Chapter 9 : THE PRINCE OF POVERTY
490 Words
Clara Sterling’s apartment in Brooklyn was what a realtor would call "charming" and what Julian Blackstone would call "a closet with a window." It was a fourth-floor walk-up with creaky floors, a radiator that hissed like a cornered cat, and exactly one bedroom.
When the knock came at 9:00 PM, Clara opened the door to find Julian standing in the hallway. He was still wearing his three-thousand-dollar suit, but he was surrounded by four pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage and holding a half-eaten slice of dollar-store pizza.
"I’ve concluded two things in the last three hours, Clara," Julian said, stepping past her before she could even invite him in. "First, the New York subway system is a circle of hell Dante forgot to mention. Second, I am remarkably bad at being poor."
Clara slammed the door shut, leaning against it. "Julian, what are you doing here? I said you could call me, not move in! And where is your car? Your driver?"
"Repossessed. Along with my corporate accounts, my personal line of credit, and apparently, my dignity," Julian sighed, dropping his bags in the middle of her tiny living room. He looked around, his eyes landing on her small, mismatched sofa. "Is that... the sitting area? Or is this a decorative prop?"
"That is my couch, Julian. And if you’re staying here, that’s your bed," Clara snapped, her "Ice Queen" mask firmly back in place. "I thought you said you were going to handle your father. Resigning is one thing, but getting kicked out of your own life?"
Julian turned to her, his expression softening for a brief second. "He didn't just fire me, Clara. He blacklisted me. He told every landlord in the city that if they lease to me, he’ll pull his firm’s business from their holding companies. I’m a legal leper."
He walked toward her, the space between them disappearing instantly. Even in her tiny, dimly lit hallway, he still felt like "Modern Royalty"—dangerous, magnetic, and entirely too close. "I gave it all up to protect that thumb drive, Clara. To protect you. Surely that’s worth a few nights on a sub-par sofa?"
Clara felt the familiar heat rising in her chest. Part of her wanted to hug him for the sacrifice he’d made; the other part wanted to kick him out for being so arrogant.
"One rule, Blackstone," she said, pointing a finger at his chest. "You don't touch my coffee, you don't criticize my square footage, and you stay on your side of the apartment. I have to go to work tomorrow to save my firm from the mess your father created. You? You’re going to figure out how to use a laundromat."
Julian looked at his silk shirt, then at her. "A laundromat? Is that the place with the spinning glass circles? Do I need a lawyer for that?"
Clara groaned, rubbing her temples. "This is going to be a long winter."
- Writer
