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1
“What are you doing for Halloween?” Sunday Lutz, the newest tenant at Grenadine 222 and the fourth in Macy Crosswhite’s close circle of friends, schmeared pumpkin spice cream cheese over half of her toasted raisin bagel.
Breakfast for Macy did not include a bagel from Mr. Goldshine’s deli around the corner and watching Sunday consume the delectably chewy treat with nary a concern about calories added yet another injustice to her list of scores to settle.
She wasn’t sure who to hold accountable for her slow metabolism and carb addiction, but given that it was likely a family member, she’d have to let that bit of unfairness go unresolved.
“Same thing I’m usually doing,” Macy grumbled. The maple walnut flavored coffee from her favorite roaster, Porto Rico Importing Co. on Bleecker Street, was delish, but nothing was as good as a fresh New York City bagel with half an inch of pumpkin-y, cinnamon-y cream cheese.
“You work too much.” Sunday, a willowy blue-eyed blonde from Kentucky who could eat anything and always looked Instagram-worthy, leaned forward, her arched brows conveying real concern. “When’s the last time you slept in or took a day off?”
“That would be 2004, I think.” Macy pulled her snuggly sweater tight and leaned back in the wrought-iron chair. She gazed around the city from the rooftop patio atop the renovated brownstone she shared with three other young women and Mrs. Grenadine, an apple-shaped widow of indeterminate age who served as self-appointed chaperone and fairy godmother to the quartet. Bright golden October sunshine made the chill worthwhile, and a small heater allowed them to enjoy the space year-round although it wasn’t needed this morning. “The holiday stretch between September and January is our busiest season. I have a two-week cruise scheduled for May.”
“Of next year?” Sunday jerked upright in consternation. “That’s more than six months away.”
“I have a corporate ladder to climb.” Macy’s good mood soured. “I can’t afford to slack off now. Especially since I’ve finally got a shot at landing the senior event manager position with BonTemps Affairs. Erika O’Malley was supposed to work until January, but she’s on bedrest. I’ve spent the last two days developing a strategy to take over her accounts. I’m presenting it to my boss today.”
“Oh, my. I hope she and the baby will be okay. When is she due?” Sunday’s hand went to her own flat belly sympathetically. “Is this her first pregnancy?”
Macy didn’t know the answer to either of those questions. Erika was a coworker, not a friend. The only reason she was on Macy’s radar was because she was competition. Just like Ross Nelson, the other junior event planner at BonTemps.
“I don’t know the specifics of Erika’s pregnancy, but I doubt she’ll be back. Her husband is an investment broker for some huge firm on Wall Street. It’s not like they need the money she brought in.”
Sunday’s mouth turned down at the corners, signaling dismay at Macy’s sharp words. Sometimes, no matter how hard Macy tried, she couldn’t hide the resentment and jealousy that flared when she was reminded not all men were conniving, self-serving, manipulative liars like the beasts she’d entrusted her heart to.
“What I mean is that I’m grateful for a chance to take my career to the next level while Erika gets to be a stay-at-home-mom. She’ll have plenty of opportunities to use her skills to organize children’s parties and ladies’ luncheons and school fundraisers.” She refilled her mug from a thermal coffee pot and avoided Sunday’s gaze.
“I know your career means a lot to you.” Sunday handed Macy a container of heavy whipping cream in a peacemaking gesture. “But there’s more to life than work and money.”
That was an easy claim for a beautiful woman to make. Success was effortless for perfect people like Sunday—thin, gorgeous, kind, intelligent. She’d had a line of hot guys volunteering to carry her boxes to her second-floor apartment before the moving van driver shifted into Park. The dream job that brought her to New York? Fashion assistant to a Grammy-award-winning pop star who’d decided to launch a line of high-end lingerie because traveling the world for sold-out concerts didn’t keep her busy enough. Sunday had met the singer backstage after winning tickets on a radio contest and within fifteen minutes been offered the chance of a lifetime.
“I’m not the marrying type.” Macy swallowed around the big, fat lie. What she meant was that she might be stupid enough to fall for empty promises, but she wasn’t dumb enough to compound her poor judgement by committing herself to a man who was only using her.
Sunday laughed, a charming, feminine sound the exact opposite of the braying outbursts Macy was prone to. “I’m not talking marriage and babies. There will be time for that later. You, me, Rowena, and Elise are this generation’s version of ‘Sex and the City.’ There’s champagne to be drunk, men to seduce, adventures to be had, memories to be made.”
“The champagne and adventures will have to wait.” Macy curved her hands around her mug, savoring the serene moment. “I have a meeting in ninety minutes to see which of Erika’s projects are being handed off to me, and that’s on top of the events I already have underway. I sure hope Beauregard gives Nelson the political wives’ rally. I don’t have the patience for their in-fighting.”
“You’re lucky to work with such a nice guy. My granny would swoon if she met Ross Nelson, with his old-fashioned good manners and puppy dog eyes.” Sunday tossed a handful of bouncy, flaxen curls over one shoulder and tightened the belt on her shell-pink cashmere bathrobe.
“You only ran into him the one time you came by the office. How can you make a determination like that when you spent less than five minutes with him?” The coffee went acidic in Macy’s stomach.
Ross Nelsonseemedlike a nice guy. A total beta—mild-mannered, comfortable in his own skin, considerate, uncomplicated. He totally had warm, mocha-brown puppy-dog eyes that gave him an air of eager helpfulness. He joined the company about six months ago, and she’d never heard him say an unkind word about anyone—including her. In fact, Nelson genuinely seemed to like her, despite her aggressive attitude and rock-hard boundaries between personal and professional conduct.
She tried to keep workplace drama to a minimum, but in addition to big boobs and a big rear, she had a big personality. When she got excited or upset, her voice got louder. When confronted by an intense situation, sometimes she overreacted. No matter what she did, she did it big. That went for falling in love, but so far, that had resulted in nothing but big mistakes, big regrets, and big trust issues.
“Intuition tells me Ross is a good guy.” Sunday nodded wisely, thick burnished coils bouncing. “My granny was an empath, and she taught me how to trust my instincts. When I was looking for an apartment, I knew I belonged here. I didn’t submit any other applications, and within twenty-four hours Mrs. Grenadine called with an offer.”
“That’s unheard of.” Macy wasn’t aware that’s how Sunday had come to be part of the Grenadine 222 foursome, but her own arrival had been similarly fortuitous. A bad breakup had led to a lucky break when she stumbled upon their landlady hanging out a VACANCY sign.
“When it’s right, it’s right.” Sunday shrugged and finished the last bite of her bagel. “Will you be home for dinner? It’s Rowena’s night to cook, and I begged her for chicken tikka masala. Her mom’s recipe is the best. After dinner, we’re going to decide on Halloween costumes. One of Elise’s clients is hosting a masquerade party, and there’s a huge bash at Aubrey’s. Personally, I’d rather do the nightclub.”
Ah, chicken tikka masala! Finally, something Macy could enjoy without too much sacrifice. She’d skip the rice and save up her carbs to indulge in her friend’s homemade naan and savory spiced curry.
“Not sure what my day will look like until the meeting with Beau and Nelson, but you’ve given me incentive to be home by eight.” Macy stood, shivering as a crisp breeze snapped around her. She gathered her mug and the thermal carafe and headed toward the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs leading from the rooftop. “If I have time, I’ll pick up a couple of bottles of that new Pinot Noir we like.”
Before she got to the door, Sunday called out to her. “Just wondering…why do you call Ross by his last name?”
“Boundaries. Keeps things from getting too casual, too familiar.” Macy tugged the door open.
