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“Educated guess,” I mutter. “Where’s he taking you?”
She frowns at me. “He suggested Nobu. I guess there’s something wrong with that too?”
“He’s probably going to expect something, you know. You don’t take a woman to Nobu and end it with a kiss on the cheek.”
“Who’s to sayIwon’t want more than a kiss on the cheek?” she counters. “I’ve been single for months now and was unhappily married for the six years before it.”
That angry thing in my chest tightens until it’s hard to get a full breath. Is she really going to sleep with this douchebag just because it’s been a few months?Try going for a year without it, Lucie. “You’re the one insisting on the fairy tale. Sleeping with a guy on the first date hardly sounds likethat.”
“And your point?” she asks, her arms folding.
I’m starting to piss her off and Iwantto piss her off. I want everyone in the fucking world to feel as angry as I do, though it’s still not clear what I’m angry about. But I need to stop. I’macting like a jealous ex rather than her friend/neighbor/boss, and it’s time to rein it in.
“The kid who was all obsessed with Lord Devereaux probably wouldn’t approve.”
Her irritation gives way to a reluctant grin. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t forget much.”
Which isn’t true. I forget everything. But suddenly I’ve become photographic where she’s concerned. I’m cataloging every laugh, every smile, every shared glance. Maybe because these are fleeting things, things that won’t remain mine forever...and I’m really starting to wish they would.
24
LUCIE
Only a few hours after the lunch with Harrison, my car is unceremoniously left in my driveway and by the following Monday, Harrison has filed the paperwork for my divorce and begun negotiating an interim agreement so I’ll finally get child support.
Fessman’s office says they can’t return my retainer—and that I’ve somehow already spent most of it. One phone call with Harrison has them agreeing to refund the entire thing. I have no idea what he said; I’m just happy things have turned around.
Work, too, is going well. The staff meeting was deemed a success and we’re getting closer to that break room I want for the seventh floor. Using an online design program, I’ve created several potential layouts, which I assumed I’d just show to Caleb at the lake, but he’s been missing in action ever since the day he introduced me to Harrison.
After nearly a week of silence on his end, I’m forced to schedule a meeting to show him the drawings. Somehow it makes the discussion seem more formal and intimidating, so I ask Molly to look them over first—she excels at finding the flaws in a plan as long as she’s not its architect.
“Hello, my nearly divorced friend!” Molly cries as I walk up. We’ve met over lunch in the mall’s very crowded food court, and every head nearby swivels at this announcement. “Let’s celebrate by getting you some lingerie.”
I laugh. “Let’s celebrate by having you look at my break room layouts as discussed.”
“Let’s justpeek,” she says, continuing to pull meawayfrom the food. “I guarantee you own nothing but Hanes for Women, and once you stop lusting after your boss and agree to sleep with Stuart, you’ll realize what truly mattered today.”
“I’m not lusting after my boss.” My crush on him is so wrong and pointless that itshouldbe true, if nothing else. “If you want to shop, that’s fine, but be fast because I’m starving, and Idoneed you to look at my layouts.”
“I’ll look at them afterward. But seriously—only you could work with a million single dudes and pick the married one.”
“I thought we agreed I was going to hold out for your future son Damien to rock my world. Did I misunderstand?”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m going to have a hard time naming you as his godmother if you keep making that joke.”
We arrive in the lingerie department, where—surrounded by satin and lace and bras too sheer to be functional—I’m completely out of my depth. I was too young for lingerie when I met Jeremy, too innocent, and I was too busy for lingerie soon after that, with newborn twins taking up every free second.
Molly shoves a black lace thing at me that appears to be more straps than fabric. “Go try that on,” she demands.
I roll my eyes before I spin to the mirror and hold it up against me. “I don’t even know what this thingis. What’s with all the straps?”
“Oh my God, it’s like you’re still thirteen years old,” she says, looking at a teddy. “It’s called a merry widow and those are garter straps. It’s how you hold up your stockings. How do you not know this?”
“Maybe because people stopped needing to have their stockings held up just after World War Two,” I reply, turning back toward her. “I don’t wear—” My words die off mid-sentence. Because not ten feet from Molly is Caleb, looking every bit as wide-eyed as I am. “Caleb,” I gasp. I clutch the merry widow more tightly against me, as if that will somehow make it disappear.
“That’s some interesting shopping you’re doing.” His voice has dropped an octave, and his gaze falls to my chest.
