Page 11 of Fake Shot

“I have no fucking idea. Last time I saw this room was when we moved Audrey and Graham into Drew’s place,” Jameson says. “It was barren, and still the same pale blue we painted it before Graham was born.”

My eyes scan the room again, and I can’t reconcile this space with what I know of Jules. I’ve rarely seen her in anything besides jeans, T-shirts, and flannels, or leggings and sweatshirts. And while there are obviously portions of this closet dedicated to those essential parts of her wardrobe, there are also a lot of really nice items hanging up here. There are entire shelves of handbags, sunglasses, and necklaces, half a wall of shoes that are far from her typical work boots, and tons of built-in drawers that I can only imagine house more items.

“This is a pretty big change,” I say, and it feels like a huge understatement.

“I got bored and needed a project.” Jules’s voice comes from the hallway behind me, and both Jameson and I jump before turning to face her. She has a distinctly annoyed look on her face, and I feel like she’s caught us snooping through her underwear drawer or something. “And it’s not like this space was being used for anything else.”

She crosses her arms under her chest and leans back against the exposed brick wall at the top of the stairs, but her mouth twists to one side, and Jameson’s words from the truck come back to me:Jules is a very private person.Her raised eyebrow and the way she tilts her chin as she looks at us asks the question without her having to say it.

“We thought this room was empty, and we were going to store Jameson’s old bed in here,” I say. “We didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s just a closet, Jules,” Jameson adds, and I can tell it was the wrong thing to say by the way her eyes narrow in on him.

“Usually, when doors are locked, that means you shouldn’t enter.” Her gaze sweeps from her brother to me before she points at the ceiling of the second floor. “Your space is up there. Do I need to build you a special exterior staircase up the back of the house so you can find your way?” Her tone is sarcastic, and I want to believe she’s teasing, but it feels like there’s more to it than that.

“Jesus, Jules,” Jameson mutters, and it’s a phrase I’ve heard him use a lot when she says something out of pocket.

“Nah, it’s fine.” I shrug it off. “It’s her house, and Jules made it clear that she wants her personal space. No big deal.”

I’m not sure if this really is no big deal, or if I’m just acting like it is. There’s something under the surface of her comments—some hostility that I didn’t expect and wasn’t prepared for.

“Is there somewhere else we can put the bed for now?” Jameson asks.

“How about in the storage room in the basement?” she asks.

“It won’t be in your way?”

Jules converted the walkout basement into a sleek office for Our House, and the back part was a playroom for Graham. I’ve only been down there a handful of times, but I remember that storage room off the playroom being pretty small, and this is a king-size bed.

“If it is, I’ll put it on the floor in the playroom and let the kids jump on it like it’s a trampoline every time they’re over.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jameson says, and I’m guessing he doesn’t want the twins getting any ideas about jumping on beds since they just moved into regular twin beds recently.

Jules rolls her eyes. “If it’s in my way, I’ll just move it. It’s only for a few weeks.”

Chapter Five

JULES

“Ican’t really explain why, but I just don’t think he’s the right person for this,” I tell Audrey.

She scrunches her eyebrows together, forming the worry line between them that I used to tease her would become a permanent feature. But she’s a lighter, happier person now that Drew’s in her life, so I see that look a lot less these days.

“You have to have a reason,” she says. “You can’t just cancel the dinner and kiss three hundred thousand dollars goodbye because your spidey sense is tingling.”

The laugh rips out of me so quickly it’s practically a bark. It’s not like I think there’s some imminent danger, but as I glance at my phone where it sits between us on our kitchen table, his text with the restaurant details for Saturday night still lighting it up, something is telling me that Jerome Watson is not a man I want to be heavily involved in a project I care so much about. No matter howmuch money he has.

“He seemed like he’s the kind of guy who’d try to throw his money and his weight around,” I say, “and I don’t have the time or energy to deal with some guy’s ego. Working with him just doesn’tfeelright.”

“Business is about more than feelings, Jules. You know that. Speaking of feelings, how’s it going living with Colt?”

A deep sigh rattles around in my throat and comes out sounding like a growl, but I’m secretly glad she’s changed the subject. I’ve been so paranoid I’ll let it slip that she’s not going to make it to dinner Saturday night.

“It’s fine, I guess. I mean, he just moved in today, so I haven’t really seen him.” Except for the closet debacle, but I haven’t told Audrey that I redid the closet because ... I don’t know why, really. She knows I’ve updated her bedroom, adding decorative molding and paint, before I moved into it, but I’ve kept the closet just for myself ... my own secret little safe space that I can retreat to.

“Are you ... sure you’re okay having him here?”

“Audrey, it’s fine,” I insist, halfway regretting that I told my sister everything. But we made a pact when our dad left that we’d always be 100% honest with each other. She’s shared her biggest secrets with me, and I tell her (almost) everything too. “I made it clear that he needs to stay in his own space upstairs. Besides, he’ll be gone soon enough.”

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