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“Ah, soshewantshim,” Jane concluded with satisfaction. “Is he hot?”
I recalled the chiseled lines of Sterling’s face, the ridiculously bright blue eyes, and the way his five-o’clock shadow had lit up in the firelight.
“Wow,” Jane said, pulling me out of my momentary stupor. “That good, huh?”
I pulled my phone out of my skirt pocket and Googled him. Several pictures popped up, mostly from the firm, but a few from Boston society pages. The other interns must have already done this—they were always twittering about getting a look at him. He was a benefactor of several organizations, I saw, including the Boston Symphony. I selected one of him in a tuxedo and held it out to Jane.
“Ooh,” she cooed. “Yeah, he’s a fuckin’ sundae, girl. You should get on that pronto. How old is he?”
“Google says thirty-seven. Huh. For some reason, I thought he was older.”
“Does Google tell you anything else about Daddy Warbucks?”
“Jesus Christ, Jane,don’tcall him that. He’s already got eleven years on me.” I skimmed through hisWikipediapage, which stated his age and birthplace (also Boston), but revealed little else beyond his profession. I felt uncomfortable researching Sterling on the internet; it felt too close to spying.
“Doesn’t look like it. Too bad.” I set the phone down on the coffee table and turned back to her. “Anyway, I don’t think it really matters. It would probably be a disappointment anyway.”
“Oh, come on, Sky, that’s just pessimistic.”
I focused on my tea. This was a familiar conversation. Jane was always trying to get me involved with various men. Unlike me, she was one of those girls who seemed to have life-altering orgasms if a guy sneezed next to her. I had lived with Jane long enough to get somewhat used to her screams. She never understood why I generally found most sexual encounters less than satisfying.
“How long has it even been?” Jane prodded.
“Jane, don’t start.”
“No, seriously, hasn’t it been, like, seven years or something like that?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a drama queen. It’s only been six months.”
Jane raised one eyebrow.
“Okay, eight,” I admitted.
The brow only rose a bit more.
“Okay, fine, ten!” I threw a pillow at her, which she caught neatly and tucked behind her head.
“That’s all I’m saying,” she said with a satisfied smirk.
“Whatever,” I pronounced. “I doubt I’ll ever see him again. I’m done at the firm at the end of next week, and then the semester begins. Which reminds me, I have a pile of depositions to get through before Monday.”
I brought my mug back to the kitchen and put the kettle on for another boil. While the water heated up, I went to my bedroom to change out of yesterday’s work clothes and into a pair of jeans and one of my dad’s old sweaters. Outside it had started to snow again. It was a good day to curl up on the couch with a hot drink and a good book. Or in my case, a bunch of court documents.
When I returned, Jane had already poured more tea for both of us and had resumed her reading.
“When we get to a good stopping point, we should probably head over to the bookstore and get our textbooks for next term,” she said. “It’s supposed to snow like this the rest of the day, and my professors have already sent out reading assignments.”
That meant mine had too. A full week before classes even started.
“Damn. No rest for the weary,” I said, settling next to her with my messenger bag and grabbing one of the depositions I still had to summarize. “Well, I won’t have time to shop this week anyway, and I think I’m going to go down to New York next weekend before the term starts.”
“Nice,” Jane said absently as she pressed a yellow Post-it into her book.
“I should probably get a thank you card too. You know, for Mr. Sterling.”
Jane tipped her glasses down her nose again to peer at me. “I know how you could thank him,” she taunted. “Bring it up to his office, drop it on the floor and be all like, ‘Oh! Mr. Sterling, I’m sorry, let me get that for you! Oh my goodness, is that my ass I just backed into your hands? I’m soooo sorry!’”
She laughed as I kicked at her half-heartedly.
