“Must be the nice weather.” As the stranger sipped her drink, I noticed a delicate gold band around her ring finger, encrusted with three diamonds. My chest tightened.
The woman caught me staring and she blushed.
“I just got engaged. And so did you, right? You and that author?”
“Uh … yeah.” I pushed an olive around my plate.
“This is the craziest coincidence.” The woman squinted and glanced over her shoulder, then leaned toward me. “My friend used to date him. Can you believe that?”
“Huh?” A gust of wind rocked the umbrella above our table. It shifted and a shaft of sunlight pierced my eyes. Friend … dated Matt?
“I know, right?” The woman laughed. Her earrings flashed like fishing lures. “The stories I have heard. You are so brave to be marrying him. Is he really into all that weird stuff?”
“I—” I shielded my eyes. Jesus, I needed to see this woman. Was her friend Bethany Meres, Matt’s evil ex? And what did she mean by “weird stuff”?
“God, I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” She lifted her tray. “A table just freed up over there, so I’ll give you some peace. Nice meeting you.”
The woman hurried off and I sat there staring after her.
I wanted to march over to her table and demand more information, but my lunch break was up. I pictured Pam waiting in her office with an executioner’s ax. Fuck …
I got one last good look at the woman—straight, fine hair to her shoulders, a small, fit body, and a brightly printed Coach purse—and carried my tray back into the deli.
* * *
Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, awaited me in the office. I rarely saw Laura around the agency and the sight of her stopped me in the doorway.
These women looked severe.
Laura beckoned, her perfect eyebrows arching. Pam nodded at me.
Okay … I knew this scene. They would feed me some lines about a gap in my skill set, or disappointment with my progress, their hope for more growth. This isn’t working out, Hannah.
“Great to see you, Hannah,” said Laura. Laura was a leggy brunette, in her fifties at least and alarmingly attractive.
My boss, Pam, looked stern as usual.
I perched on the edge of the offered chair.
“Nice to see you as well,” I said. Be brave. Go out with dignity. I tried to smile at Laura, though I think I grimaced. “How was New York?”
“Same old,” she drawled, her city accent thick. Though the Granite Wing Agency was Denver-based, Laura spent weeks on end in New York City. “I got you something.”
“We got you something,” Pam put in.
They laughed together.
A small turquoise box with a white ribbon sat on the desk. I lifted it and read the lid: TIFFANY & CO. “Oh … thank you,” I managed. My stomach gurgled and my hands shook as I untied the ribbon. Stupid fucking nerves.
Inside the box was a long felt pouch, and inside of that a classic Tiffany T-clip pen, all sterling silver except for a thin blue accent.
The pen lay cool and heavy across my palm.
I stared at it, dumbfounded.
Then I stared at Pam as she said, “Hannah, Laura and I would like to bring you on as an associate agent here. What do you say?”
I looked between Pam and Laura, back and forth, blinking owlishly. I wasn’t getting canned. I was getting the promotion I’d coveted for months.
“Do you think I’m ready?” My fingers closed around the pen.
“I’ve been very impressed,” Pam said. “You’ve been with us for almost a year. You learn fast and your dedication is obvious. Excepting your recent absence—” Pam sniffed. Oof, my absence. She meant the three weeks in April when I broke up with Matt and hid at an Econo Lodge and drank way too much gin. “You’ve shown great aptitude for this work.”
“This is what I want,” I said.
“Then congratulations, Hannah.” Laura shook my hand.
I stood and shook Pam’s hand. I hoped my expression looked halfway professional, because inside I was screaming and lighting fireworks.
We talked about my contract, expectations, and even “building my client list,” a phrase that thrilled me. By the time I returned to my office, I had forgotten entirely about the woman outside the deli and her “weird stuff” comment.
My God … I was an associate agent at the Granite Wing Agency.
The workday sailed by in a rose-colored haze.
I left at six and rushed home, but my energy fizzled as I climbed the stairs to the condo. Matt and I hadn’t had sex, much less kissed, since his cryptic announcement five days ago.
You don’t really know me. Hannah, I want things that …
Things that he wasn’t willing to discuss, apparently.
I let myself into the condo and found Matt looming in the pantry, a cup of noodles in hand. Freshly showered and shaved, wearing only loose gray sweats, he looked like sex itself. Seriously—my boyfriend, Matthew Sex Sky Jr. Or was it Matthew Asshole Sky Jr., who viewed everything from death to marriage as a game?
“There you are,” he said, smiling tentatively.
I pried my eyes off his naked torso.
“Ramen for dinner?”
“I was considering it. I could find something else to eat.” He moved into my personal space. I breathed in the scent of his clean skin and aftershave. “Little bird…”
“Hi.” I stared at his chest. Something else to eat. His suggestion wasn’t lost on me.
The woman caught me staring and she blushed.
“I just got engaged. And so did you, right? You and that author?”
“Uh … yeah.” I pushed an olive around my plate.
“This is the craziest coincidence.” The woman squinted and glanced over her shoulder, then leaned toward me. “My friend used to date him. Can you believe that?”
“Huh?” A gust of wind rocked the umbrella above our table. It shifted and a shaft of sunlight pierced my eyes. Friend … dated Matt?
“I know, right?” The woman laughed. Her earrings flashed like fishing lures. “The stories I have heard. You are so brave to be marrying him. Is he really into all that weird stuff?”
“I—” I shielded my eyes. Jesus, I needed to see this woman. Was her friend Bethany Meres, Matt’s evil ex? And what did she mean by “weird stuff”?
“God, I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” She lifted her tray. “A table just freed up over there, so I’ll give you some peace. Nice meeting you.”
The woman hurried off and I sat there staring after her.
I wanted to march over to her table and demand more information, but my lunch break was up. I pictured Pam waiting in her office with an executioner’s ax. Fuck …
I got one last good look at the woman—straight, fine hair to her shoulders, a small, fit body, and a brightly printed Coach purse—and carried my tray back into the deli.
* * *
Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, awaited me in the office. I rarely saw Laura around the agency and the sight of her stopped me in the doorway.
These women looked severe.
Laura beckoned, her perfect eyebrows arching. Pam nodded at me.
Okay … I knew this scene. They would feed me some lines about a gap in my skill set, or disappointment with my progress, their hope for more growth. This isn’t working out, Hannah.
“Great to see you, Hannah,” said Laura. Laura was a leggy brunette, in her fifties at least and alarmingly attractive.
My boss, Pam, looked stern as usual.
I perched on the edge of the offered chair.
“Nice to see you as well,” I said. Be brave. Go out with dignity. I tried to smile at Laura, though I think I grimaced. “How was New York?”
“Same old,” she drawled, her city accent thick. Though the Granite Wing Agency was Denver-based, Laura spent weeks on end in New York City. “I got you something.”
“We got you something,” Pam put in.
They laughed together.
A small turquoise box with a white ribbon sat on the desk. I lifted it and read the lid: TIFFANY & CO. “Oh … thank you,” I managed. My stomach gurgled and my hands shook as I untied the ribbon. Stupid fucking nerves.
Inside the box was a long felt pouch, and inside of that a classic Tiffany T-clip pen, all sterling silver except for a thin blue accent.
The pen lay cool and heavy across my palm.
I stared at it, dumbfounded.
Then I stared at Pam as she said, “Hannah, Laura and I would like to bring you on as an associate agent here. What do you say?”
I looked between Pam and Laura, back and forth, blinking owlishly. I wasn’t getting canned. I was getting the promotion I’d coveted for months.
“Do you think I’m ready?” My fingers closed around the pen.
“I’ve been very impressed,” Pam said. “You’ve been with us for almost a year. You learn fast and your dedication is obvious. Excepting your recent absence—” Pam sniffed. Oof, my absence. She meant the three weeks in April when I broke up with Matt and hid at an Econo Lodge and drank way too much gin. “You’ve shown great aptitude for this work.”
“This is what I want,” I said.
“Then congratulations, Hannah.” Laura shook my hand.
I stood and shook Pam’s hand. I hoped my expression looked halfway professional, because inside I was screaming and lighting fireworks.
We talked about my contract, expectations, and even “building my client list,” a phrase that thrilled me. By the time I returned to my office, I had forgotten entirely about the woman outside the deli and her “weird stuff” comment.
My God … I was an associate agent at the Granite Wing Agency.
The workday sailed by in a rose-colored haze.
I left at six and rushed home, but my energy fizzled as I climbed the stairs to the condo. Matt and I hadn’t had sex, much less kissed, since his cryptic announcement five days ago.
You don’t really know me. Hannah, I want things that …
Things that he wasn’t willing to discuss, apparently.
I let myself into the condo and found Matt looming in the pantry, a cup of noodles in hand. Freshly showered and shaved, wearing only loose gray sweats, he looked like sex itself. Seriously—my boyfriend, Matthew Sex Sky Jr. Or was it Matthew Asshole Sky Jr., who viewed everything from death to marriage as a game?
“There you are,” he said, smiling tentatively.
I pried my eyes off his naked torso.
“Ramen for dinner?”
“I was considering it. I could find something else to eat.” He moved into my personal space. I breathed in the scent of his clean skin and aftershave. “Little bird…”
“Hi.” I stared at his chest. Something else to eat. His suggestion wasn’t lost on me.
