Her moodiness didn’t deter Blake. He followed her, grasped her chin, and forced her to look at him. “Do you know many branches of Legends there are in the world today?” he demanded. “Twelve. Austin, L.A., Chicago, New Orleans, Seattle, Houston, Dallas, London, Boston, Dublin, Barcelona, and Madrid. Fourteen, if you include New York and Miami. And I plan on opening many, many more.”
“Congrats.” Farrah tried to tear herself from Blake’s grip, to no avail.
His fingers burned into her skin, and the intensity of his gaze scorched her soul. “Do you know how many I had five years ago? Zero. I would still have zero if it weren’t for the girl who told me to fuck the haters and go for my dreams. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am today if it hadn’t been for her. She made me into who I am, and I owe her everything.”
Farrah’s pulse careened out of control. An unseen thread stretched between them and tugged at her heartstrings every time he looked at her the way he was looking at her now, like she was the sun to his earth. She was sure Blake could feel her shivers travel across that thread and into his body because he was trembling too, his eyes as dark as the night sky that hung above them.
“I don’t remember using the term ‘fuck the haters,’” she rasped.
Blake’s teeth flashed white in the darkness before he turned serious again. “Maybe not in those exact words, but the sentiment was there. You can do anything. Believe that.”
The sincerity in his voice sent her pulse from careening to crashing straight over the cliff toward a place she never thought she’d go again.
“I know you’re scared. I was, too. I still am. Sometimes I wake up, thinking I don’t know jack shit about what I’m doing, and terrified everything will crash around me. That feeling never goes away. But it’s the ones who push past the fear that succeed.” Blake released her and spun her around to face the city again. He rested his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. “Remember the last time we stood on top of the world?” he whispered. “Macau. Courtney’s birthday. We went bungee-jumpin
g, and you were so scared you tried to back out multiple times. I thought the bungee operator was going to kill us.”
Farrah’s soft laugh mingled with the night air. “I remember. You gave a motivational speech worthy of Tony Robbins.”
“Please. I’m better than Tony Robbins,” Blake scoffed. “The point is, you faced one of your biggest fears and punched it in its ugly face. You can do that again. Whatever your fear is, or however far you fall—you’ll survive. And I’ll be there to catch you.”
Farrah’s breath whooshed out of her. Manhattan lay sprawled at her feet, a glittering, tangled web of lofty dreams and promises. Some broken, some fulfilled, all searching for a sense of purpose in the unforgiving concrete jungle. Nothing except a pane of glass separated her from a thousand-foot tumble over the edge.
Despite the glass and Blake’s secure grip around her waist, Farrah was terrified—because she was already falling. And no matter what Blake said, she wasn’t sure she’d survive if she hit the ground.
Blake flew to Miami the next afternoon, leaving Farrah alone with her thoughts.
Her inner voices were like weeds—expected, fine in moderation, but if there were too many, they’d choke and paralyze her.
Olivia was on another date, and instead of stewing in the silence, dwelling on her dwindling career prospects, and agonizing over her feelings for Blake, Farrah called her mom.
“Follow up with the studios again if they haven’t replied to you by Friday.” Cheryl Lau’s voice crackled over the phone. “Some people are so lazy they probably haven’t gotten to your resume yet. You’re a NIDA competition winner. You graduated top of your class from CCU. They should be beating down your door.”
“I know, I know.” Farrah painted a fresh coat of red polish on her big toe. She’d rather not spend money on professional pedicures until she secured steady employment. Or you could start your own design studio, one of her stray inner voices whispered. Farrah squashed it. “Where are you?”
She could barely hear her mom over the sound of waves and people chattering in Cantonese in the background.
“I’m in San Diego for the association’s annual retreat.” Cheryl sniffed. “So much drama. The membership chair’s wife filed for divorce right before the trip, and he drank so much yesterday he passed out on the beach. So stupid. He’s lucky he didn’t get mugged.”
“Wow. You’re living on the wild side,” Farrah teased.
“Hmph. I should’ve stayed home. All people do here is gossip, gossip, gossip.”
“You say that every year, yet you go on the retreat every year.”
Her mom had a love-hate relationship with the local Chinese dance association she’d joined right after Farrah graduated high school. As in, she loved to say she hated it, but Farrah knew it was all for show. The association provided a much-needed source of entertainment and company for Cheryl, who’d lived alone since Farrah moved to New York three years ago.
Guilt prickled the back of Farrah’s neck. She should call and visit more often. Even though her mom had a robust social life, Farrah worried she was lonely. Cheryl hadn’t dated anyone since her divorce, and she was only in her fifties. Still plenty of time for a second chance at love.
“Well, I come for the food and dancing.” Cheryl yelled at someone in the background, “Be quiet, I’m talking to my daughter!”
Farrah laughed. “It’s okay. Enjoy your trip. I can call you later.”
“No, it’s fine.” Cheryl hesitated. “You’re coming home for Christmas, right?”
“Of course. I always come home for the holidays.”
“Good, good.”