Head Over Feels

by Scott, S. L.

  “I’m not licensed in California, but I can give you a referral—”

  “No need.” His hand goes flat on the surface with the same impatience Marlow displays. “I’ve made up my mind. You’ll be representing me, Wellington. I’m filing in the state of New York. I think it will be cleaner here than in California. The Manhattan apartment has been considered my main residence for the past year.”

  Ah. The plot thickens. “In preparation for filing.”

  “California sees the divorce more equitably than New York.”

  “True. It’s an equitable division state.”

  “But that doesn’t mean half right out of the gate. Fair is not always equal.”

  He’s done his homework. “Are you residing in the city?”

  “I’m flying back and forth. I’m backing a new show on Broadway. It opens next month. For the filing, you can list the Park Avenue address.”

  “And I assume you had a prenup?”

  “Yes, but I got lazy. I should have filed six months ago.”

  “Because?”

  A scowl filters across his face. “The payout increases every six months. We didn’t discuss this, but I have a golf buddy who got his prenup voided. What’s the likelihood of getting that done for me?”

  I do not—correct that—should not take this case. Red flags are already going up. Bob’s latest divorce will be a high-profile case and splashed on every magazine in the country.

  I’ve worked tirelessly for three years to prove myself, sacrificing most of my personal life to show how dedicated I am. Cade and Jackson have given me shit for missing baseball games, parties, and canceling dates with certain European flight attendants who were in the city for only one night. If I take this case and it goes sideways—if I fail—all my hard work would be wasted.

  But if it goes right . . . I’ll make partner by next year. It’s an ambitious plan, but I’m willing to take the chance. With caution.

  “The travel expenses back and forth to California will be costly,” I say.

  “I want the best, and my princess always talks about you being the best. This is your time to shine, kid.” Kid . . . time to shine . . . I try not to roll my eyes. Since the comments are meant as compliments, I don’t hold them against him. “I won’t take no, Rad. Draft the paperwork.”

  Without an out coming to mind, I spy Mrs. Klein, a senior partner, eyeing me from outside her office. When her tap her temple, I know the signal. Bob Marché isn’t just a big name in Hollywood. I need to take advantage of this opportunity that just landed in my lap. It’s expected.

  He holds his hand out. “Do we have a deal?”

  I reach over and take it. “Let’s get started.”

  Why do I feel as though I just sold my soul to the devil to make partner?

  And yet, not thirty minutes ago, I felt as though I could make a genuine difference for the better in someone’s life? For Tealey.

  Fuck if my life didn’t just get a lot more complicated.

  3

  Tealey Bell

  The straps of my canvas tote dig into my shoulder as I feel around on the inside to find my keys. “See you tomorrow,” I call behind me. I’m usually the one working late, but I need to get home to pack.

  When I still can’t find my keys, I kneel on the sidewalk and spread the handles wide to peer inside. “Ah.” I snatch them out and resettle the bag on my shoulder.

  “Bell?”

  I look ahead to find the familiar voice but shake it when I don’t see him.

  “Bell?”

  Over my shoulder, I spot the slate-gray car I was introduced to not even a month earlier. Nothing about Rad Wellington being in my borough or outside my office makes sense. “You lost, Welly?”

  “Nope.”

  Smirking, I tilt my head to the side, still standing too far away to have a real conversation. I maneuver around two women in a hurry and lean down to see Rad in his full glory—his short brown hair mussed as though he’s been tugging on it all day or just got lucky. My stomach twists.

  I’m about to rest my hands on the open windowsill but stop myself, not daring to leave a fingerprint on this beautiful paint job. “What brings you to Brooklyn?”

  “Want to go for a ride?” A rogue grin spreads across his face befitting the car—sleek and, dare I say, sexy.

  “Where to?”

  “My place.” I raise my brows. It’s not that I haven’t been invited before, but it’s never been just me—alone. I’ve only been there with the group. Rad and I are friends, of course. I even might have wanted to kiss him a time or ten over the years—how could I not? I’m a human, after all, and Rad is, well, Rad. He doesn’t look at me as more than a friend. And that’s probably for the best.

  He’s just always been Manhattan elite while I’m more grounded in Brooklyn.

  “A bit forward, don’t ya think, Mr. Wellington?”

  “You asked.” He smirks, staring through the windshield. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. I’m not sure, but I think I catch the smallest of grimaces before he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He leans over and pops the door open. “Hop in.”

  I look down the street toward my apartment. It’s five blocks, an easy walk, but skipping another night of packing sounds tempting. I know better, though. It wouldn’t be responsible to leave it until the last minute. “I really should go home.”

  “Come on. I’ll treat you to tacos and margaritas.”

  He makes it so hard to say no when I really should go home and pack. “You sure know how to tempt a girl.”

  He gives me a sideways glance and chuckles. “So you say quite often lately.”

  “I’ve been too hard on you. I’m sorry. It’s all in fun.”

  “I know, Tealey. Don’t worry about it.”

  I open the door wider and slip onto the buttery leather passenger seat. After buckling in, I lean back, angling his way. “I’m starting to think the life of one of your ‘perks’ might not be so bad.”

  With our eyes fixed on each other, his smile falters. “Promise me you’ll never settle for being a perk when you can be someone else’s everything.”

  My heart starts throbbing, and my breath stills in my throat. He doesn’t move except two blinks while waiting for me to answer a question he didn’t ask. “All right.”

  He nods, appearing satisfied, and pulls into the flow of traffic. “Tacos?”

  “Tacos.” Running the tips of my fingers across the leather coating the dash, I say, “I think this is the most expensive car I’ve ever ridden in.”

  “I’ve been in pricier, but this car is my favorite,” he replies with such confidence, though not a hint of arrogance is detected. “There’s an envelope in the back. It’s the retaining contract. No fees as promised.”

  I look behind his seat to see the envelope and take it, tucking it inside my tote. “Thank you. I know I said it before, but I really do appreciate you helping her and me.”

  “I want to help.”

  Though traffic slows, the city begins to tower as we cross the bridge. “Is the contract why you came to see me?”

  “Actually, I wanted to spend some time with you. We don’t get many opportunities.” He glances at me. “Just the two of us.”

  Being under the steel and concrete bridge with the sun blocked from most angles, I’m reminded how much I hate bridges. I grip the side of the seat with one hand and the belt across my body with the other. “On purpose.”

  “You don’t spend time with me on purpose?”

  I gulp down the fear threatening to creep up my throat and try to hold my tone steady. “No, I thought that’s how you wanted it.”

  His eyes volley between the road and me, a little line digging deeper between his eyes. “Why do you think that?”

  Shrugging, I shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess because you never asked.”

  “Touché,” he replies as confusion cinches his brows even closer.

  Somehow, I find comfort in stari
ng at him versus the brown cage surrounding the vehicle. “Actually, I asked once.” I hate the shame mincing my words. “Junior year. I asked you to take me to a dance.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, his attention on the bumper-to-bumper cars ahead, and then he says, “I don’t remember that.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure, it does. Hey. Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” I try to shake off the sinking feeling. “I don’t like bridges. I don’t even know why. Must be a fear from a past life or something. Who knows?” I roll my eyes because I sound ridiculous.

  Reaching over, he covers my hand gripping the seat with his. The warmth brings peace to my racing heart as I keep my eyes trained on the veins of his hand. He asks, “What dance was it?”

  I drag my gaze to his. “It was a last-minute ask, and you were busy.”

  He’s steady in his voice and strength with his hand gently wrapped around mine to keep it from shaking. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Really. I didn’t even remember until just now. It was just a sock hop to raise money for a local shelter. A dance-all-night kind of thing. The social work department hosts one every year. I went to others.”

  “I should have gone with you, though.”

  “You made a donation, and that was the goal anyway—to raise money.”

  “It was 50s themed?”

  “Yes.” I smile at the memory. “That year, I had this great skirt—big and poofy with a poodle on the front and a matching sweater. It was the prettiest shade of blue.”

  “Like your eyes—” His hand leaves mine to return to the steering wheel before I even process what he said.

  “Like my eyes?” My lids flutter without permission. God, that’s humiliating. I don’t think I’ve ever fluttered my lashes before, and now, I’ve gone and done it to one of my friends.

  Then, as if he’s entering evidence into a case in court, he states, “You have pretty eyes.” Direct. Professional. Affirmative. A pregnant pause leads to him reaching for a button on the steering wheel. “Music?”

  As a classical song hits fever pitch, like my face, he scrambles to turn it down. “Sorry,” he yells before he can lower the volume. Hopefully, that was distracting enough for him not to notice me pressing my hands to my cheeks to lower the temperature of my embarrassment. He noticed my eyes? I get compliments, but not usually from Rad. Come to think of it, Rad doesn’t say much of anything to me. Of course, that could be attributed to Marlow usually owning the conversations and Cammie discussing wedding details when we all get together.

  An awkwardness permeates the air just as we enter Manhattan, reminding me of the topic I’ve been avoiding. It may not change my fate, but I’d like his perspective. I ask, “Have you ever thought of leaving New York City?”

  “No, never.”

  “Wow, that was fast. Never?”

  His smile returns, but it’s tight at the corners, guarded. “Correction. The easy answer is I have, but I wouldn’t want to at this point in my career.”

  “The hard answer?”

  “I used to think about leaving after college, but . . .” He pauses, seeming to debate with himself, which is something I’ve never seen Rad do. He’s always sure of himself. Not in a bad way . . . and sometimes in a bad way. He’s intelligent and confident. I guess he has a right to be arrogant occasionally.

  “But what?”

  The tension starts to ease as does his grip on the steering wheel. “You’ve always been honest with me, so I will be with you. When Cade and Cammie got together, and Jackson and I met you and Marlow . . . I don’t know. It felt right. It made me want to stay. I mean, what would I do without Jackson texting me about food or Marlow wondering if I’ve seen the society page?” Chuckling through the sarcasm, he adds, “They’re family.”

  I grin, but it’s half-hearted as my gaze falls to the floorboard and my confession rolls off the tip of my tongue, “I stayed for the same reasons, but is it enough when the rest of your world is falling apart?”

  The light turns green, but Rad stops to look my way. “What’s going on, Tealey?”

  I suck in a breath, my heart thumping, and try to steady myself. Admitting it out loud to my friends—to Rad—makes it more real. I’m leaving. Them. My life. This city.

  I’m not ready, but with only a few days left until I need to be out of my apartment, I’d need a miracle to keep me here.

  “If we’re telling truths, I should have told you and the others already.” I close my eyes briefly. “My apartment building sold. The new owners are demolishing it and replacing it with ten stories of modern condos. It’s already been approved by the city.”

  “You’re moving.” His tone is somber without an ounce of surprise. “How soon?”

  “By the end of the week.”

  I hadn’t noticed his watch until a fluorescent sign gleamed off the large face. The man’s all money. Always has been, but not in the flashy kind of way . . . other than that watch. Oh, and this car. His office and awards. And we can’t forget his donations. “Doesn’t sound legal. Owners must give proper notice. Less than two weeks is unreasonable, especially in New York. I’d like to look over your rental agreement.”

  I stare at the red light ahead as the car comes to a stop. “I was given two months’ notice. I’ve been looking for a new place, but I can’t afford anything in this market. The prices have gone up so much that even a studio in the cruddiest neighborhood isn’t affordable on my salary.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “I also can’t afford to live here, so I’m doing what I have to. That means leaving.”

  He grips the steering wheel tighter, and his jaw ticks. Finally, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve kind of become a habit.”

  “Yeah, a regular fixture like a lamp.”

  He whips his head my way. “What? No. Not like a lamp. Not like that at all.” My face flushes when he looks away again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Everyone has so much going on in their lives. Cammie and Cade are planning their wedding. Jackson got a promotion. Marlow . . . well, Marlow is Marlow. And you’re always so busy. I didn’t want to burden you guys with my problems.”

  “You’re the least burdensome person I know. You can always talk to me.” He looks at me, and we exchange a grin.

  “Trust me, it wasn’t my first choice, but I don’t have any other options, Rad. It’s move back to Austin or sleep in a box outside the bakery. And while I have an unhealthy addiction to chocolate croissants, I think I’d prefer a bed and roof.”

  A storm creeps over his features as he pilots us in and out of a line of traffic.

  “I’ll miss you guys,” I say. “I’ll miss teasing you about your awards, our weekly dinners with the gang, and the seasons actually changing, unlike in Texas.” Fidgeting with the strap of my bag, I continue, “Cammie’s wedding drama and Marlow’s life drama.” I laugh, hoping it blocks the lump settling in my throat. “But we’ll figure it out. Right?”

  He doesn’t say anything and just concentrates on the road.

  Anxiety begins to bubble in my stomach as the realization that this is one of the last times I’ll see Rad and one of the last days of life as I know it. “I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to talk myself out of panicking. “I just worry about my clients. I hope someone takes their cases that loves them like I do and—Rad!”

  I slam forward against my seat belt as the car stops on a dime.

  Rad twists in his seat to face me. “Move in with me.” The on-the-fly offer feels too spontaneous in the moment, but when he starts driving again, he leaves it out there to linger between us.

  “What are you talking about, Rad?”

  He doesn’t pause to second-guess his decision. Instead, he says, “I have an extra room for when my mom comes into the city. She only stays overnight a few times a year.”

  My head spins as I try to absorb what he’s saying.

  Move in wi
th him? With Rad?

  There are so many things to say, to ask, to think about, but all I can focus on is logistics. “Where will she stay if I’m there?” I ask.

  “She can sleep in my room, and I’ll take the couch. It’s not an issue. I work a lot of late nights—”

  “Too many.”

  “You work a lot, sometimes on the weekend. We’d hardly see each other.”

  “Are you being for real right now? This isn’t a joke, right?”

  He chuckles. “It’s not a joke. It’s a real offer.”

  His sincerity is overwhelming. He means it.

  I force a swallow.

  “If you’re being serious . . .” I swallow again. “If I did this, it would be temporary, obviously. I would look every day for something affordable and would move out as soon as I can.”

  “There would be no rush.”

  Not what I was expecting.

  I look out the window. Could this work out? Could I live with Rad? The mere thought gives me chills . . . and hope. “It could be fun, right?” I ask, our eyes meeting when he stops at the corner of his street. That gleam that shone on his watch reaches his eyes even though no signs are reflected this time. Earnestness softens that pesky, and sexy, line between his brows.

  The architecture changes in this part of the city, mingling old with new so seamlessly. Potted trees with fairy lights anchor the entrances to prewar buildings with doormen in uniforms under each awning ready to perform.

  I can imagine what the rest of our friends will say when—if—Rad tells them he offered to let me stay with him. They’d go berserk if I turn him down and throw out a million reasons for why this is a perfect solution. They’ll beg me to stay. Especially Marlow.

  We probably won’t see each other much with his schedule and social calendar and my late nights and emergency weekend appointments.

  It could work.

  Maybe.

  I’m suddenly realizing that I don’t want to be responsible for breaking up the group. Those five people have my back. It’s only a temporary solution, but one that keeps me near these people I care about so much.

  I study him, searching his eyes for a truth he can’t hide. To my relief, I can’t find a lie. “Are you sure?”