Page 15 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
Which feels a lot more like an un-career these days.
Daniel leans back in his chair, pleased. “Did you see the episode where he free-climbs a waterfall in Argentina? It’s brilliant. Such a daring adventurer.”
“He sure is,” I say, plastering on a smile.
“And he saved that man’s life years ago.” He shakes his head, perhaps in amazement. “Did you hear about the blizzard that almost killed Vikas Winters?”
“I did.”
Who hasn’t?
“So incredibly heroic how Hunter carried him on his back to safety. I bet Vik leaves him his fortune in his will. Not that he needs it,” Daniel says, cracking himself up.
“Nope. Doesn’t seem like he does,” I say.
Daniel straightens and raps his knuckles on the desk. “One more thing. I’ve arranged for the three of us to have a drink after work today to go over logistics.”
Thanks, universe. A little notice before I see the ex would have been nice.
5
Presley
There are certain rules a woman must follow.
Don’t bad-mouth other women.
Don’t apologize if you haven’t done anything wrong.
And definitely never show up to see the ex unless you can walk in like you own the place.
That’s the crux of the girl code, a guideline that unites all women across all walks of life. No matter how far over him you are, thou shalt not look anything less than jaw-droppingly fabulous.
Unfortunately, my boss has only given me a one-hour window to vault over that pommel horse of a rule, and my apartment is more than thirty minutes away in rush hour. But this is New York, and a gal’s got friends. Where there’s a will, there damn well is a way.
I call in reinforcements, giving Truly her marching orders—bring me clothing options stat—then I hustle over to my nearby gym when the workday ends. After a power shower, I slide into my bra and skinny jeans again. The foundation elements remain the same. But otherwise, I transform, blow-drying my hair into lush waves. It’s shorter than when I knew him, because who has time for tramp stamp–length hair anymore?
As I turn off the hair dryer, my friend arrives in the ladies’ locker room on time, like a good foot soldier. Canvas bags drape over her shoulders. “Fashion infantry is here and ready to serve.”
I salute her. “You will be receiving a commendation for your speed and dedication to the cause, especially given your condition.”
“Let’s make sure you like what I brought first.” She sets the bags down on the bench then rubs her expanding belly.
I riffle through them, searching for the right top. “This is cute,” I say, grabbing a soft light-blue blouse. “He always did like it when I wore blue.”
She whistles. “I like the way you think. Hit him in the longing-for-you spot.”
“Not sure he has one.” I hunt more, snagging a black top that looks like it’ll slope down one shoulder. “This could be the perfect little peek at skin.”
“Yes, skin he’ll never see again. Make him salivate and suffer.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think the man who dates supermodels and has money spilling out his ears is suffering whatsoever.”
“But when he sees you, he’ll die of regret. And it’ll be perfect. Mwah ha ha ha.” She tosses back her head and unleashes a full-throated witch’s cackle that makes me love her even more.
“I’m keeping you around for moral support for . . . oh, say, forever, ’kay?”
“Yeah. You’re stuck with me, Pres,” she says.
As I unearth a pretty pink scoop neck shirt that’s delightfully feminine, Truly tilts her head to the side, curiosity etched in her gaze. “Wait. How do you know he dates supermodels? I thought you never googled him?”
I narrow my eyes as I tug on the pink top, beginning a fashion show. “I’m human, okay? I cave now and then. I know a little bit about him.”
She wipes a hand across her brow. “Whew. I thought you were Superwoman.”
“Most of the time I possess a will of steel, but every now and then, it’s made of croissants. And when it’s soft and squishy, I google him.” I model the blue shirt next.
“I like, but don’t love. So what else do you google about him?”
I sigh. “It was many months ago the last time I looked him up. I don’t even remember why. I probably had two glasses of wine and was lonely after the pianist turned out to like peen.” Such a sad discovery, especially since I’d already been dating Mr. Speed Fingers for a few months.
Truly nods sympathetically. “He had so much promise, all tall, dark, and broody.”
“Tall, dark, broody, and preferring dick.”
“He really should have put that on a T-shirt,” she says as I slip on the black top.
She whistles, pointing at me as she nods appreciatively. “That’s your winner. Hunter will see you and be utterly flabbergasted.”
“What more could I ask for? Oh, gee, just for him to be yanked off the project and tossed to the Yucatán. But if I can’t have that, I’ll go for the Great Flabbergasting of 2020.”
