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“It’s so not as juicy as it is in your head,” Emma said, taking the plate out of the microwave. It was steaming like crazy so she set it aside to let it cool.
“Fine. But if you didn’t light his balls on fire, did you yell? Or at least raise your voice a little?”
“Couldn’t,” Emma said, swirling her wine. “It was over email.”
Julie was silent for several seconds. “He told you your next assignment over email? Why? He met with the rest of us in person. That coward.”
“To be fair, we avoid each other whenever possible,” Emma said. “It’s mutual.”
Still, it had been a pretty shitty way to get the news.
And this made two story ideas in a row that Emma had no control over. First the stupid blind date piece mandated by Camille, and now Cassidy suggesting she write about ex-boyfriends.
He’d claimed that it had been awhile since Stiletto had captured the ex factor. Which was probably true. Emma couldn’t remember reading anything about exes in Stiletto for at least the past year or so.
Even still, Emma had itched to point out that any of the other columnists could have covered it.
But she hadn’t. Partially because it’s what he’d expect her to do. But mostly because it would likely be Riley, Julie, or Grace who would take the story if she didn’t. All three of whom were in the blissful, in-love stages of their relationship. Dealing with exes was a messy business that might put their current happiness at risk.
Emma wouldn’t wish that upon her worst enemies, much less her best friends.
“So you’re going to do it?” Julie asked. “Seriously?”
Emma swirled her wine. “The thing is, Jules . . . he had sort of a pretty good idea. Since it’s the December issue, he suggested doing a ‘Twelve Days of Exes’ sort of thing. You know, for twelve days, reach out to an ex-boyfriend and . . . I don’t know? Get closure? Deliver that last parting comeback that didn’t occur to you until after the breakup? See if the sex is as good as you remember it?”
“Ooh, do that last one with Cassidy,” Julie said, her voice all dreamy. “I bet he’s awesome in bed.”
“I’m sure Mitchell would love to hear that.”
“Eh, he’s not here,” Julie said. “But, seriously, do you even have twelve exes?”
“Unfortunately,” Emma muttered, stabbing at her cooling leftovers with her fork. “Part of the joys of reaching your thirties and still being single. Plenty of exes.”
“So are you going to write about . . . Cassidy?”
Emma ditched the fork and reached for the wine. “I sort of have to, don’t I? As far as previous relationships go, he’s the big one. If I don’t write about him, it feels . . . dishonest.”
“It’s funny,” Julie mused. “All this time I really did think that you and Cassidy were all the way moved on. You’re both so Zen about the whole failed-wedding thing. But now I wonder—”
“Don’t,” Emma interrupted. “Don’t turn this into a thing.”
“I didn’t turn it into a thing, Cassidy did, by basically waving his editor-in-chief dick around and forcing you to revisit the past.”
“I can assure you, Cassidy will get the same word count allocation as any other ex that I write about,” Emma said.
“That’ll chap his ass. You should totally put his name next to that weirdo you dated a few months ago. You know, the guy who wore scarves, even in summer?”
“Christian.” Emma took a sip of her wine. “He was a weirdo. Anyway, I should go, Jules. I need to reheat my reheated leftovers.”
“Okay. I should go, too. Mitchell will be back any minute asking if I want to go for a run. It’s like he doesn’t know me at all. It’s time for cocktails, not movement.”
Emma smiled. “Go show him the way. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After saying good-bye, Emma put the pa
d Thai back in the microwave, but before she could start it, there was a knock at the door.
She went to answer it.
