Page 50 of The Defender
Mischievous smile.
Three Truffles.
White towel and tanned skin.
Low voice.
Words that nearly killed me with their fierce sincerity.
You’re Vincent fucking DuBois…You don’tneedvalidation from outside brands.
A fist squeezed my chest. I rubbed a hand over my face and stared ruefully at the clock. It wasn’t even eleven.
This was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 15
BROOKLYN
“I hate to say it, sweetie, but I don’t think calligraphy is your calling.” I set the latest handwritten thank-you card aside. “I’m so sorry.”
Carina stared forlornly at the remaining stack of blank stationery in front of her. “I know. I had high hopes, but my writing is atrocious.”
Scarlett, Carina, and I were huddled around the coffee table in my flat. Carina wanted to open a greeting card shop on Etsy and was currently practicing her calligraphy. Spoiler: it wasn’t going well.
I loved the girl, but trying to decipher her handwriting was like trying to decode a Cold War cipher text.
“I thought you liked working at the art gallery,” Scarlett said. “What happened?”
“It folded. Turns out the owner was embezzling money and ran off to the Caribbean with his mistress. I went in last night and everything was cleared out except for a stained rug and a pile of Post-its.”
Scarlett winced. “Oof.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even get paid for my last two weeks of work.”
“Look on the bright side.” I aimed for cheerful optimism. “The story’s so absurd, you could totally turn the experience into a screenplay. Pitch it to Hollywood, andbam! Instant fame and fortune.”
“I don’t think it’s as easy as you make it sound,” Carina said dryly.
“No, but it’spossible.” I squinted at the thank-you card. Were those Ns or Rs? “More possible than creating a greeting card empire, I’m afraid.”
Being a good friend meant knowing when to support your girl’s delusions and when to dish out some tough love.
Carina blew a strand of hair out of her eye in silent agreement. “I swear, I must’ve pissed off the career gods or something because I have the worst luck when it comes to second jobs.”
I couldn’t disagree.
Her lifelong dream was to visit the penguins in Antarctica. She’d been saving for years, but trips to Antarctica were ridiculously expensive, and her executive assistant’s salary didn’t go far in London to begin with. That was why she was determined to find the perfect side gig.
So far, she’d worked as a tutor, a barista, a professional survey participant, a gallery receptionist, and most recently, an aspiring but failed Etsy seller. All of them had ended in disaster.
“You could try the barista gig again,” I said. “My local café is hiring, and your coffee’s gotten, um, better.”
Scarlett’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”she whispered when Carina was distracted with organizing the stationery. “She can’t make coffee. She’ll go to prison for murder!”
“I’m trying to help,” I whispered back. “Youcome up with ideas then.”
Scarlett was being dramatic, but Carina’s coffee probablycouldwake the dead (not in a good way). The memory of her attempt at a vanilla latte was still burned into my tongue.
