Heart Tunes

THE TENANT

CHAPTER 2

SCARLETT

“He did not!” Marie gasps dramatically.

We’re currently in my apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Out of all the flats I own across New York, this one is probably one of my favorites. The building itself isn’t ridiculously luxurious but it’s beautiful in a simple way. Warm lighting. Large windows. Clean hallways. A tiny backyard where Mrs. Carson grows enough peppers to feed half of Brooklyn.

I purchased the property three years ago and renovated everything from scratch. Now it’s worth a ridiculous amount because it’s one of the nicest apartment buildings around this area. Not that I tell people that.

“I’m serious! He tried to hit me,” I repeat, leaning against the kitchen counter while Marie chops onions dramatically like she’s filming a cooking show.

“Well, I’m not shocked. I warned you." I groan loudly.

“This is not the time for you to pull an ‘I told you so’ on me. I’m emotionally scarred.”

“Oh my darling, I’m sorry,” she says immediately, placing a hand over her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Relax,” I laugh. “I’m joking.”

“Are you though?” she c***s a brow.

“Yes, Marie. He tried to hit me, not stab me.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“That’s not funny"she says

“It’s a little funny" I counter

“It absolutely is not" she returns sternly and I don't bother to argue.

I shrug casually even though thinking about Michael still leaves a weird feeling sitting heavily in my chest. Not fear exactly. Just discomfort. Michael has yelled on a few occasions. We’ve argued before but seeing him actually raise his hand was different. Marie notices my expression immediately. That’s the annoying thing about best friends. They know.

“Okay,” she says slowly, setting the knife down. “Maybe not the best time to say I told you so.”

“I’m fine,” I insist quickly.

“Scarlett.”

“I’m serious.”

She studies me for another second before sighing.

“Well, since you survived, tell me how you took him down with your incredible ninja skills.”

I burst into laughter instantly.

“There were no ninja skills involved.”

“Disappointing.”

“Very.”

“So what happened?”

“Someone stopped him" i respond.

Marie immediately squeals so loudly I nearly jump.

“Oh my God.”

“It’s not a big deal" I say, letting out a sigh.

“You stood there and let a man save you? Scarlett Beamount, this is huge.”

I narrow my eyes at her immediately.

“What makes you think it was a man?”

Marie blinks.

“Well.... was it a man?”she c***s an eyebrow.

"Yes” I admit lamely.

She bursts into laughter while I point accusingly at her.

“See? This is the problem with society. Men are portrayed as heroes all the time" I grumble.

Marie rolls her eyes.

“You can't blame me.Men are well.....men."

“That is such a sexist thing to say" I point out.

“And yet somehow accurate.”

I shake my head in disappointment.

“You’re actually terrible" I murmur. “It could’ve been a woman,” I insist stubbornly.

“A woman would’ve handled it better" she says after much consideration.

“Oh really?” I say with a smile.

“Yes. Women save people gracefully. Men save people and then start acting mysterious for absolutely no reason.You know I’m right" she argues.

"Sure" I reply.

“You sound bitter" Marie points the knife at me dramatically.

“I am bitter. Men are exhausting.”

“You dated one bad musician in college and never recovered.”

“He wore leather pants, Marie.”

“That’s fair" she says, holding back a laugh.

“Well, whoever he was, he just told me to be careful and walked into the bar.”

Marie gasps loudly. "You let a mysterious stranger walk away after saving your life?”

“It was not my life.” I leave out the fact that I know the "mysterious stranger".

“Close enough.”

“I’m being serious.”

“And I’m being dramatic.”

That makes me laugh. Marie Lawrence has been my best friend for so long that sometimes I forget we haven’t actually known each other forever.

We met during our second year at Columbia University. While I majored in Real Estate Development and Finance, Marie studied Marketing and Media Communications. She was there on a scholarship. I was there because generations of Beamounts attended Columbia and apparently family tradition matters more than personal choice. I hated the university at first but not because of the work. The work was easy. It was the pressure surrounding everything else. People always acted strangely around me once they realized who my family was. Some became overly nice. Others immediately decided I was spoiled and evil before even speaking to me. Marie was one of the few people who simply didn’t care.

The first thing she ever said to me was actually almost an insult.

“You look like you schedule your smiles in meetings” I stared at her for a full minute after that then laughed for the first time in weeks. And that was it. Slowly but surely, she became the person I called at two in the morning when life became too overwhelming and there was a lot to be overwhelmed about especially after Lucas disappeared. Even now, years later, thinking about it still feels strange.

One day my older brother was there, arguing with my father at dinner and pretending not to care about the family business. The next day he was gone. No explanation. No goodbye. Nothing. The media went insane over it for months.

Beamount heir disappears.

Possible family scandal.

Billionaire family crisis.

My parents pretended everything was normal while quietly falling apart behind closed doors. And eventually all the pressure Lucas escaped landed directly on me.

Sometimes I still resent him for leaving me behind to handle everything alone. Then I feel guilty for resenting him at all.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Marie says suddenly.

I blink.

“What?”

“You do this thing where your face goes blank when you’re spiraling internally.”

“I do not spiral.”

“You absolutely spiral.”

“I process elegantly.”

“That is the most billionaire thing you’ve ever said" she snorts.

I roll my eyes while she returns to chopping onions. The apartment falls into a comfortable silence afterward.

I glance around the room and everything is exactly where it should be. I spent months designing this place myself which is slightly embarrassing now that I think about it. I'm way too emotionally attached to my properties. Most people see buildings as investments, I see them as extensions of myself somehow. Every apartment I own feels personal and so I notice everything. A broken lightbulb, scratches on the elevator wall, noise complaints.

My father says emotional attachment makes people weak in business. Maybe he’s right because I genuinely feel offended when people disrespect my buildings which sounds completely insane now that I think about it.

“You’re staring at the wall again,” Marie says.

“I’m thinking.”

Honestly, I know I should probably relax more. Normal billionaires buy yachts or disappear to private islands. Meanwhile I’m emotionally attached to apartment buildings in Brooklyn.

“Anyway,” Marie says suddenly, “I need a favor.”

That gets my attention immediately. Marie rarely asks me for favors, partly because she’s stubbornly independent and partly because she knows most people only stay close to me for what they can gain. She's careful.

“Let’s have it" I coax.

“Can I have one of the apartments in this building?”

“Obviously. You can even take this one.”

She stares at me blankly.

Then looks away awkwardly.

“I don’t want it for myself,” she admits carefully. “I want someone else to stay here.”

Now that changes things. I sit up straighter immediately. This building matters to me more than it probably should. espite owning six flats here, only three are occupied.

One belongs to Mrs. Carson next door, retired nurse and full-time pepper farmer.

Another belongs to Riley, a former intern of mine. I reside in the third one which leaves three empty apartments and despite endless requests over the years, I’ve rejected every single one. Maintaining reputation matters especially in New York. One terrible tenant can ruin an entire building.

“Don’t say no yet,” Marie rushes out. “He’s connected to one of my clients.”

“Connected how?”

“He’s a friend.”

“That tells me absolutely nothing.”

She sighs dramatically.

“I’m supposed to help him find a place around this area, and I immediately....” she trails off.

I hesitate.

Marie notices instantly.

“I promise he won’t destroy anything,” she adds quickly. “He’ll be as quiet as Riley and Nurse Peppers.”

I laugh immediately. Marie has called Mrs. Carson “Nurse Peppers” for so long that I genuinely forget the woman has an actual first name. The advantage of living beside her is that I haven’t bought peppers in months.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t shut me down immediately,” Marie pleads. “Just say you’ll think about it.”

I sigh heavily.

“I’ll consider it.”

Marie squeals loudly and throws the onions aside dramatically.

“You’re the best person alive.”

“I know.”

“Which means yes.”

“It means maybe.”

“It means yes.”

Honestly? She’s probably right.

“Which client is this anyway?” I ask.

Although Marie studied marketing, she somehow became one of the most sought-after consultants in entertainment.

Two years after university, she worked with a major model on a campaign that exploded online.

Now celebrities constantly hire her for branding ideas and marketing strategies.

She even helps me occasionally.

“Chris Owens,” she answers casually.

I nearly choke on my saliva.

“The Chris Owens?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“That’s insane.”

“He talks too much.”

“That’s your issue with one of the biggest music producers in the world?”

“He’s exhausting.”

I stare at her dramatically.

“You’re officially the coolest person I know.”

“I’m aware,” she says smugly. “That’s why you chose me as your best friend" she adds.

I pretend to think deeply, pressing my fingers against my chin.

“You know, I might’ve made a mistake.”

She gasps loudly.

“How dare you?”

We both burst into laughter. The tension from earlier finally disappears completely.

“Well,” I say eventually, “I don’t see somebody connected to Chris Owens ruining my building’s reputation.”

Marie freezes. Then her eyes widen dramatically.

“Oh my God. Does that mean he can move in?”

I nod reluctantly. The scream she lets out is loud enough to destroy the entire building.

“Thank you! You’re literally the best.”

“I know,” I reply dryly.

She grins from ear to ear before suddenly looking at the onions again. Then at me.

“We are never finishing this dinner" she confesses.

I look at the onions she’s been chopping for almost forty minutes and laugh.

“Definitely not.”

“Let’s go out instead. I’m starving" she suggest.

“Shocking" I pretend to gasp.

“Don’t judge me" she points the knife at me dramatically.

“One day your sarcasm will get you punched.” I shake my head while laughing despite myself. Then I grab my keys from the kitchen counter and for the first time since leaving Neon District two days back, I feel normal again.