Emmy grinned happily, but there was barely a chance to celebrate. A minute later, Paul came back to the girls’ table. “Hey, I hate to do this again,” he said with a sheepish smile, “but I’ve got to run.”
Emmy was so stunned that it prevented her from saying what she was thinking, namely, that Paul could take his whole Oh, I’m so sorry you never got my note act and shove it. Just minutes earlier she’d been going through a mental checklist of what she needed to do before she went home with him that very night (write down Adriana’s address so she could get home the following morning, borrow an extra Tampax or two from Leigh, double-check that she was wearing the cute camisole she thought she was), and now she was about to be left…again.
“Going to another ex’s party?” Adriana asked sweetly.
“Actually, I’m, uh…Christ, it sounds stupid.”
Bring it on, Emmy thought to herself. Between the three of us, we’ve heard every stupid excuse in the book.
Paul checked his watch before jamming his hands into his pockets. He cleared his throat. “I’m doing the night shift for my brother and sister-in-law, and it starts right about now, so…”
“The night shift?” Emmy asked.
“Yeah, it’s only their fourth night at home after leaving the hospital and they’re sort of freaked out. Tired, too. I, uh, had some extra vacation time and figured I’m pretty good at staying up late, so I volunteered to take care of the baby at night.” He shook his head. “She’s a handful.”
Leigh and Adriana shot each other a look. This guy may as well have had THE FUTURE FATHER OF EMMY’S CHILDREN tattooed across his forehead.
“Oh, how sweet!” Emmy cooed, all anger and disappointment immediately forgotten. “Does your sister-in-law pump and then leave it for you in bottles? Is the baby good? I bet she’s a little colicky if she’s up all night. My sister just had a baby, too, and he’s a little scoundrel.”
“Yeah, she’s having a rough time with the nursing—said it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done—so it’s a combination of breast milk and bottles right now. But the baby—Stella, that’s her name—is really good. She’s just so new, you know? She’s up every two hours.”
“Awww,” Emmy cooed, gazing at Paul with unabashed adoration. “She sounds adorable.”
“Yeah, so I better run.” He paused and appeared to think about something. “Hey, so no pressure whatsoever—I know you’re here with your friends and all—but it’d be great to have some company if—”
Emmy didn’t wait for him to finish. “I’d love to,” she interrupted him. “I’m practically an expert now, and I can see you’re in dire need of help.”
Paul smiled, and even Adriana thought he looked absolutely delicious. “Excellent! I’m going to grab my coat and say good-bye to my friends. Meet you by the door in a couple of minutes?”
Emmy nodded and watched as he walked back toward the bar.
“You’re not really going, are you?” Adriana asked in such a way that indicated she already knew the answer was Of course not. “He can’t expect to run into you and have you follow him around like a puppy.”
Emmy took a long pull on her martini, set it down carefully, and smiled at Adriana. “I suppose I should woof right now.”
“Emmy!” Adriana started to say, “Have I taught you nothing about—”
She held up a hand, and Leigh found herself silently cheering her on. “Stop being the rules Nazi, Adriana. Save it for your younger, more inexperienced fans. We”—she motioned around the table and smiled hugely at her best friends—“are all experts now. And we did it the old-fashioned way.”
Adriana opened her mouth to argue, but appeared to reconsider. “All right,” she said with an understanding nod. “I’ll buy that.”
“To us,” Leigh said, her glass aloft.
The girls clinked and sipped and smiled. It might be the end of the pact, but somehow, they all knew it: The good stuff was just beginning.
acknowledgments
Thanks first and foremost to Marysue Rucci, who is so much more than the world’s best editor; to Sloan Harris for talking me down from every ledge in town; and to David Rosenthal for cracking me up, time after time, always knowing when it’s most needed (and least appropriate). Thank you to the unparalleled team at Simon & Schuster, especially Aileen Boyle, Tracey Guest, Victoria Meyer, Katie Grinch, Leah Wasielewski, Jackie Seow, and Ginny Smith. I owe JoAnna Kremer, copy editor extraordinaire, a huge debt for making it look like I know more than the most rudimentary rules of grammar. Special gratitude to Melissa Perello for the crash course in all things chef-related. To Deborah Schneider, Vivienne Schuster, Betsy Robbins, Lynne Drew, Claire Bord, Helen Johnstone, Dave Patane, Kyle White, Stephen Frank, Judith Hirsch, and Cathy Gleason, thanks for all the much-appreciated advice and guidance in your many areas of expertise.
Thank you a million times over to my girlfriends, whose stories I’ve stolen shamelessly: Audrey Kent, Victoria Stein, Helen Coster, Alli Kirshner, Julie Hootkin, Laura Dave, Megan Deem, and Gretchen Bylow. To the Cohens—Allison, Dave, Jackie, and Mel—for welcoming me into the family with open arms and lots of wine. Mom, Dad, and Dana—thanks for being funnier and more sarcastic than me, for reminding me of it every day, and for returning my endless bitching and complaining with support and understanding…I love you all so much. Most of all, I want to thank Mike, who endured countless “hypothetical” conversations about how “my characters” should get engaged, and still managed to surprise me with the perfect real-life proposal. From the first panic attack to the very last line edit, you helped this book (and this writer) in more ways than I’ll ever admit.
about the author
Lauren Weisberger is the author of The Devil Wears Prada, which spent more than a year on the New York Times hardcover and paperback bestseller lists. The film version starring Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway won a Golden Globe Award and grossed over $300 million worldwide. Her second novel, Everyone Worth Knowing, was also a New York Times bestseller. She lives in New York with her husband.
Contents
panties is a vile word
if you think it’s too big, you don’t deserve it
once they’re in, they’re real
mommy drinks because i cry
all cocky confidence and killer smiles
count him as south america
friendly really means available and desperate
three men do not a femme fatale make
the perfect-for-right-now relationship
may her huge, perky boobs give her back pain by thirty
it’d be nauseating if it weren’t so goddamn cute
acknowledgments
about the author
Chasing Harry Winston Page 33