotous natural curls, Kassidy Nichols was a show stopper. An effect only amplified by the simple but elegantly cut white frock that hugged her curves and made her skin glow a rich sepia brown.
“You know,” Kassidy said, tapping her chin, “you look just like my former best friend. Arlington Banks? But I know you can’t be Arlington Banks, because she hasn’t returned my numerous calls.”
Truth be told, Arlie hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this interaction for this very reason. She could practically feel the relentless engine of her brilliant best friend’s brain working.
The valedictorian of their class at Lennox Finch Academy, Kassidy had bonded with Arlie over a shared dislike of The Great Gatsby in freshman AP English. Ironic, considering the herd of wealthy thoroughbred classmates that they—two girls from suburban middle class families—found themselves trotting awkwardly among.
Always the rebel to Arlie’s compulsive rule-following nerd, Kassidy had graduated from Harvard Law School and completed one year with the most prestigious firm in Philadelphia before scandalizing her family by announcing that her considerable mental gifts were best used helping lonely vintage gowns find good homes. Within her first year of business, Kassidy had paid back the initial loan she’d borrowed to get Retrospect off the ground. By her second, she’d earned enough to purchase her stylish condo in Rittenhouse Square outright.
“I’m so sorry.” Arlie shifted on her painfully pinching heels. “I’ve just had a lot going on lately and—”
“You’re sorry?” Kassidy mimicked. “No, I’m sorry. We take American Express, cash, checks and, occasionally, wire transfers from Swiss bank accounts, but I’m afraid lame-ass excuses aren’t accepted here.”
“Your Honor,” Arlie said, clasping her hands in supplication, “I plead guilty to violating the communication requirements of the best friend contract and cast myself on the mercy of the court.”
The subtle softening of her friend’s features sent a gust of relief through Arlie’s tight chest.
“Since this is your first offense, the court will commute your sentence to two dinners and a Bridgerton marathon. If,” Kassidy added, pointing an accusatory finger at Arlie, “you bring the wine.”
“I do so swear.” Arlie placed one hand on the counter and lifted the other, open palm facing her friend.
“Now.” Kassidy scanned her from foot to head, missing nothing. “Are you going to tell me why you look like you’re auditioning for a role as one of Christian Gray’s secretaries?”
Well, shit.
Arlie took a breath and readied herself to deliver the answer she had rehearsed on the way over.
“As it happens, I had a job interview.” Knowing that Kassidy read her as easily as an illustrated storybook, Arlie tried—unsuccessfully—to evict all thoughts of Samuel Kane from her head. As if in protest, her mind offered up a contact sheet of her favorite visual snapshots of the time they’d spent together. The expensive fabric of his shirt worshipping the muscular shoulders beneath. The way he cut through the space of his office like a shark.
And God, his eyes. The intensity of his gaze.
He’d known she was lying. Of that much, Arlie was sure. She just hoped he hadn’t guessed the full extent of her lie.
“Spill it, Banks,” Kassidy said, snapping her back to reality. “Immediately if not sooner.”
“It’s just a temporary corporate gig,” Arlie said, trying to sound breezy and vague. “Just some part-time consulting work. But they made an offer.”
Kassidy’s sculptural curls caught the light as she shook her head ruefully. “Lady, have I taught you nothing?”
“What?” Arlie asked, hoping to buy herself time to think.
Kassidy crossed her arms over her chest. “You are, without question, the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
Shoulders sagging, Arlie exhaled the breath it felt like she’d been holding since her visit to Samuel’s office earlier that morning. “Meet the new senior food stylist for Kane Foods International.”
“Kane Foods International,” Kassidy repeated as if the ruthlessly bright motor of her brain had become bogged down with swamp weeds. “Kane Foods International?”
Arlie nodded, knowing when not to talk being one of the things she’d learned under her best friend’s tutelage.
“Well, now I know what that disastrous chignon is about. You must be covering the scar from your lobotomy.” Her friend’s eyes flashed as a deep rose-red bloomed beneath her smooth cheeks, warming them to a russet hue.
“I know,” Arlie said, collapsing over the counter with her chin in her hands.
“These are the Kanes. The buy you, sell you, crush your small business, eat your soul and destroy your family to expand our boathouse Kanes. The ones we said were everything that was wrong with wealth distribution. The ones we swore we would never end up like.”
“I know,” Arlie repeated. She felt her throat begin to constrict, unwelcome emotion threatening to hijack her thin veneer of calm.
“Do you?” Kassidy’s normally rich contralto rose to a rusty-edged soprano. “After what happened with your mother and Daddy Kane—”
“Can we fucking not?” Arlie snapped, surprised by the sudden solar flare of anger. From the moment Samuel’s email had arrived in her in-box, she’d been choking out the overwhelming urge to scream at the mere sight of the name Kane. Of what that name had done to her father. To her family.
