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“Oh, is Gabriel with you?”
“Yes.”
I’ve nothing against the guy, but this is not a conversation I want to have in front of a man. “Can you send him away? I need to talk to you.”
I hear a playful smile in Blake’s tone as she says, “Of course I can send him away.” Then she turns serious as she asks, “Are you okay?”
“No,” I admit. “Definitely no. I’m traumatized.”
I hear scuffling and when she speaks next, Blake’s voice sounds louder. “What happened? You’re not on speaker anymore.”
“Not over the phone. I’ll be there in twenty.”
We hang up and I walk to a busy street to hail a cab.
Without traffic, it takes closer to fifteen minutes to reach Blake’s building.
She opens the door in a pair of black leggings and an oversized cashmere sweater that makes her look totally huggable.
Blake must read my mind because she pulls me into a crushing embrace. “Are you okay?” she asks as she pulls back.
“Not really,” I confess.
“Did something happen?” Blake steps aside to let me pass.
I walk deeper into her apartment to the kitchen area, a big, open space with a wide marble island and expensive-looking fixtures. I shrug my coat off and drop it on a stool, pacing the room.
“Can I have a glass of water?” I ask, suddenly realizing how parched I feel.
“Sure,” Blake says. “Still or sparkling?”
I turn to her. “Either is okay.”
My best friend stands next to her purifying water machine and fills a glass, then she gives me a look, and pushing a button, she adds, “You need bubbles.”
The machine pumps what I assume is CO2 into my glass, and Blake hands it to me.
I drain it in a few long swallows and ask her for another.
“Okay.” Blake leans on the counter. “Now I’m getting worried. What happened?”
Just then, her buzzer rings.
“Were you expecting someone?”
“No.” She shrugs and gets the intercom. “Yes?”
“I have a delivery for Miss Blake Avery.”
“Come on up.” Blake lets go of the buzzer and adds, “I’ve no idea what it might be.”
We go back to the door and wait for the delivery guy, who proves to be a Starbucks barista.
“Evening, miss,” he greets Blake. “I have two venti hot chocolates with whipped cream, two chocolate muffins, two brownies, and two glazed donuts for you.”
Blake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t order anything.”
“No, I know. A dude came into the shop and asked us to deliver these to you. Tall, handsome, dark hair—rich?”
