Kismet (Happy Endings 3)

I swing past Dr. Insomnia’s Tea and Coffee Emporium, shielding my eyes from the morning sun as I peer in the window.

Easton looks ready to hold court at a table in the back. That’s my cousin. I’m pretty sure he has a patent on unshakable confidence.

After I turn off the tunes, I yank open the door, and march over to his throne. “Aren’t you just looking like the king of the world today?” I say to the guy who’s my biggest champion.

Easton shoots me an easy grin, his smile casual and cool and lighting up his blue eyes, the same color as mine.

We have a lot of sames, even for being cousins. Same shade of dark brown hair, same fair skin. Plus, we scored epic long lashes courtesy of our respective moms—who are sisters. Funny how you never think long lashes are something that work on a guy, but it’s a little scary how much the ladies dig Easton’s eyelashes.

Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard from his girlfriend, Bellamy.

Sliding a small jar of yogurt my way, he says, “Here you go. With blueberries. Figured you’d already had your daily allotment of coffee at home.”

I waggle a finger approvingly at him. “Just like I tell my girlfriends, you’re a goddess. And you should take that as high praise. It’s a rare guy who attains goddess status.”

He shoots me a dubious look, but shrugs lightly. “I’ll take the compliment, but how hard is it to remember you only drink one cup of coffee a day and you prefer yogurt for breakfast?”

“I guess it’s not too hard. It’s easy to see I only need one coffee. I’m naturally caffeinated beyond that,” I say with a playful bob of my shoulder.

“You’re the peppiest,” he deadpans.

I stretch an arm across the table to poke him. “Nothing wrong with peppy. Besides, peppy is good for my career.”

I’ve been racing up the corporate ladder at my company since I joined it 365 days ago—something my dad never believed I could do. But that’s my father for you—always warning me about the pitfalls of my career. Are you ready to take that on? Is that a little out of your league? You sure you can handle that?

Oh yes, Pops, I am so sure.

I’ve handled it all, thank you very much.

“And now I’m going to make my pitch for the VP post at Bancroft House,” I tell Easton.

He sweeps his arm majestically, granting me an audience. “Practice on me. That is how you’ll become the youngest person ever to hold VP status there.”

“Indeed, it is,” I say.

“And a rehearsal in front of the best will help you get there.”

I give him an I’m-so-touched grin. “Aww, I love your humility.”

“It is, indeed, endless,” he says. “Proceed.”

I’ve been practicing my pitch for days. I have it down pat, but I could use one more go. I square my shoulders and dive in. “I’m ready to oversee the Modern Art department,” I say, then I give him my speech. I give him my speech as I’ve rehearsed it, stating my case with logic and positivity. “And that’s why I’m the best candidate for the job.”

Easton has a few tips—slow down and don’t race through my accomplishments, mention my visions for the collection but don’t go into too much detail. I go through it one more time, taking his advice.

When I’m done, my business-savvy cousin slow-claps. “You’re ready. Now, go get ’em, tiger.”

Thirty minutes later, I march into work, head straight for Miranda’s office, and make one hell of a case for why I’ll serve this company well as the newest VP.

We’re an exciting new auction house that’s been winning business left and right from the bigger, older, more established ones. This promotion will be the cherry on top of my fabulous New York life, the one I’ve crafted over a decade on my own, with no help from my father.

And that’s fine by me.

That’s why New York is so precious to me. I love this city with all its flaws and craziness. Manhattan and I are tight. Not a weekend goes by when I don’t partake of a museum, a show, a pop-up shop, a new art installment, a pickle-ball bar, or a karaoke club. I imbibe this city, and it gives me joy, in no small part thanks to the people in my life. Men come and go—do they ever—but friends stay. I have a great crew sprinkled around the city; they’re my rocks, and I’ve cobbled them together from a patchwork quilt of the best people.

This new VP post will tie me more tightly to the place I love.

Holding my breath, I prep for good news, hoping it comes my way.

Miranda Bancroft flashes me her peach-lipsticked grin. “You make an excellent case, Josephine,” she says, and I want to kiss the sky. I’m this close to VP. Surely, Miranda’s going to tell me about my raise, and new business cards, and the first auction I’ll run in my new job. I mean, there she is, sitting tall, tucking her red hair behind her ears, her smile bursting.