Nine years later.
“Mimi!”
I groan when I hear my older sister’s voice shrieking my name from somewhere in the house. I bury my face under my pillow and sigh, drifting off to sleep again until my bedroom door swings open, and Ayla stands in the doorway. “Mimi!” She shouts and stomps into my bedroom.
“What.” I sigh, my voice muffled from under the pillow. I whine when she yanks the duvet from over me, grabs my leg, and starts to pull me out of the confines of my warm, comfortable bed.
“Ayla! I’m not done sleeping.” I complain, fisting the bedsheet and swinging my unrestricted leg in an attempt to free my other leg clamped between my sister's hands, but I fail miserably when the bedsheet peels off, and I’m sliding off the bed. I give the sheet a nasty look as I fall off the bed with a thud.
“Must I wake you up like this every damn morning?” Ayla complains, placing her hands on her hips and glaring down at me.
“You tell me? Must you?” I glower back while I clamber up to my feet. “I have this thing…what’s it called? Oh, that’s it, an alarm!” I grumble rubbing my sore behind, and she hits me with a pillow over the head.
I glare at her.
“Which you sleep through. What are you going to do when I move out?” I close my eyes and stretch with an audible groan.
“Throw a party.” I tease with a toothy grin, and she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me, evidently not as amused as I was. “Ayla, stop being such a brat. I can take care of myself. I mean, I am twenty-five years old after all.”
Ayla rolls her eyes while she looks at herself in the full-length mirror in my room, tugging down her burgundy pencil skirt and smoothing out the white, sleeveless button-down blouse she was wearing. I’ve been looking for that skirt for three days straight. She’s forever stealing my things.
“Wouldn’t kill you to act like it now and again, Mimi.” She mutters, picking up my red lip gloss and applying a coat over her lips. I sigh and stroll over to my walk-in closet to pick out an outfit for the day.
“Wouldn’t kill you to enjoy living a little either, Ayla. God, stop taking yourself so seriously. You’re so uptight.” I grumble, pulling out a beige Dior midi dress.
“I am not uptight.” She retorts, spinning to look at me.
“She says in an uptight manner.” I throw over my shoulder and run into my en-suite bathroom when she comes running at me. I grin, amused, and rather chuffed with myself for filling my daily quota of annoying my big sister. We love each other dearly, but we couldn’t be more different. Ayla’s the quiet, responsible sister, and I’m the complete opposite. The social butterfly, the go-getter like my father, while Ayla is more reserved and timid like mother dearest. That’s why I’m the Vice President of the family business that my father started with Uncle Grayson almost eighteen years ago, around a year after we met the King’s.
Ahh, the Kings... The thought of Dev still stings to this day. Devin King—my childhood best friend, my first everything—left me devastated when he took off without a word nine years ago. I’ll never forget that day. I had a sleepover at my aunt’s, and when I got back home, I found out that Devin and his family had left to go live in Singapore. He didn’t even tell me that they were planning on moving away. I had to find out from my parents.
Eleven years of friendship, many firsts and I didn’t even deserve a goodbye, especially after what happened between us two days before he left. Devin-fucking-King left me with a void so deep in my heart that, no matter how hard I’ve tried, just doesn’t seem to vanish—but I’ve learned to live with it, and as long as he stays out of sight, he’s…well, I wouldn’t say he’s out of mind, but it’s certainly easier to deal with.
Onwards and upwards, I have too much work to deal with at the office today to dwell on the likes of him, and despite the moderately heavy drinking with the girls and Wy last night, I’m in a good mood.
After my shower, I get ready and bounce out of my bedroom checking my phone as I walk down the stairs. I live with my sister and my very openly gay BFF Wyatt. Ayla is moving into her own apartment at the end of the month, I will miss her, but she’s like a mother hen, constantly clucking around and stealing my clothes and make-up. I live in a beautiful three-bedroom house in Chelsea. My family is well off after my father’s publishing company with Uncle Grayson took off. Selling over eight hundred million digital copies annually. Evans & King publishing has become a well-respected publishing company worldwide.
I love my job as a Vice President. Dealing with people. Ayla is the head of H.R, which I find horrendously tedious, but she loves it.
I see a message from a guy I met at the bar last night and smile, texting him back before I jump into my silver BMW M8 and wait for Ayla to get in the passenger side.
“We’re going to be late for this meeting that dad has arranged.” Ayla huffs, pulling her seatbelt on and fixing her freshly coloured auburn hair.
“I’ll get us there,” I reassure her, grinning, and she shoots me a worried glance, her thinly shaped brows rising.
“No speeding, Mimi!” I roll my eyes and slide my ray bans on and pull out of the garage.
“Jesus, you’re such a killjoy. You do have your own car. You can drive it, you know?”
Ayla smiles, reaches over and squeezes my cheek. “I know, but I love riding with my baby sister. Besides we work together, it doesn’t make sense to take two cars. It’s also good for the environment. Statistically—”
I slap her hand away from my face and rub my cheek. “No!” I grumble irritably, “Don’t start with your green earth stuff Ayla, I will kill you.” I warn her, and she sinks back in her seat and sighs rather dramatically.
“Fine, if you want to be a part of the problem and not the solution...” I groan and tune her out when she rambles on and on about the benefits of driving electric cars. I throw it in her face every time her car runs out of charge, and I have to drive my car to pick her arse up.
She also turned Vegan three years ago and tried her best to convert me too, but I couldn’t commit. She caught me stuffing my face with a Big Mac and almost had a meltdown. The way she screamed my name damn near had me choking to death. I smirk at that memory. I support her no matter what she decides to do but love to tease her about it. Her passion for the planet and animals is actually quite endearing, and I adore that about her.
I pick up my phone, play our song, and turn the radio up while giving her a dewy-eyed look. Ayla grins and shakes her head when Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake it off’ thunders through the speakers while we drive, singing and dancing along to the song.