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I swallow, arching a brow as a grin spreads across Fumi’s face.
“Okay…”
Her grin widens. “How was your weekend?”
I lift an easy shoulder. “Fine, mostly. I just stayed in and caught up on work. Made sure Nora didn’t get into any trouble. Dinner in. You know, the usual.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” she nods slowly, her dark eyes locked on mine.
I clear my throat. “So, how was your—”
“I’m just wondering which part of catching up on work, managing your teenage sister, and cooking dinner gave you your hickeys.”
My face explodes with heat as my hand flies to my neck—only to remember quickly that I’m wearing a silk scarf around it. I simmer, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.
“What hickeys?”
Fumi rolls her eyes. “Really? You’re a professional lawyer and you’re actuallythis badat lying?”
I purse my lips, trying to will the heat from my face.
“I’m notlying—”
“Objection. You’ve never been into neck scarves.”
“Maybe I want to give them a go.”
“How very Parisian of you.”
When my face burns even hotter, she just grins wider.
“C’mon! We don’t work for a fucking convent, Elsa. You’re allowed to go out and get your freak on. But…” She shakes her head, sighing heavily.
“But…what?”
“But you have to fuckingtell me all the details afterward, so I can live vicariously through your sexcapades!”
I can feel the redness engulfing my face. But I still force a snorted laugh and a roll of my eyes.
“It’s nothing like that, trust me.”
She groans. “Elsa! We have to present a united front on this! Sisters helping sisters! Icravegory details. Now go! And don’t you dare tell me you’ve forgotten the pact.”
I grin widely. “The pact” is something that came out of averylong night of drinking after work one day, not long after I joined Crown and Black. Both of us were commiserating about being married to our jobs, and how we didn’t understand how anyone working the hours we worked could possibly find the time to date, even casually.
It was comforting enough to hear that I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. But coming from someone like her, it made me feel even more seen. Because with her Japanese father and Korean-Italian mother, Fumi is freakinggorgeous. Like, outrageously, knocking it out of the park, winning-the-genetic-lottery beautiful.
So if evenshewasn’t even finding dates, it really was the job. Not my neurotic nature. Or at least, not entirely that.
Our drunken pact was a two-parter: one, if we were both still completely and utterly married to Crown and Black by the age of thirty, we’d marry each other. Not because of any latent gay tendencies. But solely to make sure neither of us died alone only to be eaten by the cat, or something tragic like that.
The other part of the pact was that one of us would tell the other if and when she somehow, by some miracle, managed to go on a date or, better yet, get laid.
Fumi, as close a friend as she is, doesnotknow that I am—orwas—a twenty-six-year-old virgin, though. Because who the hell wants to have that conversation?
I laugh and wave a dismissive hand. “It’s seriously not what you think. I saw some TikTok or something with this girl wearing one, and thought I’d try rocking the scarf look. That’s it.”
“Oh, okay,” Fumi nods. “Well, if that’s all—”
