The Arrangement

ANGELA

I threw my phone across the bed. It was 7 a.m., and I’d spent my first night in the penthouse. After the incident with Xavier in the kitchen, I hadn’t left my bedroom again. I’d changed into pajamas, and after I had no more tears left to cry, I’d sunk into my new mattress and held my eyes shut until sleep came.

I thought that falling asleep so early last night would have let me wake up refreshed, optimistic about the day ahead, but, instead, I had woken up feeling just as alone. The mirrors around the room weren’t helping, either; they just reminded me that I was the only one here.

I’d tried calling Lucas. Usually, a quick chat with him could cheer me up on any day. His jokes always had a way of reminding me not to take myself too seriously. But even he didn’t want to talk this morning.

I sat up, seeing my face reflected in an oval-shaped mirror on the wall across from me. I looked as rough as I felt. I’d put my long hair in a bun before I fell asleep, and now it wasn’t just messy, it had mostly fallen out of the hair tie. So I had hair sticking out in all directions, skin that needed to be moisturized, and lips that needed some lip balm, and stat.

But I knew cleaning myself up wouldn’t really make me feel better, so I decided to do something about my mood first. I jumped out of bed, threw on some old leggings and a sweatshirt, tied my hair into a ponytail, laced my feet into some sneakers, and stepped out the door.

Luckily I didn’t cross paths with anyone as I hurried into the elevator. I didn’t think I could deal with hostility this early in the day. I pressed “L” for Lobby and marveled at how fast the elevator was, speeding down the thirty-five floors and dropping me off at the ground floor within ten seconds. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to this.

I walked through the lobby, pushing my earbuds into my ears. There were a couple other residents milling about, some seated on the lavish furniture and others talking to each other by the door to the mailroom.

They all looked put-together and wealthy, as though, even in their casual morning clothes, they were still better than everyone else. I still had my eyes on them when I was almost at the door, and I bumped right into Pete the doorman.

“Oof,” I let out, and he hurried to steady me.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Knight?” he asked, concern plastered across his face. I saw the residents turn to see what the scuffle was, and I felt heat rush to my face.

“I’m okay. I’m fine,” I said quickly, pushing the door open myself. “I’m sorry,” I said, giving him one quick glance before jogging outside. Now I really needed the air.

The cool fall breeze hit my face immediately, and it helped to take me out of my own mind. I took a right and then waited for the light to change, hopping up and down in place to keep my heart rate up. When it turned green, I sprinted across the street and headed into Central Park.

As I made my way through groups of tourists, families, and people who just wanted to see a little nature first thing in the morning, I couldn’t help but smile. Everyone was out here together, enjoying life and doing their best, and for some reason I couldn’t quite explain, I was accosted with a feeling of hope. If they could be out here trying, doing their best, then I could do it, too.

That feeling of hope was what motivated me to run faster than I had in months, using the laughing children and grunting soccer players in the grass beside me as spectators I was trying to impress.

By the time I stopped to take a breather, I had run just over five miles. Not bad, I thought, figuratively patting myself on the shoulder. I walked for a while to cool down, letting the endorphin high rush through my body, and then I crossed the street and popped into the quaint-looking coffee shop on the corner.

I didn’t see anyone working behind the counter when I first walked in, so I looked around, confused. That was when I spotted the man sitting on a small bench beside the counter, nearly hidden from where I was standing. He was reading the New York Times, and he clearly hadn’t heard anyone come into the shop.

Either that, or he just didn’t care to get up and help a customer. But I was in such a good mood from my run, I didn’t even mind. So I walked over to the barista and, standing right in front of him, started talking.

“Hi!” I said cheerily, and he looked up at me. He looked to be around my age, with warm eyes and an easy smile that came fast.

“That was quite a hello,” he said. “You must be in a good mood.”

“I guess I am. Now, anyway…,” I said.

“Now?” he asked, standing up and heading behind the counter. But not before I could see the page of the newspaper he’d been reading: Page Six.

“These past couple days have been a rollercoaster. But I just, I don’t know, ran it out?” I surmised, half for my benefit and half for his.

“Ah, one of those weeks, huh? Well, what can I get you?”

I looked around the coffee shop, only realizing now that it was completely empty. A nearly empty coffee shop? That never happened in New York City. Then my eyes reached the coffee menu, on the chalkboard leaning against the wall on the counter. I scanned it.

“I’ll have the peppermint latte,” I said.

“Interesting choice,” the barista responded, starting to work on the espresso. “You jog in the neighborhood?”

“Through the park, yeah,” I said. “I just moved around here, actually.”

“Oh, cool,” he said, steaming the milk. “Whereabouts?”

“Right by the park.”

“Which street?”

I’d been trying to avoid saying it, knowing how pretentious the street name would sound. Especially to a barista. But I didn’t want to be rude, either.

“Central Park South,” I all but whispered. He eyed me, not giving much away. I felt like I had to justify myself somehow. “My husband…he actually already lived in the building. So I’m just moving in with him.”

“You just get married, or something?”

I nodded. “Just a few days ago, actually.”

“Well, congratulations,” he said, smiling at me. But then, suddenly, something clicked in the barista’s eyes, and he looked right at me again. “I know who you are,” he said, pouring the milk over the espresso. “You’re Xavier Knight’s new wife.”

I looked at the floor, overwhelmed with the urge to grab my coffee and go. But I hadn’t paid yet.

“Right?” he pressed.

“Yes,” I said.

“I knew it! I recognized you from The Times announcement. And your wedding photos are everywhere. Duh, of course it’s you.”

He handed me my cup, leaning forward onto the counter and really sizing me up. “So, why the rollercoaster of a week, then?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. How much do I owe you?”

“A real response,” he said, but then he smiled. “It’s on the house. You’re a first-time customer.”

“You don’t have to do that…”

“Seriously,” he said, putting a hand up. “It’s nice to meet you. Take the drink. I’m Dustin. Dustin Stirling.” And he held out his hand. I shook it.

“Angela…Knight.”

“Hi, Angela. Okay. So, back to you. You don’t have to tell me anything, because I’m clearly a stranger, but whatever your mood swing was about, just know that you have it pretty good. You’re married to the richest, coolest man in the city. Seriously. Every girl wants to bone him, and every guy wants to be him. Or bone him. You feel me?”

“No, I…I know,” I stuttered, not used to his no-filter way of talking. “I’m really happy. To be married. Really.”

He kept his eyes on me, and I hoped I wasn’t giving anything away.

“Anyway, thank you for the latte. It’s delicious. And it was nice to meet you,” I said, turning for the door.

“Hey, I’m here, like, always,” he said to my retreating figure. “You ever want a friend, or another ridiculously good peppermint latte, come on over.”

“Okay,” I said, offering one last wave before I walked back outside onto the street where no one knew my secrets. I checked my phone to see if I had any missed calls from Lucas, but all I saw was a black screen. My phone had died, probably while I was jogging. Great.

I was in the elevator, daydreaming about the warm shower I was about to take, when the doors opened and snapped me out of it. And there, sitting on the cream-colored armchair in the living room, was Brad.

“Ah, there she is! Come, come, darling,” he said, standing to greet me.

I walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek, seeing my seething husband on the couch across from him. Xavier didn’t stand.

“I didn’t know you were coming, I would’ve been here,” I said.

“Nonsense, I didn’t want to disrupt your day. Anything fun planned?”

“I was just jogging.” My gaze went to Xavier. He was shooting daggers at me and looking a little worse for wear.

“Do you have anything fun planned, Xavier?” I asked him, trying to show Brad that the newlyweds were civil, at least.

“I go to work on weekdays,” he said, patronizing me. “I’m actually running late, Dad.”

“Right, right, of course,” Brad said, standing up again. “Well, I just wanted to drop in and see how the lovebirds were doing. It looks great in here, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I said, and Xavier just nodded.

Brad came to kiss me on the cheek again, and then shook his son’s hand.

“I’m happy you’re here, Angela,” he said before he got to the elevator. “You’re a part of the family now.”

“Me too,” I choked out. “Thank you.” And then he was gone.

I thought I’d be in the clear to take a shower, but Xavier’s voice stopped me.

“Where the hell were you?”

I braced myself for another fight. “I just went out for a jog.”

He walked right up to me, glaring. “You look like shit.”

What was I supposed to say to that? “I was going to go take a shower…”

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in,” Xavier said. “You look like shit. ~And if you get seen in public looking like shit, then that makes ~me~ ~look like shit.”

“It…” I choked up. “It won’t happen again.”

“It better fucking not. At least comb your hair after you let your secret boyfriend rail you.”

“What?” I asked. “I’d never do that.”

“Sure you won’t,” Xavier mocked. “All you gold diggers are the same.”

“I just went out for a run! That’s it!”

“So you didn’t meet some guy while you were out there?”

“No! I didn’t…” Well, I met the barista. But that’s not what Xavier was talking about.

“Whatever. I don’t care. Fuck whoever you want. Just don’t get caught doing it. You’re a Knight now. You’re expected to be perfect, got it?”

Standing there, a sweaty mess after my run, being yelled at by my so-called husband, I felt anything but perfect. But I nodded anyway.

“Good. Now I’ve got a company to run. Behave yourself while I’m gone.” He walked towards the elevator. “And you better be out of here before I get back!” He yelled. I was confused until I saw a woman I’d never seen before peeking her head out of his bedroom, her hair a disheveled mess.

That was more than I could handle. I stormed away towards the bathroom, angry tears blurring my vision. I slammed into a vase, causing it to fall and shatter on the floor.

“Ah, crap…” I muttered, staring down at the pieces. I just stared down at the broken porcelain, too numb to move. I needed to clean that up before someone got hurt. But I just couldn’t make myself move.

“I’ll clean.”

I looked behind me to find Lucille standing there with a broom and dustpan.

“No, it’s okay. I’m the one that broke it.”

She just shook her head and gently pushed me aside so she could clean. She nodded at the bathroom, stern. Lucille was looking after me in her own way. I smiled gratefully. Looks like I made an ally in the penthouse.

All it took was another horrible fight with my husband.

I sighed as I turned on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. How much more of this could I take?