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Was she more like Heather than she liked to think?
“Shit.” Paige answered the phone before she could ask herself any more troubling questions. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Chloe,” Paige acknowledged, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved by the sound of her friend’s voice. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Chloe said, although she didn’t sound fine. “Does there have to be a problem for me to call?”
“No, of course not. Just that you sound kind of…”
“Kind of what?”
“Kind of like there’s a problem.”
“You got that from ‘hi’?”
Paige smiled. Chloe was right. She was transferring her own anxiety onto her friend. “Guess I’m just nervous about this stupid party. I can’t seem to get my ass in gear.”
“Oh, shit. The party’s tonight? I forgot all about it.”
Now Paige knew there was something wrong. “Has something happened?”
“Nothing’s happened,” Chloe insisted. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Paige glanced toward the clock beside her bed. Sam would be arriving any minute. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Chloe repeated. “Now get that gorgeous ass in gear, get out there, and knock ’em dead.”
Paige nodded as she disconnected the line and pushed herself to her feet. She debated responding to Mr. Right Now’s text, then decided he’d still be there in the morning and she didn’t have time for more distractions, however tempting they might be.
Ten minutes later, she was fully dressed and made up, her hair pulled into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. “Not bad,” she said, dropping her lipstick and cellphone inside her clutch, then immediately retrieving her phone and rereading the message from Mr. Right Now. “What the hell,” she decided. What was she so conflicted about? She and Sam had only been on a few dates. They were hardly exclusive. They weren’t even lovers. She was free to date whomever she pleased. There was no way you could call it cheating.
Hey, there,yourself,she typed.Wasn’t sure I’d hear from you again. Sorry again about last week.
As long as it doesn’t happen twice,came the quick response.
The phone in the kitchen rang—the concierge informing her of Sam’s arrival.
Damn it,she thought. Could Sam’s timing be any worse?I have to go now,she wrote.Can we continue this later?
She waited, but there was no reply.
Oh, well, she thought, dropping her phone back into her clutch and leaving the apartment. She was halfway to the elevator when she heard the familiar ping.
She quickly checked the message from Mr. Right Now.
It was short and sweet:I’ll be here.
