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“I need to meet with you and your fiancée tonight,” she continues.
“What about your other crisis?” I silently add How did you know I was back in New York City?
“The other crisis has been handled. You’re my priority now.”
“We’re having dinner,” I protest. “Kayla hasn’t unpacked yet. Why don’t we come by your office tomorrow morning?”
“Tonight,” she insists. “I’m not giving you time to prepare.”
“Prepare what?” I ask.
“I’ll be at your building in five minutes. Instruct the doorman to let me up.”
I set the phone down on the table and look at Kayla. “Margaret will be joining us in five minutes.”
“I heard.” Kayla opens a plastic container filled with miso soup. “She’s afraid we’ll take the night to get our story straight.”
“She’s suspicious.” I set my chopsticks down. “I’m reconsidering telling her the truth. She’s on our side in this. She could help.”
Kayla shakes her head in a silent no. “We can use her reaction as a guide for how others will take the news. We’ll convince her. I’m not worried.”
I shake my head but send Jimmy at the front desk a text with instructions to send my publicist up to my apartment. Minutes later, the elevator door opens. The dogs bark and race to the foyer. Luna’s cone bumps the molding as she tries to make the turn, but the pup quickly recovers.
“Down!” I hear Margaret’s sharp command before she turns the corner. The tap-tap-tap of her heels blends with the sound of dog nails on the parquet floorboards. She marches across my living room as if she’s leading a K-9 parade. Though her black pantsuit screams funeral, not marching band or street celebration. Still, the dogs fall in behind her, clearly responding to her natural aura of authority.
Margaret stops beside the table and pushes her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. Her gaze darts back and forth between us. I usually laugh off her eagle-eye scrutiny. But when she turns her focus on Kayla, my protective instincts kick into overdrive. They’ve met before—under very different circumstances.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask. “Water? White wine? Something stronger? I could call down to the hotel’s bar and have them mix one of those fancy cocktails you like.”
“Tap water with ice would be lovely.” Margaret walks around the table and slips into the chair beside Kayla and opposite mine. “While you get that, I want to hear the full story.”
“Of course.” I rise from the table and head for the kitchen. I select a glass and proceed to fill her drink order. As I move through the white marble space, I share the same story I told the detectives. I return to the table for the punch line. “When I saw Kayla covered in blood, when I thought it was her blood, it hit me. I could have lost her. By the time we reached the vet’s office, I knew I needed to marry her.”
“Hmmm,” Margaret murmurs. She accepts the water glass and raises it to her lips. After a bird-sized sip, she turns to Kayla. “Why did you say yes?”
Kayla’s brown eyes widen as she stares at Margaret over her miso soup. She lowers her spoon and sits upright in her chair. I’m tempted to jump in, but I know that in order for this to work Kayla will need to answer questions.
My best friend looks at me, and her lips tease the first hint of a smile. I’ve grown accustomed to Kayla’s fierce determination. She’s spent the past few years fighting. First, she stood up to her ex—leaving him and then demanding a divorce. Then she became an advocate for her adopted pets. I’ve witnessed her in battle mode for so long I’d forgotten Kayla is so much more than a warrior.
“I think,” Kayla begins. Then she turns to look directly at Margaret. Her voice is filled with wonder, and I’m reminded of the trip we took together after I graduated college, and before she married Mr. Mistake. She stared out at the Tuscan countryside as if mesmerized by the beauty. For the rest of the trip, and months afterward, she spoke of Italy with pure reverence.
Kayla’s gaze locks with Margaret’s razor-sharp blue eyes. “I think that I have always loved him.”
I waited for her to continue. She couldn’t leave her explanation there. Always loved me? Of course she has. I’ve loved Kayla since I was five years old. She’s my family. She’s my everything. But to sell our engagement, we need something more.
Kayla doesn’t say another word. She simply gives my publicist a smile and then returns to her miso soup.
Margaret’s gaze darts back and forth between us. “This needs work.”
“You can’t put her on the spot like that,” I protest. “We’ve only been engaged for twenty-four hours. Not even that to be honest.”
“Not her.” Margaret waves at Kayla. “Any fool can see she’s madly in love with you.”
Kayla coughs. She quickly covers her mouth to keep her last spoonful of soup from spilling out—and fails. I think there is soup coming out her nose.
This is what love looks like?
I wonder if Margaret’s long hours and crazy, demanding clients have finally pushed her over the edge into pure insanity.
