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And though he wasn’t thinking entirely straight, he meant it. Liv was sweet, if a little self-indulgent, and though he hadn’t met Chris, he was too much of a Yankees fan to not root for the center fielder.
Sure, their deciding to patch things up wouldn’t mean the fat check the firm had been expecting, but he’d gotten his retainer, been paid for the work he had done on Liv’s case.
And there were more than enough high-profile clients banging at the door to make up for it.
“Look, I know this might be a little bit odd,” Liv was saying, “or a lot odd, but I really enjoyed working with you, despite the circumstances, and I actually think you and Chris would get along really well….”
Andrew opened one eye. Surely she wasn’t…
“And you can absolutely say no, but Chris and I would really love to have you and Georgie come over for dinner some time.”
Andrew wasn’t sure which part of her statement was harder to absorb: the fact that one of his clients wanted him to talk baseball with the man he’d helped her almost divorce or…
“Georgie?” he managed.
“Just so you know, I’m totally taking the credit for introducing you guys that day at Del Frisco,” she said. “I had no idea you guys hit it off after. You’re so different, but I guess that’s the way it works sometimes.”
His eyes closed again. “Did she—did Georgiana tell you that we were—”
“Making out on sidewalks?” Liv said in a teasing voice. “Nope, she’s not answering anyone’s phone calls, but it’s all over TMZ. Georgie’s hardly ever attached to a guy, and you, well…you’re never connected with anyone.”
This was it, Andrew thought as nausea and pain rolled over him. The part where he died, with the world thinking he was dating a fluff ball named Georgiana Watkins, all while she was bringing engaged men home from the nightclubs.
“Anyway, talk to her, let me know!” Liv said. “Talk soon!”
Andrew didn’t even remember hanging up, and he had no idea how much time passed before he registered an insistent knocking on his door.
“Yeah,” he managed, pulling himself upright.
Shelley was standing in the doorway watching him with alarm. “Are you okay? I tried buzzing you, but you didn’t pick up, and—”
“Fine,” he said, running a hand over his face. “What’s up?”
“Your three o’clock’s called twice and is on hold. I told her she needed to wait until her scheduled time, but she said it was urgent.”
He sighed heavily. Might as well get it over with. The sooner he ended his meetings, the sooner he could go home and crawl into bed.
“I’ll take it,” he said, reaching for the phone. Then paused. “Actually, Shelley…”
She turned.
“Got any painkillers? Tylenol, Advil…morphine?”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “Absolutely. And after this call, I’m clearing your schedule for the rest of the day. You’re sick as a dog.”
He tried to tell his suddenly bossy assistant that he was just fine. That he didn’t get sick. But he couldn’t muster the energy.
Instead he managed to prop his forehead up on his right fist while he reached for the phone with his left. “This is Mulroney.”
Georgie
WEDNESDAY, 5:20 A.M.
In all the months we’ve been playing our early morning game of cat and mouse, I’ve skipped plenty of times, but never Andrew. Not on a weekday.
But he didn’t show yesterday morning.
I figured he was pissed, and since he had a right to be, I let it go. Gave him a day.
