“Good morning, ladies,” she greeted the receptionists behind the large curved desk. “I brought treats.”
“Libby,” Taylor called just as she crossed from the waiting room to the main o ce. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“Those are words I never want to hear so early in the morning,” she replied, only half kidding as she glanced at the file folder in her hands. “From accounting?”
“What if I add that your tan looks great? Red has morphed into a nice, healthy, human color.” Taylor’s smile looked like a wince as she handed her the file. It was a little thicker than she expected. “These are the people still withdrawing from the agency after your hand-delivered letters. I thought maybe you’d want to reach out to them personally.”
Taking the file, Libby turned toward her o ce. “I’ll give them some space. If they don’t feel comfortable with me in charge of their love life, there’s not too much I can do about it.” She stopped short of opening the door and turned to Taylor, who looked poised to follow her in and continue the conversation. “I’m going to get ready to film a new video in a minute. Would you please make sure the studio is ready?”
Furrowing her brow, Taylor hesitated for a moment before agreeing. They both knew the studio was permanently staged for recording. There was nothing that really needed checking.
Once inside her o ce, Libby gripped her stomach with trembling hands. As her mind raced, she was flooded with doubt. Would it have been better to come out as a proud single woman instead of lying? Maybe she’d have retained
more clients. Maybe the foundation of her legacy wouldn’t be crumbling beneath her feet.
She pushed the reckless thought aside. A matchmaker’s own relationship stability was the only marker of success that counted. No one would trust a mechanic who drove a car that didn’t run.
Being over thirty and unmarried was already a hard pill to swallow. She’d spent years taking the pressure o her clients by reminding them that the median marriage age in the US
was nearly thirty, using herself as an example. But the argument that a person should be established in their own right before entering marriage only went so far once she herself reached the pinnacle of her career.
The long engagement with Davis was less worrisome once he made his own big move from law to music. No one knew that he’d been dragging his feet on commitment for nearly all of the six years they’d been together. Not a single person knew that she’d proposed to him and purchased her own engagement ring.
Libby closed her eyes and remembered how to take meditative breaths as a panic attack clawed at her nervous system and threatened to pull her under. When her blood stopped thumping in her ears like a marching band amped up on pixie sticks, she dragged herself to her powder room to wash the stress sweat o her body.
Hanging over the round towel holder next to the pedestal sink was Reagan’s white, linen shirt from the day before. In the middle of her turmoil, Libby smiled. The day spent recreating a months-long relationship was the most fun Libby could remember having. Being in her presence was easier and more comfortable than it had any right to be.
The tiny part of Libby that wanted to run away from the pressure and expectation considered calling Reagan. What
would they do with another day spent acting like tourists in their own city?
Libby remembered the sensation of Reagan’s lips on her neck and closed her eyes. It had been so long since she’d been treated with such attention and care. She couldn’t stop to care about how pathetic that was given her long-term relationship.
As she held the shirt up to her nose, Libby inhaled the clean scent of detergent mixed with a fresh, earthy smell she guessed was clay. It transported her out of the cold confines of the bathroom and back to Reagan’s truck. Salt spray in the air. The hot sun burning her scalp. Beads of sweat dripping down her back as the waves crashing in the distance promised cool relief. Reagan’s soft lips. Her warm body wrapped around her. Her dimpled smile accompanying her throaty laugh. And those arms. Those strong arms snaked around her belly. The arms that held her together. Held her steady. Even if just for a moment. Just for a picture. Libby flung herself into the memory like a woman lost at sea would scramble up a life preserver.
“Libby.” Taylor’s voice through the door ripped her from her reverie and into the hard lines of her modern powder room. “Your grandmother is here,” she whispered. “And I don’t think she’s very happy.”
Shit.
C H A P T E R 6
LIBBY STOOD FROZEN with her hand on the bathroom’s glass doorknob. She’d been silly enough to think her grandmother would respect her request that they talk in person at her house over the weekend and not in the o ce. When her grandmother didn’t return her messages, she hoped she just needed a little time to process by herself. She should have known better.
For a dizzying moment before emerging from the bathroom, Libby considered telling her grandmother the truth. Maybe she could be her ally and give her advice.
The idea died almost before it was formed. The great Mrs.
Cassanova, who loved her name so much she refused to change it when she got married, an unheard-of act in the 1940s, would never risk denigrating her reputation with lies.
Confessing would only prove Libby’s greatest fears correct: that she wasn’t ready to take the helm.
Straightening and projecting a false confidence, Libby leaned in with her entire body. If she’d learned anything in those acting classes it was that she had to live in her role, not just perform it.
“Good morning, Mima. I didn’t know you were coming by,” she greeted with feigned ease.
The woman standing with her arms crossed in a black and white tweed skirt suit as she looked out the window to the bay and city beyond didn’t move. Every second that she didn’t speak, or even look in her direction, made Libby want to curl up in a ball at her feet and cry.
Convincing herself that she was in control as her knees wobbled while she strode across the room, Libby refused to give in to her fear. Her grandmother didn’t turn toward her when Libby stood behind her, leaning against her desk as she waited.