“That’s okay. I really should go.”
“You just got here.” Pushing off the couch, he steps toward a large desk situated near the corner. I watch him move the wireless mouse and bring the large iMac to life before picking up a pair of brown glasses and sliding them on.
He looks back at me, and he’s so damn cute, I almost melt. “Yes, but, I don’t want Sylvia to worry.”
“Not your mom again. I expected a more creative excuse this time.”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s late. I have a brunch date in the morning, and I’m tired.”
“Where are you having brunch?”
“The Drake.”
“What time?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
“That’s only a few blocks from here. Spend the night.” Warmth simmers in his hazel eyes, and tightness pulls at my chest.
“I don’t do the walk of shame.”
“Of course you don’t. I’ll order up something for you to wear. You’re a size two?”
He makes a move toward me, and it’s time to get firm. “Look, Marcus, this isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be mean.”
“I’m sorry, but it already happened.”
“We’re adults. We had an itch to scratch. That’s all.” Picking up my clutch, I step into my heels. “Make an appointment, and we can talk about your PR needs during business hours. In your... office.” I don’t say ridiculous office. I don’t really want to fight with him.
As usual, he’s not backing down. “Why do I feel like you’re running again?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
That’s it. Too far. I’m at the door, and I jerk it open, dashing for the stairs without another word.
The door opens again, and Marcus is behind me. “Amy, stop.” I keep going. “You can’t stand outside alone waiting for a cab. Come back.”
I see the car I ordered, and relief blasts through my chest. I exhale the tightness that was trying to choke me. “I’m not waiting.”
I don’t look back, as I’m climbing inside. I notice his bare feet standing on the curb. He says my name one last time before I slam the door.
Chapter 5: Old Friends
Amy
Karen Philpot sits across from me in the expansive dining room of the Pa
lm Court in the Drake Hotel. White, high-backed chairs facing small, round marble tables fill the space. The entire room is soft white, from the tall, Corinthian columns to the drapes to the enormous bouquet of calla lilies mixed with freesia and baby’s breath atop the quatrefoil fountain in the center of the room. The trickle of water adds to the soothing stringed-quartet ambience.
I’ve come here regularly for high tea with Sylvia since I was a little girl. Today, however, it’s an opulent battleground, where I prepare for the woman sitting across from me in a lavender suit to pick me apart. (Yes, I said she’s wearing a lavender suit. It’s okay—I know how to play this game. Be cool.)
Her eyes travel over my sleeveless, tan silk dress. The neckline is a low cowl that plays peek-a-boo with the top of my black bra. A chunky silver and black statement piece is around my neck. I tied my hair back in a French twist, but a few strands have escaped around my cheeks.
“Thanks for inviting me to brunch, darling,” I say. Getting the first word is a sign of strength. Karen stirs her tea. I’m having espresso, of course. “What’s new since I left town? It feels like forever.”
“It has been forever. You left what? More than six years ago?”