Dirty Thirty
SERENA
Thirty felt different from what Serena had imagined.
Not worse, exactly. Just... different.
Serena Barnes sat at her desk in the corner office of Barrett & Associates, watching the Manhattan skyline turn copper and gold as the late afternoon sun crossed the Hudson River. Thirteen years ago, she’d been a scholarship kid from Stockton, California, arriving at Princeton with secondhand luggage and a chip on her shoulder the size of the George Washington Bridge. Now, she was a successful economic consultant with her name on proposals that crossed the desks of countless Fortune 500 CEOs.
The journey had been long. Hard-fought. And worth every single battle.
Her phone buzzed against the glass desktop with a text from her mother, Loni:
Mom❤️: Happy birthday, baby girl. So proud of you. Call me tonight.
Serena smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. Her mother had worked double shifts at the hospital for years to supplement that scholarship, to make sure Serena never had to choose between books and food. Everything Serena had accomplished, every success, every triumph—carried her mother’s sacrifices with her.
Another text appeared, this one from her best friend, Nadia:
Nadia💓: DON’T make plans tonight. I have a special surprise for you. And before you argue, it’s non-negotiable. A car will pick you up at 7. Wear something fabulous. Love you! xoxo
Serena snorted. Nadia Sinclair didn’t do anything by halves. Their friendship had started on uncertain ground—Serena suspicious of the wealthy, pale, eccentric girl who’d approached her in the Princeton library with a genuine smile and an offer of coffee. But Nadia had proven herself to be real, kind, funny, and fiercely loyal. Thirteen years later, she was the sister Serena had never had. The best friend who’d stood by her through every triumph and every failure.
Serena glanced at the calendar on her screen. Nadia’s wedding was in two and a half weeks. A destination wedding at some luxury resort in Puerto Rico that had probably cost more than Serena’s annual salary. She was the maid of honor, which meant fourteen days of forced proximity with the Sinclair family.
Fourteen days of him.
She pushed the thought away, irritated at herself for even letting it surface. Nick Sinclair had taken up enough space in her head over the years. She wasn’t about to give him any more real estate, especially not today.
Refocusing on her work, Serena tried to lose herself in the economic projections sprawled across her monitor. But concentration proved elusive. Her mind kept drifting to things she’d rather not examine too closely.
Like the fact that she hadn’t been touched by a man in over a year.
Eighteen months, if she was being precise. And she was always precise.
It wasn’t for lack of opportunity. Men asked her out regularly—colleagues, clients (the single ones, at least), friends of friends. She went on dates. Sometimes even second dates. But nothing ever clicked. No spark, no connection, no desire to let anyone close enough to matter.
Her therapist would probably say she was using her career as a shield. That she’d built her walls so high, she’d forgotten how to let anyone scale them.
Her therapist would probably be right.
But the alternative—letting someone in only to have them see her as less than, as that girl from Stockton who didn’t belong, who’d always be on the outside looking in—that was worse than being alone.
At least alone, she was safe.
At least alone, she controlled the narrative.
“Knock knock.”
Serena looked up to find Marcus Chen, her colleague and work friend, leaning against her doorframe with a knowing grin.
“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You’re here to drag me to some impromptu birthday celebration involving grocery store cake and off-key singing?”
“Bold of you to assume we’d spring for grocery store cake.” Marcus walked in, setting a small wrapped box on her desk. “The team wanted to do something nice for you, but Keisha said you’d probably eviscerate anyone who tried to make a fuss.”
“Keisha knows me well.”
“She does. Which is why this is from me, personally, and you’re not allowed to refuse it or make it weird.” He tapped the box. “Happy birthday, Barnes.”
Serena felt her throat tighten unexpectedly. She and Marcus had started at Barrett & Associates the same year, had weathered the same brutal hours and impossible clients. He was one of the few people in her professional life who felt like an actual friend.
“You didn’t have to—”
“Open it before I change my mind and keep it for myself.”
She rolled her eyes and unwrapped the box carefully, revealing a beautiful fountain pen—sleek, elegant, with her initials engraved on the barrel. SLB. Serena Latoya Barnes.
“Marcus, this is—”
“A pen. It’s a pen.” But his eyes were soft. “You’re going to do amazing things, Serena. Bigger than this firm, bigger than any of us. When you’re signing contracts for your own company, I want you to use that.”
“My own company?” She laughed, but the dream had been whispering at the edges of her mind for months now. “That’s a long way off.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Point is, you’ve got what it takes. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
They talked for a few more minutes before Marcus headed out, reminding her not to work too late. But Serena stayed, staring at the pen, thinking about possibilities and futures and all the things she wanted but was too cautious to reach for.
By the time she left the office, the sun had set completely, and the city across the river glittered like scattered diamonds.
The car Nadia sent was, predictably, excessive.
A sleek black Mercedes with a driver who opened the door for her and asked if she’d like the temperature adjusted. Serena had worn a fitted emerald dress that hugged her curves and made her deep sepia skin glow, paired with heels that added three inches to her five-foot-six frame.
She’d learned how to dress for Nadia’s world. How to move through these spaces with her head high and her armor perfectly in place.
The drive took thirty minutes, winding through the exclusive neighborhoods of northern New Jersey until they reached the Sinclair estate in Alpine—a sprawling mansion with manicured gardens and a view that stretched all the way to the Manhattan skyline. The property probably cost more than most people saw in a lifetime.
Serena had been here dozens of times. It should have felt familiar by now.
It never quite did.
The front door opened before she could knock, and Nadia appeared, practically vibrating with excitement. Her mossy green eyes sparkled, and her dark brown hair was swept up in an artfully messy bun. She wore a flowing floral dress that somehow made her look both elegant and effortlessly cool.
“Happy birthday!” Nadia threw her arms around Serena, squeezing tight. “You look absolutely stunning. That dress is perfect.”
“You’re suspiciously chipper… more than usual anyway,” Serena said, hugging her back. “What did you do?”
“Me? Nothing. I’m innocent.” Nadia’s grin was anything but innocent. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
“Everyone?”
But Nadia was already pulling her through the foyer, past the sweeping staircase and original artwork that cost more than Serena’s college education. They headed toward the back of the house, where the conservatory opened onto the garden terrace.
“Close your eyes,” Nadia instructed.
“Nadia—”
“Close them!”
Serena sighed but complied, letting Nadia guide her forward. She heard the soft murmur of voices, the clink of glasses, music playing low in the background.
“Okay,” Nadia whispered. “Open.”
Serena opened her eyes to a terrace transformed. String lights draped overhead, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. Tables laden with food and champagne. Flowers everywhere—peonies and roses in shades of pink and cream. And people—at least thirty of them—all turning to face her with smiles.
“SURPRISE!”
The shout went up, followed by applause and cheers. Serena recognized faces from her firm, old friends from college, Nadia’s artist friends, and even Mrs Andrews from the coffee shop near her apartment in Hoboken.
Her heart swelled. “Nadia, you didn’t have to—”
“Of course I did. You’re turning thirty, and you deserve to be celebrated.” Nadia squeezed her hand. “Now get in there and let people tell you how amazing you are.”
The next hour passed in a blur of hugs and laughter, champagne and conversation. Serena found herself relaxing into it, letting the warmth of being surrounded by people who actually cared about her wash away the loneliness she hadn’t quite acknowledged until now.
She was in the middle of a conversation with two of Nadia’s friends when she felt it.
That prickle at the back of her neck. The instinctive awareness that said danger in a language older than words.
She turned, glass of champagne halfway to her lips, and locked eyes with Nick Sinclair across the terrace.
He stood near the conservatory doors, tall and imposing in tailored black pants and a charcoal button-down that probably cost more than her rent. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his hands through it recently, and those ice-blue eyes—the same color as a winter sky—fixed on her with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
His expression was cold. Assessing. That familiar mix of disdain and something else she’d never been able to name.
Thirteen years, and he still looked at her like she was something he’d scraped off his shoe.
The champagne turned bitter on her tongue.
Their gazes held for a long, frozen moment. Serena saw the exact second he registered what she was wearing, the way his eyes tracked down her body and back up, something dark flickering in their depths before his expression shuttered completely.
She lifted her chin, refusing to be the first to look away.
Finally, Nick turned, disappearing into the crowd with the same casual arrogance he wore like a second skin.
Serena’s hands were shaking.
She set down her champagne glass before she could drop it and went to find Nadia.
She found her friend near the bar, laughing with Jodie, her fiancée. Jodie was all warm brown eyes, gently tanned skin and easy smiles, the perfect counterbalance to Nadia’s creative chaos. They were good together—so clearly in love that it made Serena’s chest ache with something uncomfortably close to envy.
“Nads?” Serena said, forcing her voice to stay level.
Nadia turned, smile still in place. “Yes, my love?”
“Why is Nick here?”
The smile faltered. Jodie, bless her, immediately excused herself with a quick kiss to Nadia’s cheek and a sympathetic glance at Serena.
“God... Rena, come on—” Nadia started.
“You know I hate him.”
“Hate? Jesus, that’s a strong word. You can’t hate Nick.”
“Wanna bet?”
Nadia’s expression shifted from pleading to resigned. “Rena, he’s my brother.”
“What difference does that make?” Serena could hear her voice rising and didn’t care. “This is my birthday, do I not get a say on who should or shouldn’t be here?”
Nadia sighed and swallowed before continuing. “Fine... I’ll tell him to leave.”
Serena rolled her eyes, irritation and guilt slipping through her reason like water through cracks. She didn’t want to be this person—the one who made Nadia choose. But God, why did it have to be him? Why tonight?
“No, it’s fine, just leave it. It’s too late now anyway.”
“Rena, I’m sorry,” Nadia whispered, sadness evident in her mossy green eyes. “But Nick is my brother, I love him, and with the wedding coming up, I really need you two to at least try to get along... for me... please?”
The wedding. Right. Fourteen days of forced proximity. Fourteen days of pretending she didn’t feel like her skin was too tight whenever Nick Sinclair was in the same room.
Serena looked at her best friend—at the hope and worry and love all tangled together in her expression—and felt her anger deflate.
“Okay,” Serena shot out with a sigh. She nodded reluctantly and pulled Nadia in for a hug. “For you? Anything.”
“Thank you,” Nadia breathed against her shoulder. “I promise, you won’t even have to talk to him much. He’s probably going to hide in the gym anyway. You know how he gets.”
But when Serena pulled back and glanced over Nadia’s shoulder, she saw Nick watching them from across the terrace. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, and his hands were shoved in his pockets like he was physically restraining himself.
Their eyes met again.
This time, Serena looked away first.
It was going to be a long night.
And an even longer two weeks.
