Page 8 of The Money Shot

I got up and opened it, and for a second, I just stood there blinking. The person standing in front of me was… well, stunning. Tall, impossibly well-dressed, with sleek black hair that looked like it belonged in some kind of magazine ad. She had this cool, detached expression, like she walked through luxury apartment doors every day and didn’t expect to be fazed by anything.

She barely glanced at me before her gaze locked onto Bradley, who was standing next to me with his arms crossed, looking less than thrilled. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash—yes, an actual wad of bills—and held it up.

Bradley’s jaw tightened. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice flat. He jerked his head toward his bedroom, and the woman followed without a word.

I glanced over at Jack, eyebrows raised, but he just shrugged, looking as bewildered as I felt. A minute or two passed, and then the woman came back out, her expression just as blankas before. She didn’t say anything—just walked right past us, opened the door, and disappeared down the hallway like it was any other Tuesday.

Once she was gone, Jack looked over at me, his lips quirking up into a half-smile. “So… that’s not weird or anything.”

I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. “Guess Bradley’s full of surprises.”

Jack laughed. “Yeah, or secrets.”

Bradley came back out a moment later, his face set in that same, unreadable expression he always wore when he was trying to pretend he was above everything. He didn’t even look at us as he walked across the living room, heading straight for the front door like he had somewhere urgent to be.

Just as he wrapped his hand around the knob, I couldn’t help myself. “Hey, Bradley—who was the ice queen?”

He paused, his back to us. For a second, I thought he might actually turn around and explain, give us some kind of story, maybe even a laugh. Instead, he muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like, “She’s a friend.”

And then, just like that, he slipped out the door without another word.

I looked over at Jack, and he looked back at me, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. We stared at each other for a long beat, both of us too stunned to speak. The sounds of the city drifted up from the open window, cars honking, voices echoing off the surrounding buildings. Inside, though, it was dead quiet.

Finally, I cleared my throat and gave Jack a half-smile, trying to break the tension. “So… how well do we really know Bradley?”

Chapter Five

Jack

The subway rattled along the tracks, its rhythmic clatter mingling with the low hum of morning commuters. I took a sip from my thermos, the strong, bitter coffee warming me from the inside out. Beside me, Liam was nursing his own drink, looking half-asleep and entirely unbothered by the sway of the train. Bradley, on the other hand, sat stiffly on the opposite bench, scrolling through his phone with that unreadable expression he’d perfected. The three of us were headed to our respective offices, the early morning light filtering through smudged windows as the city woke up around us.

Liam tilted his head back, cracking one eye open. “This better be the last early morning this week,” he mumbled, taking another sip.

“Doubtful,” Bradley said without looking up, his tone dry. He barely touched his coffee—probably too refined for anything that wasn’t brewed by a barista with a three-part name.

The train lurched to a stop, and the robotic voice announced our station. I nudged Liam’s leg with my foot. “This is us.”

He nodded, stood, and weaved through the morning crowd. I followed, glancing back as the doors slid shut, leaving Bradleybehind. He remained absorbed in his phone, seemingly unfazed as the train lurched forward and carried him away.

The climb up the station steps was as brutal as ever. The stairwell smelled faintly of damp concrete and last night’s rain, and the faint, cool breeze that met us at the top was a welcome relief. As we emerged onto the street, the city unfurled around us in a burst of honking cars, hurried pedestrians, and a sea of yellow cabs.

Liam adjusted the strap of his messenger bag and shot me a sideways look. “So, did Bradley tell you he wants to throw a housewarming party this weekend?”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my cheeks when Liam made a face, his nose wrinkling like someone had offered him week-old leftovers. “Come on, it won’t be that bad,” I said, chuckling. “It’s not like we’re throwing a rager.”

Liam groaned. “Bradley’s idea of a ‘not-so-crazy’ party probably involves gourmet canapés and a live jazz trio. You know I’m not much of a partier, Jack.”

“I know,” I said, still grinning. “But it might be worth it this time. A lot of the guests are friends from school, and knowing Bradley, he probably mentioned that housewarming gifts are expected.”

At that, Liam’s eyes lit up, his previous irritation forgotten. “If someone brings us a pasta maker, I might actually forgive him,” he said. “And a few good bottles of wine wouldn’t hurt. That fridge is still depressingly empty.”

I laughed, the sound bouncing off the brick facades of the buildings lining the street. “Agreed. I’m hoping for the same. Plus, think of all the new recipes we could try out.”

Cooking with Liam had become our routine, a way to unwind at the end of each day. The new kitchen, with its gleaming marble counters and professional-grade stove, was more than just a selling point for the apartment—it was practically a shrinefor our shared experiments. When shit got rough at work, all I had to do was close my eyes for a second and imagine us cooking side by side. Instant mood boost.

We reached Liam’s office building, and he turned to me. “Alright, have fun with your spreadsheets or whatever it is you do all day.”

I snorted. “Right back at you, Mr. Big Shot. Try not to fall asleep at your desk.”

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