Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Heard the same time as you. You know we’re on a group chat.”
“Wait, that’s a group chat?”
My smile only grows at her increasingly hysterical tone. I get to the bottom of the stairs and open the door into the heat of the New York afternoon. It’s bright, and I have to shield my eyes with my hand, like I’m a mole seeing the sun for the first time.
“They decided to fly down tonight so they could have dinner with us and a full day tomorrow for . . . some wedding-related thing. I glaze over as soon as she starts talking about wedding prep.”
“We need a plan,” Lucy says. “We should meet before. What time is it?”
I turn around and look up at the building Lucy indicated she worked in when we bumped into each other at Stranger than Fiction. “When are you getting off work?”
“Just now. I’m heading out. We have to meet them at seven, right?”
“And we wouldn’t want to be late,” I say under my breath. “So what’s your plan, Lucy Jones?”
At that moment, I see the woman herself come through the revolving door in the building next to mine. I stand and watch as she raises her face toward the sun, like she’s hoping to photosynthesize or something.
“You look cute,” I say.
She snaps her head around and sees me immediately. I don’t hate the way her smile fills her entire face as we lock eyes.
She wanders over, and I have time to take in her hourglass shape and the way she can make corporate-wear look sexy as hell.
“Hello, stranger. How long have you been standing out here waiting for me?”
“Just three or four hours.”
She laughs, and I can only stand and take it all in. She’s just beautiful.
“So how often have we seen each other these last few weeks?” she asks.
For a moment I’m stumped, then I realize she wants to create a cover story. “I’ve been busy at work. You’ve been busy at work. Maybe we grabbed lunch a couple of times.”
“Good,” she says. “That works. Katherine’s asked me a few times whether I’ve seen you. I’ve been pretty vague, but I mentioned lunch, so that tracks.”
We grab a cab, and as I slam the door shut, I’m reminded how small these cars are. Lucy and I haven’t been this close since Martha’s Vineyard.
She sweeps her hand down the skirt of her dress. “So,” she says. “How have you been?”
I chuckle at her attempt at small talk. “Like I said, really busy at work. What about you?”
“Yeah,” she replies. “Same. And . . .”
“And?”
“I don’t know. Something weird happened to me today.” I don’t respond, wanting her to tell me in her own time. “My boss’s boss—one of the junior partners—pulled me into her office and told me she wanted to mentor me.”
I try to catch her eye, but she stares out the window, toward the driver, down at her skirt—anywhere but at me.
“That sounds great,” I say. “Doesn’t it?”
Lucy sighs. “I think so. She was talking about how I have all this potential.” She bursts into a laugh, which doesn’t have the same unrestrained energy she normally does. “She was even talking about me going to law school—part-time, in the evening.”
“Wow,” I say.
“Right?” She finally looks at me. “That’s a crazy idea.”
“Is it? Do you want to go to law school?”
She chews the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t thought about it in a long time. Now I’m older. And there’s the debt. Potentially.” She shakes her head. “We need to be talking about stuff. Like, couple stuff.”
“I think that’s what we’re doing.”
She gives me that don’t mess with me look she wears so well, and I can’t help but smile in response. It’s good to see her. “Maybe we should meet for lunch for real between now and the wedding. Then we won’t have to invent a cover. We’ll have a ready-made one.”
She starts chewing her cheek again. “Maybe. But we need a cover in the next ten blocks.”
“We’re taking it slow. We haven’t stayed at each other’s places—that makes it easier than lying and getting ourselves into trouble. We’ve met for lunch a couple of times at Stranger than Fiction, and dinner once.”
“Or maybe we haven’t managed to make a dinner date. We arrange times, but either you’re working late, or I am, and we keep having to cancel.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Are you mad?” I don’t know why I follow it up with the question. I guess I want to know if she would be mad if I canceled dinner because I had to work.
“Mad that you had to cancel? No way. You have your own business. I get how it works. It’s a twenty-four-hour job. I like that you’re so dedicated.”
She fumbles for something in her purse. She must feel me staring, because she glances up. “What?”