Page 60 of Pretending I'm Yours

Scowling hard, I unsubscribe from the bag company before stabbing out a swift text to the man who left me high and dry—Inspection revealed major issues. Need time alone to think and do research. Talk later.

Then I switch my phone to Do Not Disturb and speed walk toward the subway.

Yes, I had planned on attending the inspection alone, but Anthony made such a big deal out of being there, of wanting to support me. It makes his complete lack of support—or so much as a follow-up text after he bailed—that much more hurtful.

Maybe his friend reallyisin the hospital and he’s busy being there for him, a soft, hopeful voice whispers in my head, but I know better.

Anthony was lying to me, and I have no idea why.

Maybe Sydney will have some idea, but I have five hours to kill before we meet up at the bar.

Five hours to figure out what to do about the building.

And about the man I’m crazy in love with.

Or maybe I’m just crazy. After all, gorgeous male prostitutes don’t live happily ever with small-town girls who bought them for the week. That isn’t real life. The fact that I convinced myself it might be, even for a day or two, is probably enough grounds to have me committed.

Right along with waiving that fucking inspection clause even though Iknewit was a serious risk.

I head down the subway steps, tapping my credit card on the sensor with shaking hands, my rosy dreams from this morning going up in smoke all around me.

chapter 18

MAYA

Five hours later—aftercrunching numbers at a coffee shop in Chelsea and a long, head-clearing walk uptown—I arrive at one of our friend groups’ favorite New York City hangouts.

Inside, Oscar Wilde looks like Christmas vomited over every available surface, but in a fun way. The Victorian-inspired bar is still decked to the nines for the holidays, with twinkling lights and evergreen swags draping over every gilded surface. A massive tree dominates one corner, oversized ornaments dangle from the ceiling, and even the famous peacock sculpture sports a tiny Santa hat.

As I step inside, taking a beat to let my eyes adjust to the gaudy explosion, Sydney waves from a velvet booth in the corner. “Maya, over here.”

Relief spreading through my chest at the sight of her friendly face, I hurry over, sliding in beside her. “Hey, you look gorgeous,” I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek. In a simple brown sweater dress and a glossy blow-out that makes her long, strawberry blonde hair shine, she’s the picture of composed elegance, as usual.

“And you look gorgeous…and stressed,” she says, concern filling her blue eyes. “I ordered you a Dirty Santa—gin, vermouth, olive brine.” She pushes the martini across the small table. “Seemed like you needed something serious.”

“You’re an angel.” I take a long sip, letting the chilled alcohol glide down my frazzled throat. Even mythroatis frazzled, and every inch of my nervous system is in meltdown mode.

Not only am I no closer to figuring this thing out, I’m also no closer to getting answers from Anthony. Aside from one quick text hours ago—I’m so sorry to hear that, Maya, but we’ll figure it out. I promise. It’ll be okay. Just meet me at the apartment at four, okay? We’ll work on it together.—he’s been missing in action.

And yes, that was a nice thing to text, but until I know why he was lying this morning, they’re just empty words.

Words I’m beginning to think I’ve been a fool to trust…

“Okay, give me the dirt,” Sydney says after I’ve taken several bracing sips of the strong drink. “Who hurt you and where do I find them? Because Iwillfind them, and I’ll make them sorry.”

“I hurt myself,” I confess. “I’ve been so stupid, Syd.”

Then, I spill it all—the secret plan to buy an apartment building and move to New York, the risky offer I made, the disastrous inspection results, and how the math is no longer mathing to make the deal work.

She winces at each revelation, assuring me I’m as screwed as I think I am. “So basically, I’m out thirty thousand dollars for nothing,” I say, fighting tears again. “If I back out now, I’ll lose my earnest money and the cost for the inspection. But if I go forward, there’s no way I can pay for the repairs, and there’s a good chance I’d end up in bankruptcy before it was all over.”

“You should have asked me for help, Maya,” Sydney says, her pale blue eyes pained for me. “Real estate is what I do. It’s whatmy father and his father did. It’s literally in my blood. I could have kept you from getting in this kind of trouble.”

“I know,” I say. “But I wanted to show everyone that I could do this on my own. That I wasn’t sweet, sheltered Maya who needs someone looking out for her all the time. But now…” I sigh. “Well, obviously, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not,” she says, setting down her martini glass with a sharp clink. “Stop that kind of talk right now. You are brilliant and ballsy. And you aren’t the first person to take this kind of risk. Most people who aren’t born with silver spoons in their mouths have to take chances to get a foothold in a competitive market.” She nods firmly. “But as a silver spoon jerk from way back, I’ve never had to worry about that. Which is why you should let me help you fix this.”

I shake my head. “No, Syd, that isn’t why I wanted to talk.”

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