I knew Lori Black had battled with depression before, not through Chase but through an in-depth interview she’d given Vogue a few years back. She’d spoken candidly about her dark periods while promoting the nonprofit organization where she volunteered. Katie, Chase’s sister, was a marketing executive at Black & Co. and a shopaholic. That was less endearing and quirky than it sounded. Katie suffered from bad anxiety attacks. Her episodes included going on intense, out-of-control shopping sprees to bury whatever it was that made her nervous. Knee-jerk spending made her breathe slightly better, but she always hated herself afterward. It was like binge eating emotionally, only with designer clothes. That was how she’d gotten diagnosed, in fact. Six years ago, she’d gone into a spending frenzy after her boyfriend had broken up with her. She’d spent $250,000 in a little less than forty-eight hours, maxed out three credit cards, and been found by Chase buried under a literal mountain of shoeboxes and clothes in her walk-in closet, crying into a bottle of champagne.
Chase must’ve read my mind, because he pressed home, his eyes holding mine intensely. “Considering my mother’s track record, it wouldn’t be far fetched to assume she’s on a straight path to Depressionville. When I went to check on Katie, her door was blocked with Amazon packages. I needed a sacrificial lamb.”
“Chase.” My voice croaked. I had a feeling I was the poor animal about to get tossed into the smoker. His face was blank, his tone measured.
“I had to think on my feet. So I made an announcement of my own.”
He grabbed the can between us, taking another sip, his eyes on me. Quiet. My heart spun like a hamster on a wheel. The tips of my fingers tingled. Panic clogged my throat.
“I told them we were engaged.”
I didn’t answer.
Not at first, anyway.
I picked up the can of Diet Coke and threw it against the wall, watching it splash into an avant-garde painting of brown fizz. Who did something like that? Told his family he was engaged to his ex-girlfriend, whom he’d cheated on? And now he was here, not even half-apologetic and still a full-blown jerk, delivering the news offhandedly.
“You son of a . . .”
“It gets worse.” He raised a palm, his eyes cutting to my window seat, which was crowded with potted flowers in various colors and Daisy’s bed. “As it turned out, the engagement announcement was just what the doctor ordered. Family is a divine principle for the Blacks. It gave Mom something to be excited about and took away Dad’s thoughts from the big C. And so it appears that you and I are having an engagement party in the Hamptons this weekend.”
“An engagement party?” I echoed, blinking. I felt seasick. Like the ground beneath me swayed in the same rhythm as my pulse. Chase nodded curtly.
“Naturally, we both must be in attendance.”
“The only thing natural,” I said slowly, my head a jumbled mess, “is the fact that you’re still delusional. The answer to your unspoken request is no.”
“No?” he repeated. Another word he wasn’t used to.
“No,” I confirmed. “I will not accompany you to our fake engagement party.”
“Why?” he asked. He looked genuinely baffled. I realized Chase, despite his thirty-two years of existence, had very little experience with rejection. He was handsome, smart, so filthy rich he couldn’t spend all his money even if he dedicated his entire life to the cause, and of enviable Manhattan pedigree. On paper, he was too good to be true. In reality, he was so bad it hurt to breathe next to him.
“Because I’m not going to celebrate our fauxmance and deceive dozens of people. And because doing you favors is very low on my to-do list, somewhere under plucking my eyelashes individually with a pair of tweezers and picking a fight with a drunken Santa on the subway.” I was still holding the door open, but I was shaking. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ronan Black. About how it must’ve hit Katie and Lori. About Mom’s letter telling me to stay compassionate. Surely she hadn’t meant this.
“I’ll fire you,” he said simply, not missing a beat.
“I’ll sue you,” I retorted with the same nonchalance, feeling much more hysterical about his threat than I let on. I loved my job. Plus, he knew damn well I lived paycheck to paycheck and wouldn’t survive even the briefest unemployment.
No wonder his last name was Black. His heart certainly was.
“Is money tight, Miss Goldbloom?” He arched an eyebrow, his voice deadly.
“You know the answer.” I bared my teeth. A Manhattan apartment, no matter how small, cost a fortune.
“Perfect. Do me this solid, and I’ll reimburse you for your time and effort.” He turned from bad cop to good cop in a second.
“Blood money,” I said.
He shrugged, looking bored with my antics. “Blood? No. A few scratches, probably.”