Summer and the City (The Carrie Diaries 2)

Chapter Seventeen

“What do we do first?” Samantha asks, clapping her hands in an attempt at enthusiasm.

I look at her like she has to be kidding. “Well, first we buy the food,” I say, as if I’m talking to a kindergartner.

“Where do we do that?”

My jaw drops in disbelief. “At a supermarket?” When Samantha said she knew nothing about cooking, I never assumed she meant absolutely nothing, including the fact that “food” is usually made from “ingredients” purchased at a “supermarket.”

“And where’s the supermarket?”

I want to scream. Instead, I stare at her blankly.

She’s sitting behind her desk in her office, wearing a low-cut sweater with linebacker shoulders, pearls, and a short skirt. She looks sexy, cool, and collected. I, on the other hand, look ragged and out of place, especially as I’m wearing what is basically some old lady’s slip that I’ve cinched with a cowboy belt. Another great find at the vintage store. “Have you considered takeout?” I ask smartly.

She emits her tinkling laugh. “Charlie thinks I can cook. I don’t want to disabuse him of the fact.”

“And why, pray tell, does he think that?”

“Because I told him, Sparrow,” she says, becoming slightly irked. She stands up and puts her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you heard the expression ‘Fake it till you make it’? I’m the original fake-it girl.”

“Okay.” I throw up my hands in defeat. “I’ll need to see Charlie’s kitchen first. See what kind of pans he has.”

“No problem. His apartment is spectacular. I’ll take you there now.” She picks up a giant Kelly bag, which I’ve never seen before.

“Is that new?” I ask, half in admiration and half in envy.

She strokes the soft leather before she slings it over her shoulder. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Charlie bought it for me.”

“Some people have quite the life.”

“Play your cards right, and you’ll have quite the life too, Sparrow.”

“How’s this grand scheme of yours going to go down?” I ask. “What if Charlie finds out—”

She waves this away. “He won’t. The only time Charlie’s been in the kitchen is when we have sex on the counter.”

I make a face. “And you honestly expect me to prepare food on it?”

“It’s clean, Carrie. Haven’t you ever heard of maids?”

“Not in my universe.”

We’re interrupted by the entry of a short man with sandy brown hair who looks exactly like a tiny Ken doll. “Are you leaving?” he says sharply to Samantha.

A flash of annoyance crosses her face before she quickly composes herself. “Family emergency,” she says.

“What about the Smirnoff account?” he demands.

“Vodka has been around for over two hundred years, Harry. I daresay it will still be here tomorrow. My sister, on the other hand,” she says, indicating me, “may not.”

As if on cue, my entire body floods in embarrassment, rendering me bright red.

Harry, however, isn’t buying it. He scrutinizes me closely—apparently, he needs glasses but is too vain to wear them. “Your sister?” he asks. “When did you get a sister?”

“Really, Harry.” Samantha shakes her head.

Harry stands aside to let us pass, then follows us down the hall. “Will you be back later?”