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“What’s wrong with that when you feel like the one holding the basket’s going to take good care of them?”
“That’s how I feel. She told me to think about it—not to feel I had to jump because we’re having these meetings today. That’s why Adrian called first thing with the offer, but I shouldn’t feel pressured to decide. I’ve spent the last hour trying to think, to think smart and beyond the holy shit, somebody wants to publish my book.”
“It’s a damn good book. Now I’m going to sit down, eat my bagel, drink my coffee, because I know you and what you’re going to do. You’re going to let Carlee do her agent thing with this offer. And maybe they come up some.”
“I guess I am. Yes. Yes, I am. And if they don’t come up some, I’m just taking the offer. I want my eggs in this basket.”
He tapped the phone beside her plate. “Go on, call her back. You won’t eat that bagel until you do.”
“Okay, you’re right. We might not get the yes or no or whatever today, so let’s not feel all weird when we have lunch later. Or the whole dinner deal tonight.”
“What’s to feel weird?” He lifted his shoulders. “It’s just business, girl.”
Just business, she thought as she dressed in Marco’s Choice.
Still in a kind of daze, she put on the dark gray pencil skirt that hit just above the knee, pulled on the oversize turtleneck, like a palegray cloud. She added the earrings Marco helped make for her for Christmas. A dangle of tiny stones, all chosen for a writer. Then the ankle booties with their thin short heels—red because Marco decreed everyone needed red shoes.
Because she couldn’t decide what to do with her hair, she left it alone, then spent more time than usual on makeup because her hand tended to tremble.
He tapped on her open door. “Look at you! I knew it! Not a suit. You got the New York chic going on, girl. You got itdown.”
“And look at you.”
He wore a bright pink shirt with a black tie sporting pink flamingos, black pants, leather bomber jacket, and bright pink high-tops.
He looked absolutely amazing.
“Marco.” She walked over to take his face in her hands. “We’re really doing this. You and me. Whatever happens today, or tomorrow or the days after, we’re really doing this right now. You and me.”
“There’s always a me with you, and a you with me. Let’s go kick some publishing ass.”
“You’re not nervous?” she asked as they walked to the elevator.
“Do you see my outfit? Are you seeing how Iownthis outfit? Nobody who looks this fine’s got nerves.”
This time he stopped to buy flowers—two bouquets—on the short walk to the agency. She loved him for it, and loved him more when they stood in Carlee’s office and he held a bouquet out.
“I’m going to get spoiled. Thank you, Marco, and it’s wonderful to meet you in person, finally.”
“I wanted to give flowers to the person who’s taking care of my best girl.”
“She makes it easy.”
“And for helping her get those tickets. It was amazing, just amazing.”
“I’m so glad—I need to see it myself. Lee gets most of the credit for the tickets.”
“Oh, well then.”
When he made to take the flowers back, Carlee laughed. “We’ll share them. Lee will put these in water, and come back to take youto meet Yvonne, Marco, but let’s all sit down for a few minutes first. Give us ten, will you, Lee?”
“Absolutely.” The assistant took the flowers and made a discreet exit.
Carlee sat at her cluttered desk, her slim black pants, crisp white shirt, and streaky blond pixie cut reminding Breen of the first time she’d sat here.
So much the same, so much different.
“How are you enjoying New York?”
