It was impossible for an actual human being to have hair that red, eyes that fierce, and curves that lush. Supernatural hijinks were the only thing that made sense.
“Oh.” The bartender’s eyes widened. “Does that mean she’ll sleep with me?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“You’ll have to ask her.” I leaned closer like I was telling him a secret. “Here’s a tip. She loves when people compare her to Jessica Rabbit. Tell her how much you’ve always wanted to bang a real-life JR and you’re in. Bonus points if you call her JR. It’s her favorite nickname.”
He frowned. “Really?”
“Trust me.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth to hide my shit-eating grin. This was like taking candy from a baby. “I’ve known her for years. The comparison really gets her going.”
“Sweet.” The bartender’s skeptical expression cleared, replaced with a delighted smile. “Thanks, man.” He clapped me on the shoulder and poured me another shot. “On the house.”
It was a free open bar so all the drinks were technically on the house, but I didn’t point that out. Instead, I lifted my glass in thanks and grinned harder when I pictured Jules’s reaction to being called JR by the bartender.
She was so predictable. She might as well mark all the buttons I could push with giant, glowing X’s.
And yet…
How do you know I haven’t already?
My glass paused at my lips for a fraction of a second before I shook my head and welcomed the fiery burn of tequila down my throat.
Still, her words echoed in my mind and drove me crazy with their ambiguity.
Who could’ve betrayed Jules? She’d never had a big fallout with Ava, Bridget, or Stella, nor had she had a real boyfriend in the years I’ve known her. Our aversion to committed relationships was one of the few things we had in common.
Was it a high school boyfriend who broke her heart? A family member who fucked her over?
My eyes drifted to the dance floor again. Jules was still dancing with abandon to a remix of the latest pop hit. Ava said something to her, and she threw her head back, her throaty laugh carrying over the music.
Sparkling dress. Sparkling eyes. Looking for all the world like any beautiful, carefree girl with the world at her feet.
How do you know I haven’t already?
I wondered what secrets Jules was hiding beneath that party girl exterior.
And, more importantly, I wondered why I cared.
7
JULES
Ava’s birthday marked a reversal in fortune, because after several shitty weeks, everything ran smoothly again. A more superstitious person might have said too smoothly, but I never looked a gift horse in the mouth. I was going to milk every second of perfect weather, professor’s praises, and random good luck while they lasted.
Case in point: my apartment search, which might finally yield results thanks to Rhys.
The weekend after Ava’s party, I found myself in the lobby of The Mirage, the luxury apartment building Rhys’s friend owned. Rhys had secured a coveted showing for me and Stella, and I’d arrived early not only because I was paranoid about running late—D.C.’s metro was notoriously unreliable—but also because I needed a quiet spot to take my interview with the Legal Health Alliance Clinic (LHAC).
Although I’d received a job offer from Silver & Klein last summer, I couldn’t join as a practicing attorney until I passed the bar exam. Most firms allowed graduates to join before results were out, but not Silver & Klein.
I needed a short-term job to tide me over between graduation and the release of the results in October. The temporary research associate position at LHAC, a medical-legal partnership where doctors and lawyers worked together to provide care to underserved communities, was perfect.
“That’s all the questions I have today,” I said after Lisa, the clinic’s legal director, finished describing what a typical workday looked like. I sank deeper into the lobby’s velvet couch, glad no one else was around except for the receptionist. I didn’t want to be one of those people who took obnoxious business calls in public. Unfortunately, I had nowhere else to take the interview without risking missing the showing. “Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me.”
“Of course,” Lisa said, her voice warm. “I’ll be honest since you’re the last candidate we’re interviewing. You’re the best candidate I’ve spoken to. Great work experience, great grades, and I think you’ll fit in wonderfully with the rest of the staff.” She hesitated for two beats before adding, “I don’t usually do this right after an interview, but I’d like to extend an unofficial offer for you to join the clinic. I’m happy to send an official email later, and you can think it—”
“I accept!” My cheeks flushed at my eagerness, but fuck it. Getting the job would be a huge burden off my shoulders. I could stop the job search and focus on bar prep, which was going to take up all my free time.
Lisa laughed. “Great! Any chance you can start Monday? Eight a.m.?”
“Absolutely.” I’d stacked my classes so they were all on Tuesday and Thursday, and I had the rest of the week free.
“Perfect. I’ll send an email with details later. I look forward to working with you, Jules.”
“I look forward to working with you too.” I hung up with a grin. It was all I could do not to break out into a little dance in the middle of the lobby.
Whatever pixie dust had been sprinkled at Ava’s party, I needed a gallon of it ASAP. I’d never had such consistent good luck.
Then again, maybe the universe was reimbursing me for the way the bartender had hit on me after the party ended. He’d called me JR and told me how much he loved my resemblance to Jessica fucking Rabbit. I’d almost thrown my drink in his face.
I bet Josh had something to do with it. He probably fed the bartender some bullshit about how I liked being called JR.
What an asshole.
But no. I wouldn’t let thoughts of Josh ruin what had otherwise been an incredible week.
I took a deep breath and tried to return to my happy place when I heard the guy manning the front desk make a strangled noise.
I lifted my head in time to see Stella rush through the revolving doors.
“Sorry, I got held up at work and left as soon as I could,” she said breathlessly, oblivious to the way the receptionist was ogling her. Her legs were so long it only took her a few strides to reach me. “Am I late?”
“Nope. The leasing director hasn’t—”
I didn’t finish my sentence before a well-groomed woman in a sleek gray suit approached us, her expression as brisk as her stride.
“Ms. Ambrose, Ms. Alonso. I’m Pam, the Director of Leasing for The Mirage.”
“Nice to meet you, Pam,” I drawled, amused by how she spoke like she was the director of the NSA instead of an apartment building. That was a feature in D.C., not a bug. Everyone pretended they were more important than they actually were, which wasn’t surprising in a city where the first question someone asked after meeting you was always, What do you do?
It was a town of walking resumes and career climbers, and I wasn’t ashamed to say I was one of them. A good career meant good money, and good money meant security, shelter, and food on the table. If someone wanted to shame me for wanting those things, they could fuck right off.