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39
THE WARMTH BY INCUBUS
CAT
Imake one last sweep of the penthouse before the chaos begins. The candles are lit, and the smell of pumpkin spice fills the air. Mariah Carey’sEmancipation of Mimialbum is playing, and I can’t help but shimmy a little to the music.
Sophie is the first to arrive. She steps out of the elevator decked out in a silver sequin dress that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. “Holy shit!” Her mouth drops open. “You said your family was rich, but this is just…fuck, Cat, I don’t have words. I’m literally speechless!” She shuffles closer, still scanning the open area. “Why would you stay at my house when you could stay here? Can I stay here? We should move in. It would be amazing. Have youseenthe elevator? I could live in there.” She points a thumb over her shoulder toward the stainless-steel doors. “It’s bigger than my old dorm room, and I did just fine there. And the security guards downstairs? Hot. Like not Daddy-level hot, but I wouldn’t kick any of them out of bed for eating crackers. I mean, shit, Cat. Look at how youlive!”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. “Are you done?”
She shakes her head, sashaying to the windows. She’s silent and oddly still for several heartbeats. Then she spins on me, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. “Cat, seriously, whatisthis place?”
I make my way and lift the champagne bottle from where it’s nestled in a bucket of ice. “It is pretty nice, huh?” I admit, pouring us each a glass of bubbly.
Sophie saunters over and takes the glass from my outstretched hand, then clinks it against mine. “To roommates?” she says, her eyes soft and sparkling with hope.
Sipping my champagne, I scan the room. “We can’t live here.” I laugh.
Sophie pouts and goes back to her perusal of the place. “But it’s so pretty.” She runs her fingers along the back of the leather couch. “And empty. It’s such a waste,” she whines.
My lips twist. “It’s fun to use, I know. But living here comes with strings I’m just not ready for.”
Sophie tilts her head and studies me. “Does your family know you’re here?”
My grandfather misses nothing, and he only works a few floors down. But he’s not like my grandmother.He’snot the one who’s always tried to control me.
The boys? Knowing Cash and how close he is with my grandfather, he probably does. But he hasn’t mentioned it. In fact, we haven’t spoken or even texted since that panic-inducing exchange on Monday.
We don’t talk every day, but I am not foolish enough to believe that was the end of the conversation. But for the time being, I’ll take the reprieve.
I shrug and take another sip of my champagne. “No idea.” I let out a breath and move to where Sophie’s inspecting a sculpture in its built-in alcove. “Okay, enough of the serious talk. Tonight we’re celebrating!”
Sophie and I presented the first few ideas for the Christmas list to Cynthia, and she loved them. She said she’d pass them off to the junior editors to get their feedback. In the meantime, I’ve come up with an idea for a Facebook account where we review products that people recommend and determine whether they work for real. I grab my phone and hold it up in front of us. “Smile, bitch,” I say just as we clink our glasses together and smile for a perfect picture. “I’ll post this later,” I promise.
At the telltale sound of the elevator, I suck in a breath to prepare myself for the next few hours. I came to a conclusion this week. I need to be honest about who I am. If I don’t accept that I’m a James and Jay is a Hanson, then I can’t expect others to accept it either.
Which starts with opening up about my connection to the James family. And even though Mia and I have been spending less time together, she is still one of my closest friends. Outside of our crash-and-burn relationship, we were inseparable for years. On my loneliest days, the days I would have done anything to have my mother back, Mia would sit with me in bed and watch movies. Or read. Or take my mind off my woes and force me to dance around our bedroom to No Doubt or scream our lungs out to Alanis Morissette.
She was my best friend, yet I’ve hidden this version of myself from her for years. That ends tonight.
If being with Jay has taught me anything, it’s that I shouldn’t shrink or hide who I am. Not a single part of me.
Needing a hit of his joy before the elevator dings, I shoot off a quick text with the link to a song.
Incubus, “I Miss You.”
It only takes a moment for him to reply.
Jay: Pitbull, “I know you want me.”
I laugh out loud and drop a Katy Perry song into the text chain just as the elevator opens and Mia walks into the penthouse with a tall brunette and shorter blonde by her side.
Katy Perry, “I kissed a girl.”
No more than five seconds later, the phone rings in my hand. I laugh as I pick it up. “Hello, Mr. Hanson. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Fucking knock it off, Kitten,” he growls.
