“You couldn’t kick me out if you tried.”
Talk about blue.
I stare at my neck in the bathroom mirror. My neck is the color of an alpine lake.
My phone buzzes on the counter with a text from Nolan.
Are you ready? We’re cutting it close, and I know you won’t want to miss the cereal.
I love cereal with a passion, but I also need to deal with this evidence.
Five minutes! Meet you downstairs.
I lean closer to the mirror, swiping on more foundation, then more powder over the mark. Almost gone. But I can’t resist. I press a finger to the center of it, and sensation rushes through me.
An aftershock—maybe the reverberations from last night.
I set my hands on the vanity, close my eyes, and let the images rush in. Sex isn’t everything, but it sure is something.
When you finally have the sex you long for, the kind that makes you feel like yourself, it’s so hard to imagine that ending.
But there’s so much more at stake.
When I open my eyes, I run my fingers over the ladybug charm. “What would you do?” I ask softly, wishing my other half would answer. Wishing I could turn to her.
My throat tightens, so I take a deep, calming breath and concentrate on finishing my makeup.
My phone pings again once I’m done. This time, it’s Jo.
I have my interview today! Wish me luck.
I write back. Sending you all the ladybug luck in the world.
An elevator ride later, I’m scanning for a sign of Nolan when a voice rumbles past my ear.
“Good morning, Emerson Alva.”
I turn to say hello to Max. He’s holding a demitasse of espresso. His dark gaze searches my face. Could the man be more intense? I’d guess a resounding, gong-clanging no.
“Hi, Max. How’s everything going?”
“Well,” he answers in between sips, pinky up. “Incredibly well. I’ll be interviewing Raven at La Fontaine today.”
Shut the front door. “He’s like the Banksy of chefs. Raven hardly does any interviews.”
Max holds up his free hand, waggling one finger. “His interview with me is the first he’s done in years.”
Wow. “That’s big time. Good on you.”
He gives a crisp nod. Then his eyes dip to my collarbone—just a moment before he jerks them back up. “I trust it’s the same for you.”
Without waiting for my answer, he turns on his Doc Martens and walks the other way.
No, dude, I’m not hanging out with reclusive three-Michelin-star chefs who’ve given zero interviews. I’m eating cereal shakes and grading Froot Loops pancakes.
With a deep breath, I spin around, shaking my head, and nearly walk into Evelyn.
And Dot.
And Bette.
My God, it’s a food show contestant convention this morning. “Hi, Dot. Hi, Bette. Have they got you leading a Times Square tour today?” Because they’re both wearing I Love NY shirts.
“Yes! And supposedly, there’s going to be a flesh mob for us,” Dot says.
Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Flash mob.”
“Yes, that.”
Webflix is rolling out the red carpet for them. And for Max. “That sounds wild,” I say, trying to sound legit buzzed for them.
I am happy for them.
Of course I am.
Dot leans, her eyes widening, then she inches closer to me. “Sweetie, you missed a teeny, tiny spot,” she whispers, then points gently to my bruise. “Might want to get a touch more powder.”
My cheeks pinken. “Thanks.”
I spot Nolan lounging on a couch, chatting with Marcos. I give him the sign for I’ll be right back, then I scurry to the ladies’ room, grab some powder from my backpack, and paint over the evidence of last night.
When I finish the work, I stuff my makeup back into my bag, but my hands are shaking, my breathing shallow.
I try to let go of the worries.
I want to stop worrying. Truly, I do.
But I also just want.
I want to pay off the loan. I want to do right by Callie. I want to stay friends with Nolan. I want to be his lover. I want our show to succeed. I want it to succeed for him, most of all. I know that man—know his needs and his secret hopes. I want to fulfill them all for him.
This all seems too much to ask.
I stuff my concerns down to the bottom of my bag, cover them up, and put on a grin.
In the lobby, I find my co-host and the Wine Dude. “Hey, Marcos,” I say to the bearded fellow.
“Hey Em,” he says. “Let me know if the Cinnamon Life low-cal milkshake is all that. I’ve been jonesing to try it.”
“I’m sure it’ll go great with a Merlot,” I say stupidly. Since what I really want to say is How are they wooing you today? Tell me everything.
Marcos just gives me a that was a strange response look, then smiles kindly on his way out.
“You okay?” Nolan asks, guiding me outside to a waiting Lyft. As I get in, I catch a glimpse of Marcos sliding into a sleek black town car.