Take a Hint, Dani Brown Read online

  Dedication

  For the Hopeless Romantics, and for myself

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from Eve’s Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Praise

  Also by Talia Hibbert

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Author’s Note

  Please be aware that this story involves sensitive topics, such as dealing with the death of close family members and handling general anxiety disorder. I hope I have treated these issues with the care they deserve.

  Prologue

  The moon was high and full, the night was ripe for witchy business, and Danika Brown had honey on her tit. The left one, specifically.

  “For fuck’s sake,” she muttered, and swiped it off.

  “Daydreaming at worship, now? Tut, tut.” Dani’s best friend, Sorcha, sat across the tiny table that served as their altar, all bright, brown eyes, thick, dark hair, and crooked smile.

  “I wasn’t daydreaming,” Dani said, though she absolutely had been. “My chest just sticks its nose into everything.”

  “Here we bloody go.” Sorcha rolled her eyes and imitated Dani’s crisp accent with unnerving accuracy. “Oh, pity me and my incredible rack, even though I selfishly refuse to share any of it—”

  “I don’t think we can share breast tissue, Sorch.”

  Sorcha glared. “Well, if we could, would you give me some?”

  “No. As you say, my rack is incredible. Now shut up and focus.”

  “Selfish, fiendish woman. Vain, daffodil-brained . . .” Sorcha could always be relied upon when it came to creative insults. Her gleeful mutterings faded into the background as Dani set aside her pot of honey, placing the dish she’d filled near the center of the table. Behind that dish, standing back-to-back with Sorcha’s Black Madonna, was a small golden statue of the goddess Oshun.

  Like any self-respecting deity of love, beauty, and abundance, Oshun was covered in jewelry and not much else—unless one counted the bees and the enormous hair. Dani had little hair, zero bees, and no established habit of public nudity; nor did she devote any attention to romantic love, empirical evidence having proven it was a drain of energy that would distract from her professional goals. But the fact that Dani and the orisha didn’t see eye to eye on that particular topic wasn’t hugely important. The golden statue was an heirloom passed on from Dani’s dear, departed Nana—the same woman who’d once told her, “There’s power in knowledge passed between generations, whether it’s by those books of yours or by an elder’s mouth.”

  Danika agreed. Plus, following in her Nana’s witchy footsteps was fun and came quite naturally. Must be something about the elaborate nighttime rituals and the history of dogged womanist defiance.

  “Come on, then,” Sorcha nudged, apparently done listing Dani’s character flaws. And so, at a table shared by two different idols, in a room where candlelight and the full moon’s glow twined lazily together, Danika took her friend’s hands and closed the circle.

  “You first,” Sorcha whispered.

  “Oh, darling, are you certain?”

  “Don’t start. I know you’re gagging to invoke something or other.”

  Well, yes. In the month since Dani’s last situationship had ended, her vagina had developed cobwebs (the vagina was, unfortunately, prone to dramatics), and this invocation would hopefully end that awful state of affairs.

  She took a breath and began. “Hello, Oshun. Hope the twins are well. This month, I have an intention I think you’ll support: I require another fuck buddy.”

  Sorcha’s eyes popped open. “Hang on. Is this a good idea?”

  “Shut up,” Dani said sternly. “I’m busy.”

  Sorcha, being Sorcha, plowed on regardless. “I thought you were still upset about Jo?”

  Dani produced a withering glare. “I was never upset about Jo. Getting upset is the sort of pointless, time-consuming emotion I work very hard to avoid.”

  “Really.” The word dripped skepticism like the candles around them dripped wax. “Because I could’ve sworn that when she dumped you—”

  “She didn’t dump me. We weren’t together, a fact that she wanted to change, while I did not.”

  “When she dumped you,” Sorcha continued, because Sorcha was a twat, “you bought a box of cake mix and added an egg and ate the whole thing raw in a big old mixing bowl—”

  “I have a sweet tooth,” Dani said coldly, which was absolutely true.

  Sorcha sighed. “You do realize it’s not good for a witch to be so out of touch with her own feelings, don’t you?”

  “Rubbish. I am entirely in touch with my feelings, thank you very much.”

  “Except for the times when you don’t know how to handle someone you slept with falling in love with you, so you go on a Betty Crocker binge.”

  “That wasn’t about Josephine,” Dani repeated. “I must’ve been pre-menstrual or something.” Because Danika Brown didn’t mope—or at least, she didn’t mope over interpersonal relationships. Hadn’t since the day she’d walked in on her first love merrily boinking someone else, and never would. Jo wanted romance, and Dani couldn’t think of anything less suited to her skill set, so they’d ended their friendship with benefits and gone their separate ways, and everything was fine.

  Except for the fact that they didn’t talk anymore.

  Except for that.

  “Stop trying to throw me off,” Dani said firmly—because, clearly, the only way to end this god-awful conversation was to be firm. “I know what I’m doing and I know what I want. I am a grown woman of reasonable intellect, on track for tenure within the next fifteen years, with a deep desire for frequent oral sex and absolutely nothing else. So shut up and let me ask for it.”

  “Oh, whatever,” Sorcha tutted. “Fine, then. Ask.” And a miracle occurred: she rolled her eyes, heaved a disapproving sigh, but ultimately shut her mouth.

  Well. One must always take swift advantage of divine happenings.

  Dani closed her eyes and began again. “Oshun, I need a regular source of orgasms.” She thought of Jo and added, “Someone who won’t expect more from me than I can give. Preferably a sensible sort with a nice arse who’s focused on their own goals. I haven’t had much luck, myself, so if you know anyone who meets the criteria . . . just . . . point me in their direction. Give me a hint.” When Dani finished, a warm and rare peace washed over her like the waters of a sun-touched river, as if the goddess had heard and promised to do her best. She let a tentative smile curve her lips and basked in the glowing silence.

  A silence that was promptly ruined by Sorcha. “Christ, you’re such a Sagittarius.”

  “Murder. I am going to commit a murder.” Dani opened her eyes and rose up on her knees, studying the table calmly. Should she smack her best friend over the head with a religious icon—potentially disrespectful—or a hefty wax candle? The candle was aflame, so it’d hav
e to be the statue. Only, when she reached for it, something fell out of her dress’s many hidden pockets to land smack-bang on the altar.

  In fact, it landed at Oshun’s feet, balancing perfectly on top of the honey dish.

  Dani supposed that was some sort of sign. Likely one that said, Please don’t kill Sorcha, you will eventually regret it and I doubt you’d enjoy prison.

  Sorcha squinted in the candlelight, clearly unconcerned by her near brush with death. “Hang on, is that a cereal bar? I’m ravenous.”

  “It’s a protein bar,” Dani corrected, picking it up and handing it over.

  “Since when do you eat protein bars?” Crumbs flew as Sorcha broke off pieces with her fingers like the mannerless heathen she was.

  “I don’t. Someone gave it to me. God, Sorch, you’re making an awful mess and we haven’t even finished our invocations. Didn’t you want to do something for that creative writing competition you entered?”

  “Doubt it’d help.” Sorcha snickered. “We are shitty witches.”

  Dani sniffed. “Speak for yourself. I am focused on the present and attuned to the magic of my reality.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I made a request and now I’m waiting for a sign!”

  Sorcha tossed the protein bar’s empty wrapper onto the table. “Knowing us, you’ll probably bloody miss it.”

  Chapter One

  Five Months Later

  The student union’s coffee shop was like a bad pop song: painfully repetitive and unnaturally upbeat. Milk was steamed, names were chirped, and baristas beamed as if there were any call for such abominably perky behavior. (There most assuredly wasn’t.) Dani was late for work, and the churn of coffee beans acted as background music to her fantasies about murdering everyone around her.

  Come to think of it, she’d been considering murder quite a lot, lately. Perhaps she should see someone about that, or perhaps it was simply a natural consequence of living on planet Earth.

  “Christ,” Sorcha muttered, stirring half a kilo of sugar into her latte. “Are people always this loud?”

  “It’s March. The end of the semester is in sight. They’re”—Dani let her gaze drift over the far-too-perky students filling the shop—“hopeful.”

  “Someone should cure them of that. It’s disrespectful on a Monday morning.”

  Before Dani could wholeheartedly agree, a barista slapped two takeout cups on the counter. “Green tea and a black coffee for Danika?”

  “Thanks.” Dani grabbed the drinks and made good her escape.

  “Black coffee,” Sorcha murmured as they wound through the mass of bodies. “That’ll be for your gorgeous security friend, am I right?”

  “He has a name.”

  “And I’d like to scream it.”

  Dani almost choked on her own laughter. “Sorcha, you’re gay.”

  “Thanks for noticing. Really, Dan, this is just coffee-shop banter. Girls being girls! Speaking of, this is the part where you admit all the filthy things you’d like to do to your so-called friend Zafir.”

  Dani scowled at the name—mostly because if she didn’t, she might smile, which Sorcha would willfully misinterpret. “I’d never do filthy things to Zafir. He’s a nice boy.”

  “Nice?” Sorcha squawked the word, incredulous. “Zaf? Zafir Ansari? That big, grumpy fucker who terrifies half your building?”

  Dani sipped her green tea. “He’s very sweet once you get to know him.”

  “Sweet?” Sorcha was approaching glass-shattering pitch.

  Perhaps she was right; sweet might be overstating the matter. But Zaf was kind, and Dani had always had a soft spot for kind men; they were fabulously rare. Unfortunately, Zaf also avoided staring at Dani’s chest with the kind of Herculean focus that suggested either disinterest or an excess of chivalry—and Dani couldn’t stand chivalry in a man. It frequently led them to make ill-advised decisions, like inviting her to have dinner before sex, or hanging around and talking after sex.

  “Zaf, gorgeous as he may be, is not an option. I’m waiting for a sign,” she reminded Sorcha. “I’ll just wank to thoughts of his beard until my perfect fuck buddy materializes.”

  Sorcha considered that for a moment before shrugging. “Fair enough. Speaking of yummy unsuitables, want to have lunch with me later at that pizza place with the hot, straight waitress?”

  “Can’t. Working.”

  “You’re always fucking—”

  Before Sorcha could finish that doubtless true statement, a man popped into their path like a mole from the earth. Dani blinked, coming to an abrupt stop. “Oh. Excuse me.”

  The man didn’t seem to hear. He was tall, blond, and in possession of an easy, handsome smile that said he’d never met a boundary he couldn’t bulldoze. Case in point: “Good morning,” he purred, his eyes landing on Dani’s chest like tit-seeking missiles. “I don’t mean to bother you—”

  “And yet, here we are,” Sorcha sighed.

  Tall, Blond, and Witless valiantly ignored her. “—but when I see a woman wearing red lipstick before nine A.M.”—he winked—“well. I simply have to reward her.”

  Dani stared. “Reward me? With what? Because I only accept books or food.”

  The flicker of irritation on his face suggested that Danika actually speaking was not part of his brilliant script. But he recovered smoothly enough. “There’s food.” He smiled. “Or there will be, if you let me take you to dinner.”

  Dani shook her head sadly and turned to Sorcha. “Do you think this ever works? It must, mustn’t it, for them to continue?”

  Sorcha managed to inject a bucketload of disgust into a single sigh, which was a skill Dani had always envied. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just not clever enough to make the connection between interrupting women and never, ever being voluntarily touched by one.”

  The man jolted, a scowl twisting his flawless brow. “Hang on,” he snapped, “are you talking about me?”

  “It’s quite obvious that we are,” Dani told him gently.

  The blond spluttered in outrage for a few moments before deploying a dazzling “Fat fucking slut,” and storming away.

  “Oh dear,” Dani sighed. “He thinks I’m a fat slut. I might die of a broken heart.”

  Sorcha rolled her eyes.

  * * *

  The voice in Zafir Ansari’s ear murmured, “What are you thinking about?”

  “How much I want you.”

  “Then have m—”

  Zaf paused the audiobook, the sound from his single earbud cutting out. Sometimes, it was possible to read while he was working. This scene was not one of those times.

  He unplugged the earbuds and wrapped them around his phone, shoving both into his pocket. All the while, he kept a sharp eye on the door of the Echo building, scowling when one reed-thin boy, wearing what looked like pajamas under his hoodie, tried to skulk past without holding up his ID card like everyone else.

  “Oi. You.” Like most things Zaf said, the words came out as an irritable rumble. “Get over here.”

  The kid stopped walking and held up his hands, which were currently filled by a phone and . . . a bagel. “I can’t reach my ID,” he said apologetically, and made to keep walking, as if that would be o-fucking-kay.

  “Get. Over. Here,” Zaf repeated. Then he stood up, which tended to make people listen to him, since he was a former rugby union flanker.

  Eyes widening, the kid swallowed and approached like a scolded puppy.

  “Now,” Zaf said patiently, “put your crap on the desk.”

  Both phone and bagel were glumly dropped.

  “Well, would you look at that? Hands free.” One eye still on the door, where the morning rush had slowed to a trickle, Zaf ordered, “I.D.”

  Huffing and puffing, the kid checked a thousand pockets before producing the student I.D. that said he probably wasn’t here to nick a dead body or steal explosive gas. “I’m going to be late,” he muttered as he handed it over.

  “Not m
y problem.” Zaf took the card and flashed it against the automated checker on his desk. “You know what I could do? I could make every last one of you line up while I ran you all through the system. But I’m a nice guy.” Not strictly true, but he also wasn’t a complete prick. “So I use my eyeballs instead. Easy for you, easy for me. Unless you don’t put the card in front of my eyeballs. Then it’s not so easy, since I don’t have X-ray vision. Let me show you something.” Card verified, Zaf held it up by its blue lanyard, stamped with the university logo. “You know where this goes? Right around your neck. Then you don’t have to choose between holding your bagel and pissing me off. Sound good?”

  “I can’t put it around my neck,” the kid spluttered. “I’ll look like a dick.”

  “You’re wearing Adventure Time pajamas to a lab, mate. You already look like a dick, and in five minutes’ time your professor will tell you so.”

  “I—what?” He looked down. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Come here.” Zaf slung the lanyard over the boy’s messy hair. “Now piss off.”

  With a few glares and muttered comments, off he pissed.

  Then a slow, sarcastic clap started to Zaf’s right, which was all it took for him to realize that his niece had entered the building. He turned to face her, his standard bad mood evaporating. “Fluffy! What are you doing here?”

  She widened her kohl-rimmed eyes in warning, jerking her head pointedly at the group of girls behind her.

  Zaf cleared his throat and fought the twitch of his lips. “Sorry. Fatima, I mean.” He gave the girls a little wave. “Hello, Fatima’s friends.”

  “Will you relax?” she whispered. “You’re so embarrassing.”

  “I was aiming for mortifying. I’ll have to try harder.”

  She growled at him like a little lion and turned to wave off the girls. “I’ll meet you upstairs, okay?” When they nodded and melted away, she turned back to him. “I see now why you chose this job. You get to bitch at people on a professional basis.”

  “Dream come true,” Zaf said dryly, and sat down. Tucked behind the tall security desk was the table he actually used for work. He tapped his computer to bring up the time . . .