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I opened my eyes and looked up at him. We looked like two people standing in an office, but he had just undone me completely, and we both knew it.
His expression was serious, his eyes dark. “Your move, Samantha,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”
Thirty
Samantha
* * *
“I don’t know how you do that shit,” Emma said to me. “I think I want to kill someone.”
I raised my eyebrows as we walked into the smoothie bar on 8th. Just a few blocks from the Port Authority—historic home of junkies and prostitutes for most of New York’s history—and an “artisanal smoothie” cost $13. “Murderous is not how you’re supposed to feel after a yoga class,” I told my sister. “That really isn’t the point.”
She rolled her eyes. Even in yoga pants and an expensive, complicated yoga top, Emma looked like she was on her way somewhere at top speed. “How does anyone do any of those poses? And why? I mean, triangle pose? I do not look like a triangle, no matter how you twist me. It isn’t happening.”
&nbs
p; I grabbed her mint-and-kale smoothie and shoved it at her so she would stop complaining. I’d asked my sister out for a comfortable, relaxing Saturday, hoping for some girl time. But even though I loved my sister, girl time wasn’t really her thing—evidenced by the fact that she had already pulled out her phone and was answering texts. Yoga wasn’t Emma’s thing, either, even though she was fit and strong.
“What?” she said, glancing up and noticing me looking at her.
I shrugged, sipping my own lemon-and-hand-pressed-cranberry smoothie. “I’m just wondering if you stay fit by crushing the bones of your enemies.”
Emma grinned. “I also stay hydrated with their tears. It’s part of my regime. Oh, and I run.”
“Outside?”
She looked horrified. “Are you kidding? This is New York. I’d probably catch a communicable disease right before I got murdered. I do not have time for that.”
There was a reason Emma was single and happy about it—most men found her a little terrifying. “How did it go with Ethan?” I asked her as we left the smoothie bar.
“Who?”
“The guy you tried to set me up with from Tinder. With the tattoos.”
“Oh, him.” She shrugged, though I thought her expression got a little tense. “It was fine, I guess. Nothing spectacular.”
“So you slept with him, then.”
“For the millionth time, Samantha, the word is fucked. And yes, I did.”
My sister thought I was a square. She had no idea I’d come within seconds of fucking—yes, fucking—my smoking-hot boss in his office. I wasn’t going to tell her. “And it was bad?” I asked.
“It was fine.” Her voice was flat. “No fireworks, though, if you know what I mean.”
I did. “For you or for him?”
Emma snorted. “Oh, there’s always fireworks for the guy. Every time. But for me, well, let’s just say I’m glad I invested in a proper sex toy collection. Otherwise I’d be orgasmless and even more bitchy than I already am.”
“You’re not bitchy,” I said loyally. “You’re just driven. Focused.”
“Thanks, sis.” Emma smiled at me, one of her real smiles. It didn’t matter that we were different—ever since we’d been left at that hospital, we’d been in this life together. We always would be. Even when she brushed me off.
Which she was about to do in three, two…. There it was. “I gotta go,” she said, holding up her phone, as if that explained it. “Shit is hitting the fan. I’m going to go to the office and get some work done.”
It was eleven o’clock on Saturday morning, but I already knew it was futile to tell my sister not to go to work. She’d ignore me anyway. “I thought we were going to go shopping,” I said.
“I shop online. It’s faster.” Her phone buzzed again and she waved at me. “Later, sis.”
