She’s looking down at her phone, her lips parted.
“What’s wrong? Mal?”
Her head jerks up, her eyes wide. “They’re tearing the building down.”
“What? This building?” In two steps, I’m by her side, looking over her shoulder.
She nods, reading. “We have to be out by the end of the year. Shit.” She meets my eyes, and her expression is bleak. Mal and I are responsible, but we’re still artists. This little apartment in Brooklyn is a lifeline for us. It’s $1000 a month under market, and that was three years ago when we rented it.
“It’s not even that old. What the hell?” I read the email over her shoulder. The eviction date is there in bold letters.
“We knew this was coming,” she responds.
My shoulders slump. Our building is probably being torn down to make way for a new development with apartments that will rent for twice as much, or more, than we pay now. It’s been happening all over the neighborhood, and each new building going up is like the doomsday clock ticking forward.
“I just hoped we’d have more time. I guess we’re lucky to have even to the end of the year. Shit.”
“Shit is right,” Mal agrees. “I looked at some listings with Brianna last month when she moved. It’s at least another $1000 to get a two-bedroom.”
Even with Mal’s parents’ assistance, even with her bartending and my coffee shop job, we can’t afford a $500 increase in rent, much less double. My heart speeds up. I can’t be unstable again. I can’t. Not when it’s taken me years of scraping to get this small slice of independence.
“We just have to start looking.” I blow out a breath. “I’ll pick up some coffee shop shifts in the meantime and try to do more family photoshoots. We’ll save, and we’ll find something else, even if it means moving further out.”
Mal squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll make it work. We have to.”
3
Miles
8 months later…
“As it turns out, being a raging asshole for several years straight and then breaking off your engagement to a society darling is bad for business.”
I raise my head to Jonah slapping today’s copy of the New York Star on my desk.
“I’ve already seen it. And you know I kept this a secret for months. I have no idea how the press found out.”
Jonah crosses his arms and looms over my desk. He’s one of my best friends and my business partner, and a royal dick when he wants to be.
“Then you know what this means. I already had a call from an investor this morning. That investment we were working on? They’re backing out.”
Shit. “Who cares about a broken engagement? Amanda and I weren’t in love. The breakup was mutual. And months old. She’s already getting married to someone else.”
“Don’t be dense.” Jonah snorts. “Her father is one of the most powerful men in New York. All he sees is his baby girl’s reputation in tatters, so he wants to take us down too. They said someone tipped them off that you don’t keep your word.” He looks murderous. “It’s what I’d do.”
“You’re shockingly vengeful.”
He gives me a sharp, humorless smile. “I know.”
I scrub a hand over my face. The same one that stares up at me from the front page of this gossip rag.
“Merciless Miles Breaks Society Darling’s Heart”
Merciless. It’s what they started to call me almost four years ago, after some underhanded tactics won us the building we’re sitting in now. There was no way in hell I was letting Mark Taylor get his hands on it. If he wants it, I try to win it. Simple as that.
“How did this become public?” Jonah finally settles onto the sofa in my office.
“Someone at the New York Star has a good source.” I gesture at the paper on my desk. “I certainly wasn’t planning to tell anyone. Amanda wasn’t either. We haven’t been together in months. And the marriage wasn’t real anyways.”