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Nikki said, “Just because I’m out here on Long Island and no longer run with the Manhattan society circle doesn’t mean I’m oblivious. My stepmother was a guest at the engagement party. She sent me a text—and it had nothing to do with the blushing bride-to-be.”
“I swear, I live in a fishbowl.”
“Barbara indicated you’re dating a lawyer. Nice. Perhaps he can save you a few bucks by perusing these briefs…in his.” She wagged her brows suggestively.
“Ha, ha. Not his area of expertise.” Kate waved a hand in the air. “Well, strutting around in the black, butt-hugging variety is certainly in his wheelhouse.”
“My, my, Kate.” Nikki’s fingertips pressed together, creating a steeple under her chin. “You got that up-close-and-personal with him? According to the stepmonster, he didn’t leave a dry thong in his wake. True story?”
“Ugh,” she said on a sigh. “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that Barbara says such things to you… Or the fact that it is, indeed, a true story.”
“Barbie is freshly married to a man nearly thirty years older than her. She can’t help but notice—and comment—on the studs.”
“Passive-aggressive,” Kate softly sing-songed.
“Fuck you,” Nikki melodically retorted. Then said, “I’m entitled. My parents were married for three decades. My mother had me when she was eighteen. Daddy was ecstatic. Then one day, Barbie arrives on the scene, at the country club to be exact, wearing the world’s most micro of micro-tennis skirts and batting her eyelash extensions and suddenly I’m a fucking statistic.”
Kate’s brow arched.
“Okay, yes. I was a fucking statistic before that. And even before I became the widow of a revered search and rescue pilot. My grades and test scores were practically unheard of for a woman at Princeton. I’m shocked to this day the Dean never demanded gender testing.”
“Yeah, well, even if there had been a discrepancy, I wouldn’t have sued the administration over assigning you to my dorm room. You had the absolute best closet on campus to raid.”
“Smartass,” Nikki quipped back. “You’ve seen the equipment. All original, factory model.”
“Bullshit! That perfect shade of auburn hair is—”
“All right, all right! The hair color was a post-showroom floor modification.” She winked. “Let’s not make a federal case out of it.”
“We’re resorting to lawyer jokes now?”
“If those briefs fit as sinfully well as you say they do.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Part of my charm.”
“Hmm. Well. Speaking of cases,” Kate added with a frown. “I think Jude is in the throes of one right now that’s messing with his mind. He won’t tell me anything about it, but I read in the paper that a woman died and—”
Kate gave a sharp shake of her head.
Christ, what was she thinking? She couldn’t have this conversation with Nikki. Or anyone else for that matter. It would invariably lead to Kate revealing Jude’s fiancée had killed herself, not to mention potentially compromising patient confidentiality and…
Damn!
No!
Back-peddling, she said, “Never mind. Look,” she reasoned as she stood and collected the armful of portfolios. “I have to get out of here, let you meet with your next victim—um, traveling shrink—and return to the city to sift through all of this.”
“Wow, Kate. Classic case of denial and avoidance. What gives?”
“Professional oath,” she simply said.
“Oh, fuck.”
Kate actually laughed. “You and Jude. Must be your favorite word.”
“Is that code for ‘I’ll introduce you two sometime?’”
