Page 14 of One Billion Reasons

I look down at my phone. September 12. We have just over three months to find a new place, or Mal will be back with her strict parents, and I’ll be…I’m not entirely sure where I’ll be. Maybe I should take the money. But the thought of caving to Miles’s demands makes my whole body rebel. He’s a user. A user who only cares about money and prestige.

Can I ask Liam to help? I immediately dismiss the idea. He’s helped me out here and there over the years, like the time I got stuck in a bad situation in Cabo and he got my friends and me a hotel. But I know it costs him dearly every time. His life is just as fragile as mine is. What I wouldn’t give to have parents who could help. I immediately feel guilty and a little ill for even thinking that. The accident wasn’t their fault.

That sick feeling pushes the words out of my mouth. “I’ll go to the wedding.”

Mal’s eyes widen at my change of heart. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with. We have a few more showings this week. If we don’t find anything, well…we can talk about it.”

* * *

When Dante wrote The Divine Comedy, he must have been talking about apartment hunting in New York City. Each apartment we’ve looked at has been more dilapidated than the last, and this one, which is already fifty-five minutes from Manhattan, is surely the ninth circle of hell.

Mal squeaks and plasters herself to my side. “I just saw a rat,” she hisses. I’ve seen two, but I don’t mention it. The broker is making a valiant effort to display the property to its best advantage, but there’s not much he can do. It’s $750 more than our current place per month, and the landlord is number twenty-seven on the list of worst landlords in New York. We cut the visit short and trek home.

I start prepping dinner ingredients when we arrive, needing something to do with my hands that isn’t looking at listings or checking my email for clients that aren’t booking shoots. Mal and I take turns cooking, and she’s by far the more talented chef, but I’m making my mom’s meatballs tonight. Mal and I both need a little comfort.

She pulls out a bottle of wine we’ve been saving. A gift from Liam for my birthday last year. She raises a brow, and I nod.

“Open it.” We both need the liquid courage. Me, for the call I’m about to make, and Mal because she has a huge opening at a gallery this week and she needs to prep.

“Just one or two glasses,” she says. “I can’t be hungover for tomorrow.”

“Your big break.” I flash her a smile.

“Gosh, I hope. Even though Damian will be there this week.” She narrows her eyes as she pours. Damian is her nemesis. He got famous right after we graduated, and he’s been the darling of the art world ever since.

“Remind me again why he’s showing alongside you?”

“He’s the big name.” She settles herself on one of the stools we keep at the breakfast bar. Which should be called the everything bar because we don’t have a dining table. “I’m just the add-on. I never could have gotten this show on my own. He must have recommended me.”

“Not so bad now, is he?”

“Oh, no, he’s still the worst.” She takes a healthy swig of her wine, and I grin.

“Yeah, but I bet he’s still hot.” I wink, and she groans. Damian Harris is six foot two, with a shaved head, light brown eyes that look gold in the right light, and a skull earring. He could have been a model.

“What are we going to do, Lane?”

I look over at my roommate, and her face is pinched.

“I’m going to the wedding,” I say shortly.

Mal grimaces. “You really don’t have to.”

“I really do,” I say gently. “What are our other options?”

“I’ll pick up more shifts at the bar, you can see if the coffee shop needs you again. Maybe we can do some babysitting or art classes —”

“No. Mal. It’s fifty grand. Think about it. Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. We could get a place anywhere. And with that money, I could buy some new equipment, hire a second shooter for those big weddings, double my prices. I’m doing it.”

Mal has stood by me for years, ever since I was a freshman in college and she was a sophomore, when I was still reeling with grief and unsure of my place in the world. I would do anything for her.

“I was making light of it before,” she murmurs. “But now, I feel like you’re selling yourself.”

“I know. It feels that way to me too.” I hate that Miles has put me in this position, even as I’m grateful for the lifeline.

“Be careful with him, Lane.” Mal’s lovely eyes are shadowed. “You two have always had a weird fascination with each other. I don’t want things to get messy for you.”

“What’s he going to do?” I toss back the rest of my wine. “Eat me alive?” I give a humorless laugh. “Miles Becker hates me. He’ll spend the week avoiding me. It will be the easiest fifty grand I’ve ever made.”

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