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“Not funny.”
I shake my head in disbelief that Tealey would move away and not tell me. She was just here. Why wouldn’t she say something?
“Are you okay, Rad?”
“Yeah. Just confused. She was just here and didn’t say—”
“I wasn’t supposed to either, but since she told you, it’s fair game to discuss.” She pauses and blinks. “Wait, she didn’t say what?”
The pit of my stomach grows heavier, and I swallow. “She didn’t tell me she was moving.”
Jolting her neck back, she shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“It’s when you don’t reveal—”
“Ha-ha.”
I shift, the chair squeaking in protest. Why does it sting that she didn’t tell me—especially when she had the opportunity? My mind races. Does she need help, or is something else going on? Is she moving for work? Is this move set in stone? Is that why she wanted to make sure Misty’s case was being handled by someone she trusts? Because she won’t be here to see it through?
“I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but since you know . . .” Marlow flops into the chair, concern etched on her face. Despite Marlow’s dramatics, she’s caring at her core. She says, “You need to convince her to stay.” No shit.
“How?”
“I can’t share too much—” She sits forward. “Talk to her one-on-one and see what you can get out of her. I don’t know why she’s keeping it a secret from everyone. She didn’t even tell Cammie. She can’t leave us. Is there even an us without her?”
All valid points. “Why would she tell me the reason she’s leaving if she won’t tell you?”
“Oh, she told me.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder. “I just wasn't really listening. I mean, how was I supposed to when the perfect pale-pink Birkin crossed in front of my eyes while we were at the bistro on 5th?”
Frustration creeps up my spine. “You weren’t listening? Your best friend was telling you—forget it.” Why am I not surprised that Marlow wasn't listening when her friend was talking? I know. We all know. Unless it’s about Marlow, she’s oblivious.
“She said something about a week.”
“So talk to her again and get the details this time.”
“Then she’ll know I wasn’t listening, and as you know, I’ve been accused of being a bad listener before. Not by her because she’s too nice to say that, but by others.”
Fucking hell. I take a deep breath to try to keep my cool. Me coming at Marlow in anger won’t fix the situation or cure her narcissism. “This is ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“Ridiculous is losing my best friend when we have a chance to stop that from happening. Will you talk to her? Yes or no?”
Of course, I’d be happy to . . . if I thought she wanted my help. But instead of asking for it, she asked me to help someone else. But that was typical of Tealey.
Clenching my jaw, I tick through her visit. I was listening, offered to help her case, and participated in the conversation, which is more than she can say for Marlow. Yet she told her.
Still, despite my frustration, no way can I watch her move across the damn country. No. Fuck that. “You know I will.”
“Great! I think the sooner, the better.”
“She'll be home tonight?”
“Yes. Cammie and I were supposed to go over and help her pack, but it sounds like she has it handled.”
“All right. I’ll stop by and check on her.” I glance at the file. “I need to drop something by her place anyway.”
“Good. Now let’s talk about me because I need to get going.”
Clicking on my schedule, I double-check the appointment time for my next client, hoping to avoid her drama. “What is it? I’m swamped today.”
Her hand lands on my file, her manicured nails tapping the papers. “I need a favor. An itsy, teeny, tiny favor.”
“No.”
She pouts. “I haven’t even asked yet. You’re in such a mood today.”
“I’m in a mood every day, so if you’ll excuse me.” Despite her tailored pink suit, she relaxes in the chair like the indulged daddy’s girl she is, apparently making herself at home.
“I thought you had to get going?” Marlow doesn’t take hints very well, but let’s pray she does today.
I need time to debrief the last few minutes before I walk into my next meeting. Usually, my post-Tealey ritual is to commit everything about her to memory.
Her pink-colored lips. An insight gleaned from our conversation. But today? Today, I’ll be trying to make sense of this moving mess.
“Radcliffe?” Marlow snaps her fingers, pulling me back to reality
“What?”
She sweeps her long hair off to one shoulder and then leans in. “I need a favor.”
Rolling my hand in the air, I encourage her to get to the point. “What is it?”
As if I have nothing better to do this afternoon, she opens a compact and eyes her brows, taking her time. Annoyance flickers in her eyes as she smooths a finger over it. “There.”
