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Marty doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of the wordno. I’ve lost track of how many times he’s asked, and I’ve gently declined. I’m just not interested.
The elevator continues its ascent, stopping a few times to let passengers off. Eventually, we stop at my floor. The doors slide open, and I step out onto the twenty-third floor, directly into Wentner’s impressive foyer. It’s a conservative office, with lots of dark wood and gold trim, glass doors featuring etched floral designs, and flower arrangements that cost about as much as my monthly grocery bill. Fancy.
Connor would have called itposh.
Stop it.
I wave at Stephanie, who’s seated at the front desk.
“Good morning, Steph,” I say as I pass her desk and head down the hall to my cubicle.
“Morning, Kennedy.” She waves distractedly as she answers her desk phone.
Wentner embraces a modern, open floorplan office model, with clusters of cubicles scattered throughout the floor. The front wall is all windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline. And there are a dozen conference rooms along the back wall. There’s a snack bar and a coffee kiosk that everyone shares.
On the way to my workspace, as I pass the coffee kiosk, I spot Lauren Daniels standing in line for her usual caramel macchiato. Lauren is a graphic designer in the marketing department, and my best friend here. “Lauren, I love your hair!” Usually, she straightens it, but today she’s wearing her natural corkscrew curls. I envy her. My hair is stick straight and can’t hold a curl for more than an hour.
Lauren grins as she twirls a strand around her index finger. “Thanks. Lunch today? I’m craving sushi.”
“You bet. I’ll double-check my calendar, but I’m pretty sure I’m free.”
There’s an amazing sushi cafe just two blocks from our building. Their rolls are amazing—all custom made to order. And their sauces are divine. Personally, I’ve got a weakness for their Thai peanut sauce and their sweet chili.
I scurry the last few yards and make it to my cubicle just in time. I’m trying to make a good impression because annual reviews are coming up soon, to be followed by a slate of promotions. I want one of those promotions. I’ve been working my butt off to ensure I get one. My boss, Jamal, has been hinting lately that I’m in the running to get one.
Once I’m settled into my chair, I turn on my PC.
Marty walks past me, pausing at the opening to my cube. “Hey, Kennedy. Want to grab lunch today?”
“Gee, I’m sorry, Marty. I already made plans with Lauren.”
His smile falls. “Oh, sure. Maybe next time.”
Fortunately, I’m spared a reply because he’s already moved on.
Marty is one of those guys who doesn’t take hints well.
While my PC is booting up, I check my phone for messages.
There’s just one text, from my best friend’s husband—Fitzwilliam Carmichael II—otherwise known as Will. No one calls him Fitzwilliam—that’s his father. Right now, Will and Skye are at their home in Cincinnati, Ohio. They usually split their time between Cincinnati and London, England, where Will is from. But since Skye just gave birth a week ago to their second child, a baby boy, they’re staying in the US until the baby’s a little bit older.
Will: Sorry it’s short notice, but can you come for the weekend? Come meet your new godson. There’s a flight out of JFK today at 4. Penny says pretty please with a cherry on top. She misses her auntie. Pls come. I already bought your ticket. It’s waiting for you at the airline counter.
Four o’clock?I quickly work backwards. I’d have to be at the airport by two, which means I’d need to go home right after lunch, pack, then grab an Uber to the airport. I make a mental note to tell my neighbors I’ll be gone for the weekend so they don’t worry when they don’t see me for a few days. I sigh. It’s very short notice, but I’ve been dying to see the new baby. And I really miss Skye.
I text Will back.
Kennedy: Yes. I’m coming.
Will: Brilliant. Hamish will meet you at the airport.
I’m looking forward to seeing my friends. I’m even looking forward to seeing Hamish, Will’s burly Scottish chauffeur who travels with them. I love his gruff accent.
But first things first. I head to my boss’s office and knock.
“Come in,” calls a deep male voice with a strong New York Bronx accent.
I pop my head into his office. “Hi, Jamal. Have you got a minute?”
