“I figured.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s all I have for you at this moment.”
I stared at her.
“We’re off to a fabulous Monday here at Cinder, Mr. Hunter,” she said. “It’s nice to have actual business things on my agenda instead of personal things for a change. Although, yes, I will be sure to deliver the second wardrobe to Penelope’s brownstone this afternoon. No need to ask me for that. ”
No really. Why haven’t I fired you?
I tapped my fingers against my desk as she smiled and silently dared me to do it.
“Oh, and I remembered something …” She pulled a yellow post-it from her pocket. “Penelope called me an hour ago since your phone kept going to voicemail. She said she needs a raincheck for dinner tonight because Simon is taking her to—” She squinted, then she tossed me the paper. “I can’t read the rest. I guess I scribbled it down too fast.”
“Why couldn’t you say that before?”
“Because I’m desperately waiting for you to threaten to fire me, so Lawrence can offer me another big bonus to come back.” She smiled. “Is there anything else that I can do for you today?”
It took everything in me not to say what I really wanted to say. “No, thank you, Sarah. Please be sure that the next set of letters are sent off today.”
“Will do, Mr. Hunter.” She took her time walking out of my office.
I glanced at the post-it and read her handwriting just fine.
Please tell Hayden that I need a raincheck for our usual dinner tonight.
* * *
Simon showed up at the rink and invited me to fly down to Miami for dinner.
* * *
PS—Could you please NOT pretend like I didn’t call and tell you this? Like, for once…Could you NOT make things difficult?
Twelve
Present Day
Penelope
* * *
A few days later
Me: Hey! Why does it feel like we haven’t talked in forever?
Hayden: Because it’s been five days. That’s a record for us. How was Miami?
Me: Soooo effin beautiful. He owns a residency building right on the beach and he gave me a private walkthrough. He wanted to stay a few nights (separate suites), but I thought that would mean moving too fast. Right?
Hayden: Right.
Hayden: Feel like catching up at Central Park later?
Me: Can’t. Simon is hosting a party at the top of the Empire State Building. It’s a “Thank You” event for his top executives, and he invited me as his date *blushing emoji*
Hayden: Are you sure that Simon has a real job? When exactly does he work, if he has all this free time to fly you around and throw parties?
Me: That is so beyond ironic coming from you. (Did you receive the twenty apology letters I emailed?)
Hayden: How so? I’m a changed man now. (Yes.)
Me: You’re a changing* man, but you’re still a womanizing asshole. LOL. I’ll call you once I get home. I’ll tell you all about it.
Twelve (B)
Present Day
Hayden
She didn’t call.
Didn’t even text.
All she did was send me a ‘raincheck’ email.
For three days in a row.
This wasn’t quite the five-day record we’d just set, but it was unusual all the same. Even when she’d dated boyfriends in the past, they never took up this much of her time in the beginning.
They received her mornings or her afternoons, and I received the rest. The best.
I wasn’t sure why, but for the time since we’d become friends, I felt like I was undergoing the oncoming symptoms of withdrawal.
And I didn’t like it.
Thirteen
Present Day
Hayden
A couple of years ago, I unknowingly created one of my top enemies in this city. I was attending an opening night at Gershwin Theater and speaking to an undercover reporter.
At intermission, she said, “What do you think so far?” and I said, “I’ve seen better high school productions.” The following day, The New York Times ran my picture along with “Hayden Hunter Unimpressed with Opening Night” as a lead story, and it caught fire.
The play was deemed D.O.A.—dead on arrival, and the production lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Ever since then, the director took out a full-page ad at the back of The Post with “Hayden Hunter is an Asshole” and a new picture of me.
Sighing, I looked over the last lines of his letter before tucking it into an envelope. As I was making sure the address was centered, my phone buzzed with a text. Penelope.
Penelope: Can I have a raincheck tonight?
Me: Another one?
Penelope: I just sent you 20 letters.
Me: In that case, I’ll write as many rain checks as you like.
I shut my inbox and decided to deliver the letter to the theater personally.
“Hayden! Look over here!” “Any comment on your pictures?” “Any word on Tinder?” The photogs yelled after me as I stepped out of my car.
I ignored them and made my way to the V.I.P. entrance. Before I could ask the hostess to direct me to the executive box, Mr. Lewis stepped in front of me.