Unbothered, Zack looks up with a smile. “Have a seat.”

  He kicks the chair out next to him, but I see the flash of disappointment on his face when he takes me in. My baggy overalls, tank top, and Converse aren’t exactly Zack’s style. In contrast, his hair is styled perfectly, his glasses spotless, his button-up shirt tucked in, and though the rest of him is beneath the table, I know he’s wearing slacks and dress shoes. The quintessential businessman to my creative artist. For siblings, we couldn’t be more different.

  “Let me order first.” I hold out my hand for his card, which he hands over wordlessly. My brother is nothing if not predictable, and an agreeable Zack doesn’t bode well.

  I spin and head to the counter. “Hey, Lydia. How’re you?”

  Lydia is here most weeks when I come, and we’ve gotten to be friendly, which mostly means she talks and I listen. Lately, she’s been telling me about the guy in her economics class she’s crushing on. After hearing the tea, I order one of my own. “Chai tea latte and a Greek salad, please.” I swipe Zack’s card, but as Lydia hands me the receipt, she gasps.

  “Who’s that?”

  Without looking, I answer, “My brother.”

  “No, I recognized him. I mean . . . him.” She purses her lips, indicating the table behind me, and I glance back.

  “What the—” I gasp, spinning back around so he doesn’t see me staring.

  Him is my brother’s best friend and business partner, Carter Harrington, who’s sitting at the table with Zack. Carter looks like a model in an Armani photo shoot wearing a black suit, blue shirt, and dark blue power tie. Even from here, his blue eyes pop, his tan looks island-vacation fresh, and his jaw is sharp and square.

  “Don’t get excited,” I warn Lydia. “Carter’s the devil in disguise.” When she leans forward eagerly, I know it’s my turn to return the gossip. “He’s my brother’s best friend, richer than God, handsome and knows it, bossy because he assumes he knows best, and an all-around annoyance. And he’s not supposed to be here.”

  Lydia raises one brow as she leans around me to peer at Carter and Zack. “Well, I for one don’t mind that he showed up uninvited. Especially when your negatives are rich, handsome, and bossy.” She ticks the traits off on her fingers, adding, “Girl, that’s what I’m looking for in a man. I can teach him everything else he needs to know.”

  She forgot annoying, but I don’t argue the point. It doesn’t matter when her eyes are more glazed than a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. Returning to the table, I throw out a hand to indicate Carter and speak only to Zack. “Is this why you’re bribing me with dinner and books?”

  “I can hear you, ya know?” Carter responds. Out of the corner of my eye—because I’m not giving Carter Harrington a moment of my full-eyed attention—I can see that he’s grinning in amusement at my irritation. He probably gets off on it, I think wryly.

  I don’t react, keeping hard eyes on Zack. He’s the one who owes me an answer. “Sit down. Please. And yes, this is what I want to talk to you about. I mean, he is.”

  Slowly, I lower to the chair with a ‘nope’ already on the tip of my tongue for whatever Zack wants.

  “Thank you,” Zack says with a placating nod. “I’ve called you both here tonight to discuss an opportunity,” he starts, sounding like a salesman on late night television. Although, if he starts trying to sell me some ever-sharp knives, I might be buying, because I might have an immediate use for them. “Luna, I found a potential client for Carter, but he needs help. That’s where you come in.”

  “I’m not interested.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to become small and invisible. But I shoot a look of distaste at Carter despite the fact that he’s barely spoken. His mere presence annoys me. Actually, his existence on the planet.

  “I’ll pay you,” Carter offers.

  Nostrils flaring, I stare at him. As if I want his fucking money.

  Zack holds his palms up to slow my impending implosion. Yeah, I implode, not explode like most people. I hate it, but it’s how I’m built. “Not like that. He means he’ll pay you to tutor him.” I flick my eyes to Zack, silently questioning his sanity. “About art.”

  Wait. What?

  “What?” I echo my own thought.

  “Carter is approaching a potential client who is particularly art savvy, a topic he has admittedly minimal knowledge on. Luckily, I know someone who knows more about art than virtually anyone in the world.” He smiles charmingly. “You,” he clarifies as if I didn’t know he was talking about me.

  A laugh pops out before I can stop it. “Me? Help Carter?” Unconvinced, I wait for the punchline or a camera crew to pop out and say ‘gotcha!’ When neither is forthcoming, I realize Zack is serious. “No thanks. Like I said, not interested. Lydia,” I call out, “can you make my order to go?”

  Lydia, who’s apparently been watching the whole show of Zack’s big reveal, drops surprised eyes to Zack and then to Carter. “Uh, sure.”

  Carter leans back in his chair, completely unaffected by my denial. His eyes sparkle and his white teeth flash as he baits me. “Am I so repulsive that you won’t even hear me out?”

  I’m quiet, my brain spitting piss and fire that my mouth would never say, even though I’ve been waiting for a chance to tell Carter what I think of him. Except this time, the words pour out in all their flat and dull honesty. “Physically, no. And you know it, which is part of the problem. Emotionally, I’m pretty sure you have the maturity of an eighteen-year-old boy on a Spring Break weekend, so despite your business success, I have no interest in helping you scam someone into signing their life and funds away to you.”

  Whew! Guess I’ve been holding on to more than I thought about my brother’s best friend.

  There’s a flash in Carter’s eyes, but I must’ve imagined it because he doesn’t have the emotional depth to feel hurt. Especially based on an insult from someone like me.

  “Luna! That’s not what he does and not what we’re asking you to do!” Zack hisses.

  Carter holds up a hand, and to my chagrin, Zack leans back and gives him the floor. “I’m hearing that you think I’m attractive and successful, but immature and immoral.” I’m actually surprised he could hear the negatives through the fog of his inflated ego. When I stay silent, he continues, “Give me the chance to prove you wrong. Please. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise you that.”

  With that solemn vow, he stands, gives Zack a nod, and struts out of the café. I definitely don’t notice that his long legs eat up the ground toward the bookstore door. But Lydia must because she yells, “Come back anytime! Especially Mondays and Thursdays for the dinner shift!”

  I glare at her, and she shrugs. “He’s cuter than Economics Alex, and definitely richer. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “She’s got a point.” Zack’s agreement only adds to my annoyance. “I don’t know why you’ve never liked Carter. He’s a good guy.”

  I press my lips together, fighting the urge to argue with him. Zack depends on Carter to fund their real estate business, so he’s loyal. But when you get into bed with the devil, you’re going to get burned. No matter how many times I’ve warned Zack, he doesn’t see it.

  “Agree to disagree.”

  Zack sighs heavily. “Look, I’m asking as a personal favor, plus I’ll buy you all the books you could ever want, and Carter really will pay you. All he needs are a couple of tutoring sessions on art so he can approach this potential client. I know you don’t care, but he needs a win.”

  My brother cannot be serious right now. But he seems to be. “Carter’s whole life is one big Powerball lottery prize.”

  “I’m surprised at you,” Zack says with a judgmental frown. “You know better than anyone that money isn’t everything and doesn’t make you happy. Like you, you might struggle sometimes, but you stay strong on doing what you love because it’s what makes you happy. I’ve always admired that.”

  That was actually . . . sweet, which is not something I’m used to hearing from my brother.

  “For people like Carter and me, closing a solid deal is what makes us happy.”

  There go any warm fuzzies I might’ve been developing. That’s part of the problem I have with Carter. He’s turned Zack into whoever this is sitting across from me.

  “Do it for me, Moony,” he asks sweetly. “Please?”

  Ugh. He pulled out the nickname only he has ever been allowed to use because he’s the one who gave it to me. Apparently, I went through a bit of a nudist phase as a toddler and liked to run around the house naked. That, coupled with my name, earned me the nickname ‘Full Moon’, which was shortened to Moony over time. And using that means he’s pulling out the big guns.

  I roll my eyes dramatically. “Fine, but no promises. I can’t possibly make him an expert in a “couple” of tutoring sessions. Tell him to meet me at my place tomorrow at eight P.M. sharp. I’m only doing this for you, and I already regret it.”

  “It’ll be fine. He just needs to be conversational. And thank you.”

  Zack stands, probably trying to make a run for it before I change my mind, but I clear my throat. “Unless you’re leaving your card with me, we have some shopping to do before you go.”

  He laughs and throws a twenty on the table for Lydia. Considering he only got a cup of coffee and she packed my salad and latte to-go, that’s generous. I hate to admit it, because I do live frugally to be able to chase my passions, but money is a necessity and Lydia will be grateful for the tip on a slow Monday night.

  But my Mama didn’t raise a fool, and I’m still getting the new books Zack promised me. “Come on, the art history section is back here.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  CARTER

  I look up and down the hall as I wait for Luna to answer her door. The building isn’t what I expected for Zack’s little sister. He owns several rental properties, a couple of Airbnbs, a commercial strip mall that’s fully occupied, and his own home. Yet, his sister is living one step above a dorm. It’s clean, but bland and basic.

  The door opens, and I forget all about the boring building. She’s . . . a vision.

  “What’re you doing here? Our session isn’t till eight.”

  Her hair is piled on top of her head, her black-rimmed glasses are slid down her nose, her pink sweatpants are slung around her hips, and her cropped gray T-shirt has fallen off her shoulder to reveal the straps of a white sports bra. For some reason, there’s also a black smudge on her right cheek.

  And it’s cute as fuck.

  “Huh?” I ask in confusion. She makes it sound like I’m interrupting something in her busy schedule. There’s only one issue with that. “It’s two minutes after.”

  “What?” Her brows scrunch together in confusion as she looks over her shoulder. She must see a clock somewhere because she shrugs carelessly. “Oh. I was doing yoga, and then I got caught up with work, I guess. Come in.”

  Inside, I’m greeted with a tiny studio filled with a hodge-podge of furniture that reminds me of a post-college dumpster diving collection. Not that I ever did that. My college experience was one of private apartments decorated by the designer my mother hired, and since then, my homes have been the same.

  But where my homes have abstract, forgettable art to fill the walls, Luna’s apartment is filled with canvases in a myriad of styles. From here, I can see every wall of the small space, each of them covered floor to ceiling with colorful pops of eye candy. There’s so much to look at that I can’t even absorb it all at once. “Interesting place.”

  “Interesting,” Luna says, though I’m not sure whether she’s echoing me or making her own comment on my judgment. She walks past me into the single room. “Have a seat.”

  She gestures to the small couch that’s covered in a patchwork quilt and takes the chair for herself, curling up cross-legged in it. Behind her glasses, her gaze is hard and accusatory, but I don’t know why.

  “Thank you again for doing this. It’ll really help me out,” I try, hoping to garner some favor.

  “Zack told me to name my price, so . . . so it’s five hundred dollars an hour.”

  I cough, choking on my own saliva. “Five hundred an hour?” Finding my voice again, I snipe, “I wasn’t expecting you to be a gold digger.”

  Her cheeks flush immediately. “I’m not, but I’m also not stupid, and Zack has beaten negotiating tactics into my head since I was a kid. You need me more than I need you,” she explains, but she shifts in her seat, telling me that she’s not as confident as she’s trying to appear. “I could just as easily work tonight. Plus, you can afford it.”

  “You’re taking advantage of me because I’m wealthy?” Despite whatever Zack has taught her, Luna has always seemed like more of an intellect than a financial whiz, so I’m surprised she’s going straight for my wallet.

  “No. I’m charging an extra handling fee because I have to handle being around you.” As soon as the words leave her lips, she slaps her hands over her mouth. From behind her spread fingers, she tells me, “Sorry, that was rude. I shouldn’t have said it aloud.”

  Unperturbed, I laugh at her reaction. “Am I that annoying?”

  She shrugs, her eyes dropping to her lap where she’s wringing her fingers.

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  “No.” Her answer is quick, and a total lie. “Agree to the price and we can get started.”

  I stall as long as I can, but she’s got me dead to rights. I want the Cartwright deal, which means I need to learn something useful about art, and Luna’s my only and best option. “Deal.”

  A high-pitched squeal erupts from Luna as she kicks her feet wildly, fluttering them in the air. I think it surprises us both, but she composes herself quickly and says, “That’ll help with my publishing costs.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but if it makes her willing to help me, it works for me.

  Hopping up, she grabs a stack of notecards from the mess of a countertop that seems to serve as a makeshift desk. When she sits back down, I can see that they’re some sort of study guides. That she took the time to make them tells me that while she might not want to do this, she is taking it seriously. It’s a good sign.

  “Are those for me?” I ask, pointing at the cards.

  She hugs them tightly to her chest as though I’ve suggested taking her kidneys out and leaving her in the bathtub to bleed out alone. “No, these are mine from college. Art 101.”

  I hold up both hands to show that I have zero intention of snatching the cards from her grasp.

  “Okay, first let’s see where you’re at knowledge-wise. Tell me three painters you know,” she says, sounding like a teacher.

  And like a fool, my brain completely blanks. I’m not overly informed about art, but I have the same general education about it that most folks do. “Uhm . . . Michelangelo?”

  “And?”

  Luna already looks disappointed in me. The frown on her full lips only deepens when I go silent, my eyes rolling back as if I can find additional names in my brain. “I know this. Like, the Mona Lisa. It was made by . . .”

  “Painted by, not ‘made’. Machines are made, cakes are baked, paintings are painted,” she corrects, holding up a finger.

  “Right, the Mona Lisa was painted by Da Vinci!” I’m ridiculously excited to remember something so basic.

  “That’s two, and good job on knowing both the artist and the art. One more?” she prompts with a smile.

  “I’m not a toddler,” I snap. “I don’t need pity praise.” I don’t say it, but it sounds like something my mother would do with us kids when we were little. No matter how good or bad we were at something, in our mother’s eyes, we deserved a head pat of congratulations. I’m sure she meant it to be encouraging, and when I was younger, perhaps it was, but somewhere along the way, I realized that doing my best wasn’t much different from barely squeaking by in her eyes. Fastidiously, I adjust my watch and the cuffs of my shirt until they’re perfect, consciously avoiding explaining my reaction to Luna’s simple words.

  She studies me with interest. “I wouldn’t have thought a guy like you ever got nervous.”

  With my hackles already up, that hits harder than it normally would, digging in deep. Pressing my lips into a flat line, I question, “A guy like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I didn’t mean—” She stops herself. “Well, maybe I did. But you’re just all . . .” She waves her hands in my direction. “Hot shot, big wig, thirst trap. It’s kinda nice to see that you’re not perfect.” Her head drops a bit, her eyes falling back to her lap where the notecards rest.

  “Definitely not perfect,” I reply, using my time to correct her. “Obviously, given that I need art tutoring and can’t think of three painters when put on the spot.”

  Self-deprecation isn’t my style, but I’m being truthful. I hope Luna can respect that at least.

  She looks up, meeting my eyes, and I can see her thoughts whirling behind hers. I’m not sure how we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, but we have. I resort to my usual charm and say teasingly, “And don’t think I missed you calling me a thirst trap.”

  “Of course that’s all he heard,” she whispers to herself. Louder, she asks, “Can we get back to these?” She holds up the flashcards, and I nod, thankful for a truce.

  I still feel like there’s some unspoken issue between us, but she’s helping me and that’s all I need. I don’t need Zack’s little sister to like me or for us to become besties. We have nothing in common, she’s ridiculously young, and Zack would kill me anyway.

  But an hour later, I’m honestly impressed with Luna. Her knowledge of art is expansive and her passion for it is beyond obvious. She speaks of brushstrokes the way most people talk about their children—fondly, in depth, and emotionally.