I shrug. “It’s all I have time for.”
“I get that,” he says. “I tried it for a while, but it never really worked for me.”
I’d love to tell him he’s missing out, but he just saw me on a “date” that was actually a business proposal, so I don’t think I’m the poster child for online romance.
“How do you meet anyone, then?” I ask, out of curiosity.
“Out in the wild, I guess,” he says. “It’s not really working for me either, though.”
Self-deprecating Luke is not one I’m used to. Cocky and self-important Luke is easy for me to handle. This all feels a little too cordial right now, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Luke has wreaked havoc in my life for the past two and a half weeks. I don’t think I want to get along with him.
His phone beeps, and he reaches into the pocket of his suit coat to grab it.
“My mom,” he says, pointing at the screen. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” I say, taken aback that he asked. It’s not like we’re in the middle of some deep life discussion. In fact, I should probably leave. I don’t need to be fraternizing with the enemy.
But I don’t leave. I watch as he quickly shoots a text back and then tucks the phone into his pocket.
“How’s your mom?” I ask. Only because it’s the nice thing to do. But also, I kind of want to know.
Back when he was at Harrow & Finch, we used to frequent this very coffee shop. Often discussing work, but sometimes, on more rare occasions, talking about life.
What I do know about Luke is that his dad died when he was five, and it’s just been him, his mom, and his younger sister ever since.
“She’s good,” he says. “Hasn’t changed much. Still fussing over how much I work.”
“Sounds familiar.” My mom and Gigi bring it up often. Not because I’m overworked—because it keeps me from settling down. Just like the curse does.
“My mom worries about your work schedule too?” he asks, his eyes wide in mock surprise.
“Shut up,” I say, chuckling.
Luke sitting across from me, teasing me . . . it all feels so familiar. I have to remind myself that he totally betrayed me.
“Nice move with getting that old video of Bailey to go viral, by the way,” he says before taking a sip of his drink.
I give him a shrug. “I had nothing to do with that. Just a happy accident.”
He shakes his head while smiling. “That had Claire Archer written all over it.”
I smile, despite trying not to. “There was some luck involved.”
There always is with PR. You can’t know if it will be the right post at the right time.
“That was all you,” he says. “You were always good at your job.”
I scoff. “Sure,” I say.
“I’m serious,” he says, the humor leaving his expression.
It takes me by surprise. Even when we were on good terms, Luke was more apt to tease me than compliment me.
But it also rankles. Am I good at this, or just lucky? Despite my warring feelings, a tiny bit of the animosity I’ve felt toward him since he walked away from Harrow & Finch dissipates.
“If you had listened to my voicemail, you wouldn’t be so shocked right now.”
“Not the voicemail again,” I say, really hating that I’m actually dying to know what it said at this point.
