“Like those do any good,” Jane says. “This Roger guy left a rabbit’s foot on her bed because he used to call her ‘Bunny,’ and he stole a few things, and the roommate just wants her out. It’s a sublet, and the roommate’s like, you have to be out of here.”
“Lola needs something secure,” Tinley says.
“Like doorman-secure,” Jane says, “but that can be expensive. And she feels like she needs to disclose it to potential sublets, so not a lot of interest.”
“You’d think Wulfric could help her,” Hesh says. “If nothing else, he’s gotta know he’ll never find another Lola.”
“She doesn’t want Wulfric to know,” Jane says. “She’s very private about all this. This stuff is cone of silence, obviously.”
Everybody looks at me here.
“Don’t worry, cone of silence,” I say. “Though I think there’s someone looking for a subletter in my building. I don’t know if it’s immediate, but I could ask. And we have a doorman and cameras and the whole thing, so the boyfriend might not be such an issue.”
“You have a doorman?” Hesh is surprised. “A human one?”
“Yeah. He’s awesome.” I grab my phone and shoot Kelsey a message.
“Posh,” Hesh says. “That is some posh shit right there.”
“I know! And rent’s not even that bad. Somebody’s billionaire boyfriend bought it and did upgrades. You should see the lobby and the rooftop deck.”
“Sweet,” Hesh says. “We have a cyber doorman that does facial recognition. So apparently, I can never grow a beard.”
ChapterForty-Six
Hugo
I’m lyingon Stella’s bed in her little bedroom in her West 49th Street sublet share, looking at the collection of photographs on the walls—a still fromBlade Runner, a shot of mountains. A Dali print. A pair of photos of farm workers in the 1930s. “So I’m guessing your décor theme might be called, ‘I hate décor themes—I’ll put up whatever I want.’”
“Oh, is that what you think?” She tugs playfully at my T-shirt. “So little faith.”
“Yes, it is what I think.”
She snorts. “Sorry, Mr. Quant and boss seer of patterns. There’s a theme, and it’s awesome.”
“Oh yeah?” I shift to get a better look. It’s a Saturday, not that it matters. I spent the day at the whiteboards, pondering until I couldn’t see straight, and now I’m here. I shouldn’t be here, but there it is.
“It’s all about the lighting. There’s a story in the lighting of all of these. I love looking at them and being inspired.” She goes on to explain the lighting story in every piece of art.
“I love that,” I say. “You look at it like a serious artist.”
She gets on top of me and kisses me. “I’m not a serious artist, Hugo. I’m a marketing filmmaker.”
“You have an artist’s eye for light.” I slide my hands over her hips. “And a passion for it.”
Another kiss. “Fine.”
“You entertain people. That is an art. You have this intuitive sense of what will engage people.”
“I have an intuitive sense about what will engage you right now.”
“Don’t act like it’s not true, Stella. You have a sense of people. With your family? You alone could get them out of their books and whiteboards. You said the other day that you were the black sheep, but you know that’s not true, right? You were the North Star. You were the one fun person in a very unfun family.”
“Uhh, not so sure the Woodwards would agree with you there.” She says it lightly, but there’s nothing light about this bullshit she absorbed from her family.
I tuck a chunk of hair behind her ear. “I was so obsessed with pretending I didn’t see you that I missed some really important things about what was going on in that house, like with Charlie being pretty unfair to you. But I didn’t miss everything. I know they didn’t know what to do without you.”
“Excuse me? What they would do without me was follow their passion, unbothered by my antics.”