I bit back the urge to jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist, and stick my tongue down his throat, but I couldn’t withhold the giant grin that appeared on my face. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.” Now that Nicholas was a client, it wasn’t unusual for him to meet with Rob at our office, but he hadn’t mentioned he’d be here today. Between Nicholas leaving for work before I even woke up and staying well past sundown most days, it felt like ages since we’d been in the same room for more than a few minutes. Sleeping didn’t count.
Removing the papers from my hands, he smiled back and said, “I wanted to surprise you. Let me help you with these.” Then he flashed me a wink before walking toward the conference table and placing a set in front of Rob, Daneen, and David.
“Do you need anything else from me?” I asked, directing the question to Rob who already had his head buried in the papers.
“Not right now, Kim. But don’t go too far,” Daneen said.
“I promise not to go farther than the bathroom,” I replied. I tried to keep it together when Nicholas made a funny face behind Daneen’s back.
“That will do,” Daneen said.
Motioning toward Nicholas, I said, “Don’t forget to say goodbye before you leave.”
“I thought we could head out together,” Nicholas said.
Nicholas was as aware of my five thirty clock-out time as I was of his tendency to work until eight or later, so my mouth dropped open in surprise. Recovering quickly, I beamed at him and said, “Magnifique,” before gleefully exiting the conference room.
Unfortunately, my use of the French language served as a reminder of the email I had sent to Hannah the night before. My mood took a nosedive as I swallowed back the unease in my gut, which had been building ever since. I had taken Caroline’s advice and told Hannah I would attempt to fit a cover reveal for Tearing at the Seams and a possible interview into my blog schedule but wanted to pick her brain on an unrelated topic if she had the time. I chose to leave my request vague. I didn’t want rumors flying around about my writing a novel and begging Hannah for her advice on getting it published. Even if it was less rumor and more truth.
Because Daneen seemed to have an uncanny ability for finding the most inconvenient times to ask for immediate assistance, for the course of the afternoon, I held my breath each time I returned to my desk after using the restroom, fearing what was waiting for me. I wouldn’t have been shocked to learn Daneen had installed a secret camera at my cubicle to keep tabs on me at all times, but I didn’t receive a single email or phone call from the conference room all day. It was close to five thirty when Nicholas and Rob walked by my cubicle on the way to Rob’s office. While Nicholas concluded his meeting with Rob, I gathered up my belongings and went to log out of my computer. I would read more of my book while I waited for him. I closed out all of my open tabs and was about to exit Facebook when I noticed an unread private message. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it was from Hannah.
Greetings, Kim.
I’m so glad to hear from you. My tour dates are filling up fast and furious, but if I double up, I can make room for Pastel Is the New Black. No such thing as too much exposure, right?
You have piqued my interest, my little friend. I’m lunching with some girls from our graduating class a week from Saturday—Plum and Marla—and have early evening drinks with my agent, but I can give you some time in between. How’s Forcella on Park and 27th? They have tasty cocktails and the best-looking bartenders in town. Say, 4:30 p.m.?
À Bientôt,
Hannah
As a wave of dread washed over me, I realized I subconsciously hoped Hannah would flat-out deny my request. It would validate my low opinion of her as well as let me off the hook. But even as I swallowed down the anxiety, I chuckled at how fluidly she managed to turn it around to make it seem like promoting Tearing at the Seams on Pastel Is the New Black was a favor she was doing for me and not the other way around.
Before I could chicken out, I wrote her back and said I’d see her then. It was good timing since Nicholas’s parents were visiting this coming weekend. Lucky me had two items at the top of her “things to freak out about” list.
I shut down my computer as Nicholas exited Rob’s office. With a smile, he said, “Ready?”
I stood up and tossed my purse over my shoulder. “You know it. Is it a national holiday for lawyers or something?”
Putting an arm around me as we walked toward the elevator bank, Nicholas laughed. “I don’t think there’s such a thing.”
“I’m not used to seeing you before sunset these days.” I pressed the down button on the elevator.
“You exaggerate.”
The only time in the last month Nicholas beat me home from work was the night I sent the first three chapters of my novel to Ginny Webber, and it was only because I went out for department drinks first. But I didn’t want to fight about it. And I certainly didn’t want to think about Ginny Webber. I stood up and kissed him on the lips. “Homeward bound?”
“I thought we’d grab dinner at Hillstone. Unless you want to head home now.”
“I’m starving. And in desperate need of a generously poured glass of wine. Hillstone sounds perfect.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Nicholas asked, “Any particular reason for your thirst?”
We squeezed into the elevator, crowded due to rush-hour traffic. I whispered, “I’ll tell you over a liquid refreshment.”
A few minutes later, we were seated at a high-top table on the outskirts of the dimly lit bar area of Hillstone, an upscale New American restaurant located on the bottom floor of my office building. As always, the bar was overflowing with business professionals in their late twenties through fifties, and a wait for a table in the dining area was forty-five minutes long.
Nicholas tilted his head toward the speaker above our heads where “Tonight, Tonight” by The Smashing Pumpkins was playing. “Little known trivia about The Smashing Pumpkins. Although front man Billy Corgan was not, as rumored, the boy in the eighties sitcom A Small Wonder, he did publish a book of poetry that hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list.” He smiled and squeezed my hand across the table. “So, what’s behind this thirst for alcohol?”
Over a glass of wine and a bowl of spinach and artichoke dip, I told him about my plan to meet with Hannah the following weekend and hoped he’d support the decision. “Do you think it was a huge mistake?” My heart was beating wildly, especially since regardless of what Nicholas thought, the deed was done, and I’d already set a date to meet with her. If he was vehemently opposed, I’d come up with a believable excuse to bow out.
When his cell phone pinged, Nicholas picked it up with a furrowed brow. I waited for him to finish typing a response and absently swung my legs up and down under the table.
Nicholas put his phone down and looked at me. “What were you saying? You’re going to let Hannah read your book?”
Recoiling, I said, “God, no.” Realizing I had practically shouted my answer, I lowered my voice. “Caroline suggested I ask her for advice about getting an agent. The possibility of her reading my book never came up, but the answer would be no.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “You don’t think it will come to that, do you?”
Nicholas gave me an amused smile before popping a chip in his mouth. He swallowed. “I don’t have a clue what it will come to, but I guess you’ll find out soon.”
“Have you started it?” I held my breath.
Nicholas frowned. “I haven’t had time yet.”
I swallowed down my disappointment. “Okay.”
Nicholas tossed his napkin across his plate. “I hope you’re not worried about my opinion. I’m sure it’s fantastic.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Easy to say having not read it.”
“I know. I promise to read it soon. Bear with—” He exhaled loudly before glancing at his vi
brating phone. “This will be one second.”
I gave a grateful smile to the waitress who had placed our entrées on the table. While Nicholas read his latest text, I sipped my wine and pondered the possibility of Hannah asking to read A Blogger’s Life. Asking Hannah for advice on getting an agent’s attention was one thing. Letting her read the novel was quite another.
What if she stole my idea? More worrisome: what if she hated my book?
Nicholas tapped me on the hand, interrupting my mini panic attack. “I’m sorry. Work is nuts,” he said.
Nicholas’s schedule was wearing on him, and noting the red in his eyes, I pushed the Hannah stuff to the side. “How are you? Get a lot accomplished at your meeting?”
He nodded. “It was productive. Sometimes, I forget the squad works for me now. When we’re all together brainstorming, it’s like we’re still part of the same team. Only this time, I can tell Rob what to do instead of the other way around.” Giving me a sheepish grin, he said, “I much prefer it this way.”
I chuckled. “I wonder why. What’s the game plan with the case?”
Scrunching his eyebrows together, he questioned, “Since when do you care about work stuff?”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” In all honesty, I found legal jargon endlessly boring, but Nicholas could make a bowl of plastic fruit compelling, and I wanted to show my support. I considered it my job to be his biggest cheerleader.
“You’re sweet, but I won’t bore you with the details. It’s not like I’m saving lives.” When his phone rang, he shook his head and muttered, “Speaking of which,” before picking it up. “Hi, Dad.”
Whenever Nicholas spoke to his dad, his entire demeanor changed. He tapped his legs repeatedly and even chewed on his cuticles. The confident—dare I say cocky?—man I fell in love with reverted to what I imagined he was like as a child: a doe-eyed little boy seeking the approval of his daddy.
“I’m having dinner with Kim.” Nicholas locked his brown eyes on mine. Tugging on his tie, he said, “I did work today. I was at a meeting in her office. She’s Rob’s secretary, remember?”
My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced around the restaurant to avoid seeing Dr. Strong’s reaction written all over Nicholas’s face.
“It went well. Yes. We made a one o’clock reservation. Got it. You too. Bye.” Nicholas hung up the phone and took a breath. “That was my dad.”
I smiled. “I figured.”
“We’re all set for Saturday.”
I inwardly shuddered in anticipation of meeting Dr. Strong. If a juris doctorate couldn’t compare with a medical degree, I could only imagine his thoughts on a measly bachelor’s degree. I doubted writing a book would hold much weight unless I could brag about having an interested agent or publisher. “Great.”
Nicholas took a bite of his burger. “Where were we?”
“I asked about your work.”
As his phone vibrated again, Nicholas rolled his eyes and muttered, “Dammit,” before picking it up.
I watched him with amusement until he placed his hand over his face and shook his head. After he hung up, I asked whether everything was all right.
“Would you be terribly disappointed if I put you in a cab and went back to the office?”
Tapping a finger over my bottom lip, I said, “Do you want the supportive-girlfriend answer or the truth?”
Waving down the waitress for our bill, Nicholas frowned. “I’m sorry, Kimmie.”
Shrugging, I said, “At least we had dinner together.” Not a lie: Nicholas, his work, and I had a lovely meal together—one big happy family.
Nicholas glanced at the check and threw several bills on the table. “This will cover it.” Guiding me to the exit, he said, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Chapter 11
“I’m sure they’ll love you,” my mom said with certainty.
I placed the phone in the crook of my neck while studying my reflection in the full-length mirror I had insisted Nicholas affix to the bathroom door. “I’m wearing a gray-and-black-striped scoop-neck sweater dress with gray suede boots. Should I change into jeans? I don’t want them to think I’m trying too hard.”
“If you wear jeans, you’ll worry they’ll think you aren’t trying enough.”
“You know me so well.”
“I wouldn’t be a good mother if I didn’t, now would I? Where are you meeting them?”
I put the phone on speaker and placed it on the countertop while I added a bit more blush to the apples of my cheeks. “A French brasserie in the neighborhood. Nicholas thought it would be less awkward if we met at the restaurant, but we’ll come back here for coffee and cake. I made cookies too.” When my mom didn’t respond, I took the phone off speaker and said, “You still there?”
“Sorry, Kim. I thought you said you made cookies.”
“Hardy har har. Bridget made them, which is pretty much the same thing, right?”
My mom chuckled. “If you say so.”
“You sure I shouldn’t rethink the outfit? Do thigh-high suede boots scream ‘lovely future-daughter-in-law material’ or ‘gold-digging whore’?”
“Just be your sassy, spunky self, and the rest will follow.”
I inhaled deeply through my nose and out of my mouth. “I’ll try.” I had planned to take a yoga class earlier, but Nicholas convinced me to use my poses in other ways. Forward fold had been especially pleasant.
“Have you reached out to Hannah yet?”
“About what?” I said, suddenly in defensive mode.
“Erin told me you were going to ask Hannah for advice on getting an agent.”
“Since you’re such a good mother, you should be aware your youngest daughter is prone to exaggeration. Erin merely suggested I seek Hannah’s help. I never said I would.” Even though I did.
“It’s not a bad idea.”
“I know!” Lowering my voice, I said, “I’m sorry, Mom. Don’t tell Erin, but Caroline and Bridget agreed it was a great idea. I’m meeting with Hannah next weekend. I can’t even think about it right now though. I need to tackle one hurdle at a time. Let me charm the Strongs first.”
“I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Did you say Bridget agreed?”
Giggling, I said, “Reluctantly. But, yes.”
Nicholas popped his head into the bathroom. “You almost ready?”
I nodded. “I gotta run, Mom. I’ll call you later.”
“Good luck, honey. If they don’t fall in love with you, they’re not as intelligent as their son.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
From across our cramped table in the populous brasserie, Nicholas’s mom smiled at us. “Have you two eaten here before?”
I shook my head as Nicholas said, “I have, Mom. You have to try a popover. They’re mouth-wateringly delicious.” He pushed the basket of assorted rolls to his mother.
Looking tentatively at her husband, she said, “Split one with me, Warren? I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”
Nicholas’s dad waved her away. “Then just eat half.”
“I’ll split it with you,” I offered.
“Thank you, Kim,” she said, handing me half of the popover. “How do you manage to stay so slim living in New York City with so many amazing restaurant choices practically outside your door?”
“I do a lot of yoga and spin classes. But mostly it’s just good genes.” I took a small bite of the popover. Nicholas was right—it tasted heavenly.
“Kimmie here loves to exercise,” Nicholas said, rubbing my knee under the table.
I felt my face get warm and gave him a discreet kick. I’d be mortified if our behavior gave the Strongs the impression we were sex addicts who couldn’t go a meal without groping each other. “I don’t think you have anyt
hing to worry about, Mrs. Strong. You’re so petite.” And it was true. Mrs. Strong was maybe two inches taller than me, and we could probably share clothes. With dark brown hair, eyes the color of milk chocolate, and a warm smile, she was Nicholas in female form, thankfully minus the stubble. On the other hand, Nicholas bore no resemblance to his father, who had to be at least six feet tall and was broad with silver hair and emerald-green eyes.
“Please call me Jeanine. I’m so happy to finally meet the girl who convinced Nicholas to give love another try. After what Amanda did to my poor boy, I wasn’t so sure he’d ever commit again.” She made a sour face. “I could strangle that girl.” Amanda was Nicholas’s girlfriend before me. She cheated on him the entire length of their relationship with her high-school sweetheart. According to his friends, and now his mother, Nicholas carried serious trust issues until I came along.
“This isn’t the time, Mom. Besides, if I hadn’t broken up with Amanda, I wouldn’t be here with Kim.”
This time, it was me who massaged his knee under the table. Okay, maybe we were sex addicts who couldn’t go a meal without groping each other.
Nicholas’s dad cleared his throat. “Can you stop smothering him, Jeanine? The umbilical cord was cut thirty-one years ago.”
“I don’t care. He’ll always be my baby boy.”
While Nicholas winked at his mother, Warren scowled, and I sat lower in my chair and nibbled on my popover. If one were to compare Nicholas’s folks to breeds of dog, Jeanine would be a pug—snuggly and cute. Whereas Warren would be a bull terrier—known for preying on the small and meek.
Turning to Nicholas, Warren asked, “How’s the new job?”
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