Fake Empire: Chapter 15

“Morning.” I smile at Leah and Andrea as I step off the elevator.

“Mor—morning,” Leah stutters, then looks to Andrea. “Did you, um, did you not get my message?”

“About the delay with the delivery?” I glance down at my phone to respond to a text from my mother. She’s still been badgering me about dinner. “I saw it. I requested they send everything straight to the park. We should still be on schedule.”

“Okay. Great.” When I look up, Andrea and Leah are exchanging surprised looks.

I hide a smile. They’re both probably wondering why I’m in such a good mood. “I just have to grab a few things from my office and then I’ll head over there. Everything else is on schedule, right?”

Andrea nods. “I’ll see you both at one.”

I head into my office. The samples I was supposed to look through last night are hanging from a portable rack. Leaving by eight every night has cut into my productivity. I’m more happy about that than I ever imagined being.

I didn’t realize how unbalanced my life was until Crew straightened the scales. My drive to make Haute—and now rouge—successful bled into everything else. Dedicating every thought and decision to that goal is the reason the photoshoot today in Central Park will feature the hottest designers, most talented photographers, and most coveted models. It’s a point of pride—the pinnacle of my identity outside of being Crew Kensington’s wife. But it’s not a title I feel the urge to separate myself from as much as I used to. Crew is someone I’m proud to be attached to.

As I flip through each sample, I type up my comments and send them to the design team. I read through the article submissions for the next issue. Photos for the cover get flagged based on preference. And then I leave for the shoot.

Central Park is more crowded than I’m expecting. I rarely am out and about in the city during daylight hours—at least on a weekday. Joggers and families fill the winding paths that I weave through on my quest toward the carousel, where the shoot is set to take place.

Set-up has only just begun when I arrive. The area is being cordoned off as props and cameras are strategically placed. I confirm there are no issues and then take a seat on a nearby bench.

A few emails have already piled up. I answer them all, and then let my finger hover over Crew’s name. He’s probably busy.

Things are good between us right now—really good—and I’m scared to trust it. Just because things feel stable doesn’t mean they’ll stay this way. I saw how quickly his favor can shift during the debacle with Nathaniel.

Sexual attraction isn’t an enigma to me. It’s everything else: the way we’re both home by eight, the fact we sleep in the same bed, the two percent milk in the fridge. They symbolize things I thought we’d never be.

I’ve accepted it, embraced it even. But that’s different from relying on it. Perpetuating it. If it disappears, it will be that much harder to revert back to what our relationship used to look like.

I shut my phone off and focus on my surroundings. The lighting team is still getting set up by the carousel, so I people watch instead. Few people bother to glance over at the scene taking place off the path. Most are joggers or walkers. Frazzled moms or babysitters promising ice cream to screaming kids. One woman passes me with six dogs pulling her along. She stops at the bench next to mine and proceeds to tie them up to the metal armrest one by one. She manages to secure five. The sixth is a puppy with floppy ears, large paws, and fluffy golden fur. It can’t stop getting tangled up in its leash.

The woman lets out an exasperated huff. “Goldie! Hold still!”

“I can hold him for you.” The words are out without any conscious decision on my part. I’m a typical New Yorker. With the exception of my stints at boarding school, I’ve lived on the Upper East Side my whole life. I don’t stop and talk to strangers; I stride past them like I’m chasing the gold in a speed-walking competition.

A grateful smile erases any chance of taking the words back. “Really? That would be great. Thank you!” The woman, who looks to be in her late twenties, takes a couple of steps closer and hands the green leash to me. The puppy immediately turns its attention to me, alternating between licking my leg and sniffing my shoes.

The woman redoes her sloppy ponytail and bends down to tie her sneaker. “I was worried they’d pull me over.” She knots the wayward laces and then checks the other shoe. “I’m only supposed to walk three at a time, but the other volunteer called in sick this morning…so here I am.”

“You’re not a dog walker?”

“No. Well.” She stands and smiles. “I guess I sort of am. I volunteer at the Loving Paws Rescue. Dog walking is like less than five percent of the job. It’s mostly feeding and brushing and poop scooping and, well, you get the picture.”

I look down at the dog that’s stopped licking and settled by my feet. His little tail wags as he rests his head on a tiny paw. “These are all rescues?”

“Yep. Our landlord has a strict no-pet policy, and my roommates would kill me if we got kicked out of our shoebox.” She rolls her eyes. “So I volunteer and get to spend time with animals that could use some TLC. Most of it’s great. Some of it sucks.” She studies the dog attached to the leash I’m holding. “This guy is headed to a kill shelter in the morning.”

“What? Why?”

“Space. Only so much money and lots more hungry mouths to feed, you know?”

“They’ll kill him?” I look down at the face that looks like it’s smiling. Lolling tongue. Wagging tail.

“Goldie will have a few weeks there. But if no one adopts him…then yeah.”

“That’s so sad. He looks so happy.”

The woman’s face falls. “I know. At least he won’t know it’s coming. Not much to worry about when you’re a dog.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

I’ve never had a pet in my life. When I was younger, I asked for a kitten. An animal that claws furniture and uses the bathroom indoors was my mother’s worst nightmare—or so she claimed. I can only imagine asking for a dog would have gone over far worse.

“Thanks for holding him.” The woman smiles and takes Goldie’s leash back from me. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

I watch her walk away, tugged forward by the dogs as they strain and bark. Then shake my head and look back at my phone.

But the furry face stays with me throughout the shoot. As I’m looking through photos and selecting accessories. Consulting photographers and deciding on angles. By the time the shoot ends, it’s close to five p.m.

For some reason, I Google Loving Paws Animal Rescue as I walk toward my waiting car. It’s close, only a few blocks away. I figured it must be, since the woman was walking. Taking six dogs on a miles long trip doesn’t sound realistic.

I climb into the back of the town car. “Back home?” my driver today, Eric, asks.

For a few seconds, I deliberate. Leaving work at a reasonable hour is one thing. A living, breathing animal is another. But something possesses me to reply with the animal shelter’s address. Traffic is heavy. It takes fifteen minutes to make the short trip. The exterior of the building is nondescript. If not for the small, white sign, I wouldn’t have known I’m in the right place.

A bell rings above the door as I walk inside, past the five folding chairs and a display of pamphlets on rabies and neutering. The woman behind the counter isn’t the one I met this morning.

She looks up, her brow creasing. “Can I help you?”

I stride up to the desk and clear my throat. “I’m here to adopt a dog. Goldie?”

“We close in ten minutes.”

“He’s getting sent to a kill shelter tomorrow. I’ll pay extra. Whatever it takes.”

The woman studies me as she scoops her brown hair up in a ponytail and ties it. She’s wearing a t-shirt that reads I Brake For Squirrels. I take that as a promising sign she’s not in favor of the whole kill shelter concept. A brown clipboard gets unearthed from the papers littering the desk. “Fill this out.”

I exhale, relieved. “Okay.”

The form is basic. I fill out all the sections, leaving the one on former pets blank. I hand the clipboard back, watching as the woman scans it over. “There’s a two hundred dollar adoption fee,” she informs me.

“You take donations?”

“Yes.”

I pull my checkbook out of my handbag and write a check before handing it to her. The woman’s eyebrows fly upward as she reads the amount. “Lucky dog.” Her cheeks flush, making me think she didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Can I take him tonight?”

“Yeah. Let me grab him.”

She disappears into the back, leaving me alone in the small lobby. I panic a little, looking at all the pamphlets. I know absolutely nothing about dogs. Barking sounds from behind the door. The woman reappears, holding Goldie. She sets him down, and he bounds over to me, tail wagging.

I scoop him up, letting him lick my face. That seems to pass muster, because the woman’s expression is softer when she hands me a folder. “Here are all the papers. His medical history. Vaccination schedule. Training tips. Veterinarian suggestions. Any questions, just call here. He’s already had dinner. Feeding amounts and times are in there as well.”

I take the folder from her. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Congratulations. He’s a sweetheart. I was dreading the pickup tomorrow.”

I look down at the puppy snuggled in my arms. “Thanks.”

“I read Haute.”

When I look up, she’s smiling sheepishly.

“Before and after you bought it. It’s really impressive what you’ve done with it.”

I smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Then I turn and head back outside. Eric steps out to open the door. His eyes widen as he takes in the dog, but he doesn’t comment. Just asks where the next stop is.

Goldie thoroughly explores the backseat as we drive back to the penthouse. I look through the folder, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of information. I don’t even know if Crew likes dogs. He could be allergic, for all I know.

When the elevator doors open to the penthouse, I can hear his voice coming from the kitchen. I set Goldie on the fluffy living room rug and walk down the hall.

Crew is standing at the kitchen counter, studying some papers and talking on the phone. His eyes light up when he sees me. I smile at him before I walk over to the fridge and pour myself a glass of water. On second thought, I fill a glass bowl with water too.

“Yes,” Crew says. “Send the expense reports when you can, and I’ll take a look later.” There’s a pause. “All right. Bye.”

He sighs, and then I hear him move. He drops his chin on my shoulder and kisses my neck. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Embarrassingly, my voice comes out breathy and high.

“How was the shoot?”

“Good.” His question distracts me from the feeling of his lips against my skin. I pull away. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh, really?” He raises one brow.

“Yeah. Follow me.” I start toward the living room, then remember the water. I spin back around to grab the bowl. Crew eyes it but doesn’t say anything as we walk down the hallway.

We enter the living room. The empty living room.

“Shit. Where did he go?”

“Where did who go?”

“I, uh.” I set down the bowl of water and look at him. “I sort of got a dog today?”

Crew looks shocked. “You what?”

“I was at the shoot—in the park—and there was this woman with all these dogs. And there was this one. He’s super sweet and really mellow, and they were going to kill him, Crew. So, I—I went there after the shoot and I adopted him.” I pause, assessing his expression. “Are you mad?”

“I, ah, where is it?”

Nothing is out of place, and no dog is in sight from my position in the living room. “I don’t know. I left him on the rug.”

“And you thought he would just stay in one spot? It’s not a stuffed animal, Scarlett. It’s a real one.”

“I know that,” I snap. “You’re getting awfully judgmental about a dog you’ve never even met.”

He smiles. “Okay. I’ll look upstairs. You take downstairs.”

I sigh. “Fine. He’s tiny. Like a golden fluff ball.”

“I know what a dog looks like.”

Rolling my eyes is very tempting, but I refrain. “And his name is Goldie.”

“Goldie?”

“What’s wrong with Goldie?”

“We’re changing his name,” Crew says.

“Let’s find him first, okay?”

Crew doesn’t reply before he heads for the stairs. I smile when I hear him call “Goldie” upstairs.

I look under the couch and behind the armchair in the corner of the living room. The kitchen doesn’t have any hiding spots. I head into the study next, crawling on my hands and knees to look under all the furniture in there. I’m walking toward the dining room when I hear “I found him!”

When I reach the top of the stairs, Crew is sitting on the runner that traverses the length of the hallway. Goldie is between his legs. His little paws peddle through the air as Crew scratches his belly.

Once I’m a couple of feet away, I sink down to my knees.

“He’s cute,” Crew comments.

“I know.”

“You wanted a dog?”

“A cat, when I was younger. My mom said no. I don’t know anyone with a dog. Anything about dogs.” I wrinkle my nose. “It was stupid. Impulsive. I wasn’t really thinking.”

And it’s Crew’s fault. Lately, I’ve changed. I leave work at a reasonable hour. Worry less. Smile more. Make the spontaneous decision to adopt a puppy. They’re healthy changes. Changes I wouldn’t have made on my own. Reconciling who you are with who you were is uncomfortable. Especially when you’re not certain it’s a permanent change.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” he tells me.

“You have?” Surprise saturates the question.

Crew scratches Goldie’s chin. The puppy stretches. “Yeah.”

“They gave me a whole packet of stuff. He needs food and training and vaccinations.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To a pet store, Red. To get all the shit he needs.”

“Like what?”

“Like a bed and a crate and toys and a collar and a leash and food?”

Yeah. Definitely didn’t think any of this through. “Oh.”

“We don’t have any of that, right?”

I appreciate the we. “No.”

Crew stands and holds out a hand to pull me upright. “Let’s go shopping then.”

“You were trying to work earlier. I can just…”

He leans down and scoops up the dog. “You coming?”

Without waiting for an answer, he heads for the stairs, carrying Goldie.

An hour later, we stand side by side, staring at the wall covered with dog toys.

“Wow.”

“Should we get him one of each?” Crew jokes. There are dolphins and condiments and emojis. Dinosaurs and beer bottles.

Our dog will be spoiled. There’s no other logical conclusion, looking at the overflowing cart. It took us fifteen minutes to decide on the right brand of puppy kibble. We spent another ten minutes in the treat aisle. Choosing a crate was quick because we got the biggest one. Ditto with the bed, because there was only one that fit the largest crate. And now we’re stuck in the toy aisle with way too many options.

“Who would buy their dog an eggplant emoji?”

Crew smirks. Grabs the purple plush toy and tosses it in the cart.

I laugh. “We’re not getting that.”

“I’ll give it to him when you get home from work.”

I fight it, but I’m smiling when Crew’s phone rings. He tugs it out of his pocket. “Asher.” He doesn’t answer it.

“Work?”

“Nah. He probably wants to go to a bar.”

“You can…if you want to. Not that you need my permission.” With one sentence, I spread the insecurities I’ve tried to bury. In the two months since we got married, Crew hasn’t gone to a club. He works, and he spends time with me. I’m waiting for it not to be enough.

“I don’t want to.” He grabs a bear and an orange rope. “Good?”

“Sure.”

We move to the next aisle. Crew looks through the harnesses as I pick out a blue collar and matching leash. In line for the checkout, his phone rings again. This time, he answers. “Hey.”

I pet Goldie and pretend I’m not listening.

“No, I can’t.” A pause. “Asher…we’re too old for this shit.” He glances at me. “Okay. Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Crew hangs up the phone and sighs. “Asher needs a ride. He went to dinner with his folks. His dad, well, he makes mine look like a teddy bear sometimes.”

I look down at the dog resting his chin on my shoulder. “Teddy.”

“Huh?”

I nod toward the dog. “You said you wanted to rename him. What about Teddy?”

“I like it.”

“Good.”

“I can drop you guys off before I get Asher.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

We check out and load everything into the car. It takes me most of the drive to figure out how to put Teddy’s new car harness on. I snap the carabiner to my seatbelt right as Crew pulls up outside Pastiche.

“This place is nice,” I comment.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Once. With some friends.”

Asher appears.

“Ignore anything he says about us,” Crew advises.

I raise both eyebrows, but I don’t think he can see in the dark car. Asher walks my way, veering toward the backseat at the last minute, when he sees me sitting up front.

“Can’t go anywhere without the missus these days, Kensington?”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Asher laughs as he spreads out in the backseat. A bag crinkles. “What the hell?” A light shines. “Why is your backseat filled with…stuffed animals and bones?”

“We got a dog,” Crew replies, smoothly turning into traffic.

“A dog?”

“Yep.”

“Why?” Asher asks.

“Scarlett is a sucker for a cute face.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, Mr. I’ve Always Wanted A Dog Let’s Buy Out the Whole Pet Store.”

Crew chuckles.

We drive a few more blocks before Teddy wakes up and starts whining. “What do I do?” I ask Crew, as his cries grow louder.

“What did the shelter tell you?”

“Basically nothing. I haven’t read through the whole packet yet, and I left it at home. He already ate.”

“He probably needs a patch of grass,” Asher suggests in a bored tone.

I look at Crew. “Pull over.”

“Here?”

“You want him to go on me?”

Asher laughs as Crew mutters under his breath.

He pulls over in front of a tree surrounded by mulch. “This is the best I can do.”

I work at unclipping all the straps of the car harness I just slid into place.

“Can’t he pee in that?”

“It’s attached to the seatbelt, Sport.”

Asher laughs again. “I get why the press is obsessed with you two. You’re a real riot.”

Both Crew and I ignore him as we struggle with the harness. “This one had the best reviews,” Crew mutters.

“You looked up the reviews?”

Based on the illumination from the streetlights, he looks affronted.

“Of course I did.” Crew keeps fiddling with the harness, petting Teddy as he does. I give up on helping and watch him struggling to free our dog.

I think I love him. It’s a terrifying realization.

“There!”

“You realize we’re going to have to put it back on him, right? Don’t celebrate yet.”

Crew rolls his eyes before climbing out of the car with Teddy. He sets the dog down in the mulch, and he immediately squats.

“Didn’t see this coming when we went to that climbing gym.”

The sound of Asher’s voice startles me. “What do you mean?”

“I figured you two would end up divorced or not speaking. Crew likes things done a certain way—his way. I got the sense you were the same way. Basically, a recipe for disaster.”

“It’s only been a couple of months. Who knows how we’ll end up.”

“Anyone with eyes could make a good guess,” Asher replies.

Crew climbs back into the car before I have a chance to reply. He hands me Teddy, who wriggles and licks my face.

“He went.”

“I saw.” I give his soft head a rub. “Who’s the best boy?”

“You never say that to me, Red.”

“You’re housebroken.”

Asher makes a gagging sound.

Crew leans over to help me reattach the harness. “And you like it when I’m bad,” he whispers in my ear.

“If you’re done with the displays of affection, can we go?”

Crew sighs. “Your place?”

“Nah, drop me off at Proof. I need a drink.”

“You could have called a fucking Uber, man. I’m not a car service.”

“Right. You were so busy being a dog dad. I figured if I called you, we could go get a drink. You didn’t tell me you were bringing the wife, and I didn’t even know you had a puppy.”

Crew sighs, but I think he hears the same thing I do. Asher wanted to talk to him, not just a ride. I thought their relationship was more work colleagues than anything, but it seems like they’re genuinely friends. “Fine, I’ll drop you at Proof. You had better not be late for the Danbury meeting in the morning.”

“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll be in your office bright and early, feet on the desk.”

“Feet on the desk?” I ask.

“Crew hates it when people touch his desk,” Asher tells me.

“Oh.” I glance at Crew. He appears amused, not annoyed. I’ve touched his desk. Leaned against it. Sat at it.

A few minutes later, Crew stops in front of Proof. I look at the line of people standing outside, decked out in short dresses and expensive attire. Not too long ago, that might have been me. With the exception of waiting in line. I was always on the list.

“Thanks, man,” Asher says. “One of these days, I’ll actually tell him to fuck off.” He clears his throat. “Seriously, I owe you. Bye, Scarlett.”

“Bye, Asher.”

Asher climbs out of the car and disappears inside.

“You should go with him,” I tell Crew.

He looks surprised. “Why?”

“He obviously wanted to talk to you, and that’s why he called. About whoever he’s trying to tell to fuck off. You guys are friends, right?”

“Depends on the day.” Crew smiles, telling me he’s kidding. “Yeah, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for a while. His family is almost as messy as mine.”

“So, go. Seriously. I can handle all this.” I wave a hand at all the dog supplies we just bought.

“You lost the dog last time.”

“He has a leash now. Plus, he seems tired.” I glance down at Teddy, who’s methodically licking at his paw.

“Asher is a big boy. He has other friends he can call.”

“He called you,” I point out.

Crew considers that. Smiles a little. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to go to a club with Asher, of all people. Half the stupid shit I’ve done was his idea.”

“I trust you,” I whisper. It feels like the right thing to say and also happens to be true.

It captures Crew’s attention. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He looks at me and I look back. And something very tangible and very real passes between us before Crew unbuckles his seatbelt. “Text me when you’re home.”

I nod. He leans forward and kisses me before he opens the door and steps out of the car. I watch his confident strides eat up the distance between the curb and the entrance of Proof, only stopping to say something to the bouncer before he disappears inside.

I climb into the driver’s seat and drive home.