“Ugh, I am transferring to business school the first second I get,” she said, flicking the pages of the syllabus with next to no interest. I bristled in my seat.
“Nobody asked you to be in this course, you know,” I said as a matter of fact. An ex once told me that I shouldn’t be such a bitch, or else I was never going to have any friends. I told him that if everyone else was going to insist on being stupid, then I might as well be a bitch.
The girl turned to me, her messy blonde hair shimmering around her as she gave me a once-over. Was she studying me? She looked like she was trying to divine my entire personality based on what I looked like, which wouldn’t really result to anything. I was in a school hoodie, thick black leggings and a pair of Converse kicks I’ve owned since I was in middle school. Not exactly trendy, but comfortable. Then there was my backpack, and the copy of The Fountainhead peeking out of it. She actually smiled.
“I like you,” she declared, getting out of her seat in front and sitting next to me. I felt incredibly underdressed next to her fashionable floral skirt and ballet flats. “I’m Claudia Crowne. Shifting to business. Are you a lesbian?”
“Beatrice Noble,” I replied, slightly confused. Is that what people think I look like? “And no, I’m not.”
She nodded, and her eyes slid towards a doodle of orchids on my syllabus. “That’s pretty,” she commented without a hint of irony. “You want to go to the pub later? I heard they have really good sushi.”
I usually preferred fast food burgers and starchy fries over sushi, but this was the first person who ever invited me anywhere, so I agreed.
* * *
The work day turned out to be a lot slower than I thought, which only made Claudia panic and think that the article wasn’t going to be interesting enough. We had a lot of good material—shots of our studio, working on the display for our newest line of notepads (dahlias and begonias in different colors), a photo of me and Claudia in front of the wallpaper we were developing while pretending to talk about printers, a meeting with a couple about their wedding invitations and a shot of me painting an invitation for one of the weddings Charlotte Bertram passed to us. But by the time we were finished with lunch, we had run out of things to shoot.
That was, until Don Franco walked into the store. I’m pretty sure one of the staff passed out when they saw him. He just walked in, casually inquiring the nearest person as to Claudia’s or my location. I’ve always thought that Don had a smug jackass look about him, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I’ve never seen him in anything but a suit jacket (which he was currently sporting in the middle of a summer heatwave).
In all fairness to him, he looked like Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid, with coiffed black hair, dimples, and thick eyebrows. But instead of driving a broken ship into the heart of a sea witch for the woman he loved, Don swaggered around like he owned every spot he graced with his presence and drove his (reportedly) massive dong into anything that walked. He was moneyed, and never let anyone forget it.
So why was he here?
“Ah, Claudia! Beautiful as always,” he said in that odd, posh accent of his. I have no idea where he picked it up, it certainly wasn’t there after ten tequila shots back in college. He kissed Claudia on both cheeks like they were part of the same social circles. He nodded appreciatively at her long legs, like he was giving them a proper greeting. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“It’s no biggie,” Claudia said casually, trying her hardest not to snort at Don’s formalities. “You remember Bea, don’t you?”
Don glanced over to me, and I could tell he was giving me that all important once-over that everyone does when meeting someone for the first time. Don Franco, however, had a way of doing it so deliberately and so slowly that it made my insides tingle in a bad way. He eyed my un-pedicured, toes in my sandals, my ratty pants, the pudgy midriff that peeked out from under my shirt, my too-big-for-my-bra breasts, my lack of makeup and unwashed hair.
I could see right away that Don Franco had no idea who I was. Not that I could blame him. I made sure not to make an impression on him the first time we met.
* * *
The Pub was practically full by the time Claudia and I walked in. It looked exactly like a comfy, everybody-knows-your-name kind of bar, which was so cool, except darker and much louder. College kids milled about, shouting over their beers, playing darts or pool or doing something stupid. There was a jukebox in the corner playing (oddly enough) Katy Perry. The only thing I could say about it was, “they serve sushi here?”
“Oh, look there’s a table over there!” Claudia exclaimed, dragging me by the wrist to a booth. In between the class and the Pub, she’d commandeered my hoodie, tied it around my waist and made me put my hair up, so at the very least, I felt like a college girl.
We slid into the booth, immediately ordering dinner and a pint of beer each. There was something that felt right about this whole scenario—me in a college pub on a school night. Claudia looked a little overwhelmed by it all, so she turned to me and we started talking. We talked about where we were from, our families, why we got into Women’s History in the first place. Funnily enough, we bonded over both losing our mothers at an early age—she when she was four, me when I was seven. We both agreed that it sucked, and probably a big part of the reason why we were in this course in the first place. It was easy, natural conversation, the kind I never had with anyone before.
I was just about to tell Claudia about the time I bit my teacher in preschool for calling me a brat when we first caught a glimpse of Don Franco. I swear my nose immediately upturned at the sight of him and his sport coat. He glanced at us both like a kid that finally had his hand in the cookie jar, which, ew.
“Well, look who we have here,” he said, leaning forward with his hands on our table, shifting his gaze between myself and Claudia like he couldn’t decide which one he was flirting with. “Freshmen on campus. Clearly we have to be introduced. I’m Don Franco, Gamma Phi.”
He said it like being in a fraternity meant he knew everything about the world. No thank you.
“It’s Freshwomen, and I’m not interested,” I said immediately, standing, empty beer glass in hand. “I’m going to the bar for a drink. Want to join me?” I asked Claudia, widening my eyes a little at her as a signal to get out while she could. Our signals weren’t totally in sync yet, so Claudia just waved at me dismissively.
“I’ll be right here,” she said, smiling up at the frat hottie. I had to admit I was just slightly disappointed in her at that moment.
“Order us drinks?” Don asked, and I actually rolled my eyes on my way to the bar. Did this guy think he was some kind of prince? Men.
* * *
“Of course I remember you, Bea,” he said, walking over and kissing me on both cheeks. How very cosmopolitan of him. We made our way to our office, which was basically my drawing desk placed in front of one window, and Claudia’s against the other. There was a couch for guests and a bookshelf for inspiration, plus a few of our prints hanging on the wall. We’d already snapped a photo of this for the article though. Don made his way to the couch and crossed one leg over the other. “I never forget a pretty face. Trust me, I know.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” I said, stifling a laugh when his catchphrase finally came out. But you know I can smell bullshit from a mile away! I wanted to say. I gave him a slightly saccharine smile, immediately walking over to where Claudia had placed our chairs across from the couch. The more distance between him and I, the better.
“So what can we do for you, Don?” Claudia asked, giving me a look that said ‘what are you doing, he’s the first guy we’ve seen in six months!!’ before crossing her legs and smiling over at Don. He reared back and then leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he glanced at us with his best impression of Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid. He has ruined Prince Eric for me. My inner child cannot forgive him for this.
“Like I said to Claudia over the phone,” he said s
eriously. “I have a proposal for Noble Crowne.”
Now this, I definitely remembered. Don was one of the biggest Lotharios in college, and when pressed, all the women he had ever bedded would say that it was because of his voice. Or his gigantic…equipment, it was a toss-up. Don Franco had such a pleasant way of speaking, his voice was deep when serious, playful and flirty when he wanted it to be. It was impossible to look away and Claudia and I were sucked in.
“As you may know, I have a few…connections in the retail business,” he said, lowering his voice so that it seemed almost conspiratorial. “And I have it on good authority that Liberty London is looking for a design company to collaborate with them on a new product line.”
I was so shocked that I immediately spasmed and nearly fell out of my seat. I LOVE LIBERTY LONDON! It cannot be overstated how much I love them. Liberty is a chic department store/mall in London’s Regent Street that had a whole line of notebooks, haberdashery, scarves, and furniture. The mall itself was stationed in a restored Tudor house, which made it extremely classy and cool. They sold fresh flowers in front, and had their own line of textiles!
I nearly cried when I went with Claudia last year, and she had to drag me out of the store kicking and screaming so we could catch the matinee of some play with Benedict Cumberbatch in it. Yes, seeing Benedict Cumberbatch was nice, but he was not a cool store that had their own line of notebooks and notepads which made my heart swell and my purse burst open. Having a Noble Crowne design in their store was a secret dream of mine, and for Don to even mention it—I was understandably breathless.
Claudia actually cast me a worried look, and Don seemed pleased at my reaction. He knew that he had me, and I didn’t really care. Claudia knew of my love for the store, she must have known why I was so excited. She turned to the bearer of the good news as he continued.
“I took my masters in London, and a few buddies of mine are from the Lasenby-Liberty family. I could put in a good word in for your company, secure a meeting and get them to notice Noble Crowne.”
“And in exchange…?” Claudia asked, glancing at me warily. I was prepared to give Don my firstborn child, my mortal soul, even my own hands and feet for that meeting, and it must have showed. She was practically holding me down before I assaulted Don for more information.
“I started a small web design company early this year called Messina Designs,” he said, still totally in control of the situation. God, he was a smug bastard. But if smug bastards were offering us the opportunity of a lifetime, I was sure that I was not going to say no. “Hire us to design your website, and I can get you that meeting.”
That’s it? That’s all he wanted? We’ve been talking about getting a website for the longest time, but we just hadn’t gotten around to doing it, and this was perfect!! I glanced at Claudia, giving her my best puppy dog face and communicating with her telepathically. Claudia, Claudia Claudia!!!! Let’s do this please, I promise I will stop crushing on Leo, wait, no that’s impossible, but please please…
Then she had the same smile on her face she gave her nephew when he was being adorable and totally stupid. I didn’t care and squeezed her hand. She stomped on my foot to serve the dual purpose of shutting me up and replacing the desperation on my face to an expression of pain. But she and I didn’t even have to discuss why this was the perfect deal. More than a day in the life article, our own line in Liberty would quite literally, put us on the map. This would change everything for us, and we would be idiots to say no.
She turned to Don and held out a hand to him. She and I were never one to overthink choices, and this choice seemed pretty obvious, didn't it?
“Don, you have yourself a deal,” Claudia said, reaching out to shake Don’s hand. He smiled, obviously pleased and actually kissed her hand! On any other guy it looked awkward and opportunistic, but I didn’t miss the blush that crept up Claudia’s chin. Ordinarily I would have rolled my eyes at Don’s cheeky move, but I felt particularly gracious towards him right now. Plus, Claudia didn’t seem to mind the attention.
“Excellent,” he said in a low voice, and I have to admit, massive equipment or not, it would be easy to fall for a voice like Don’s. He grinned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have the boys drop by in a bit with our standard agreement so we can get things rolling. This is a good thing. Trust me, I know. Thank you so much, ladies. It’s been a pleasure.”
“No worries!” I actually found myself yelling after him. We were crossing the store now, Don glancing at the items for sale like he was appraising them. “What time should we expect your…team?”
He turned to us and gave a little smile. “Ben Padua and Hiro Umeda will be here in an hour, tops,” he reassured us, reaching for the door. Then he turned back to us like he suddenly remembered something. “You guys remember them from college, right?”
Then he was gone, and I involuntarily spasmed again, this time I actually fell into the nearest chair I could find. Air had suddenly whooshed out of my lungs at the sound of that name. I turned to Claudia, and her mouth was hanging open, and I could swear a little color had drained from her face. I imagined I looked just about the same.
That's because Ben Padua and Hiro Umeda were two names we had spent the last three years trying to forget.
Chapter 2
Beatrice
I marched over to the bar, rolling my eyes and muttering to my feminine role models how one guy at a pub had managed to undo all their good work with just an easy smile and good looks. I cast Claudia and Don a glance from my spot, unsurprised to see that Don was now sitting in my seat, laughing over something Claudia had said. Typical alpha male behavior! Claudia was falling for it.
“Watch it!” A guy beside me said, bringing me back to my route to the bar, which I realized was getting quite rowdy and loud. Huh? What was going on?
The bar was full of people yelling and laughing hysterically, they had their phones out and were cheering when someone prompted them.
“Alright, uni people! For our last and final challenge, the sexy capoiera ninja, my right and noble starfish Hiro Umeda will get this nifty little cross—” he raised a straw with a toothpick stabbed through it and placed it into an empty beer bottle on the bar. “Out of this regular old beer bottle without touching the bottle, the straw, the cross or knocking it over!”
I raised my eyebrows at this wild bartender’s claim. While the one he had called Hiro Umeda was certainly sexy, a rare breed of Brazilian-Japanese that just oozed charm and just a bit of gullibility in his big muscles, tiny black tee and little boy grin, the orator came up to just about my height (I think). He had an extremely lean body, showed off by his tight v-neck shirt and a really cute, coy smile, all thin lips and really nice hair. Plus, he had those insanely cute dimples on his cheeks. Even the smallest smile brought them out. The crazy look in his eye was a little scary, though.
“There’s no way you can do that without cheating,” said one of the patrons beside me. I was sure that more than half of this little congregation was already drunk, but I didn’t really feel like joining the flirt fest with Claudia and Don back there, so I watched the magic show the two bartenders were conducting with mild interest.
“Oh ye of little faith!” the bartender laughed (there go his dimples again), clapping his fellow bartender on the shoulder. “Show them how it’s done, Hiro!”
At the bartender’s prompting, people started to chant Hi-ro! Hi-ro! as they paid rapt attention to what was happening. Hiro produced a match from behind the bar and lit it, making some of the girls go ‘aaaah!’ beside me. I was pretty sure they just really wanted Hiro’s attention because one of them winked at him.
Several things happened as soon as the trick started. First Hiro dropped the match right into the mouth of the bottle, making the inside light up in a brief, blue flash. The crowd gasped and I actually stepped back in fear for my poor eyebrows. Then, almost at the same time, the little straw/toothpick cross literally flew out of the bottle top, making everyone in the
bar flip out and cheer. I had to admit, even I was a little impressed.
“Thank you, thank you, we’ll be here all night!” The orator with dimples said. Hiro waved politely at his audience before tossing the bottle in the trash and signaling someone to turn up the jukebox again. I finally managed to make my way to the bar as people started to go back to the dance floor.
“What can I get for you, uh, gorgeous?” The bartender asked, casually wiping down the bar. He picked up a glass to wipe and nearly dropped it. Thankfully Hiro was there, rolling his eyes and replacing the glass before walking off somewhere else.
“Beer please,” I said, sitting in front of the barman. I could not stop looking at his dimples. I could practically spot them from a mile away. Shit, now I was objectifying him, and that was not me at all. “Nice show.”
“We aim to please,” he replied, winking exaggeratedly at me. I had to chuckle. “It’s actually something we do to distract everyone from the fact that we’re out of beer until Carl the owner comes back with new supplies. So here,” he said, gently and carefully placing an ice cold bottle on the table in front of me. “First of the new supply, on the house.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip. I normally don't accept random drinks from random magicians/bartenders, but I figured I had to make an exception sometime.
“No problem,” he said, nearly spilling nuts all over the table as he placed a bowl in front of me. I had never seen such a clumsy bartender. He threw me another dimpled smile. Shit.
We Go Together Page 2
