Frenemies(52)

I just shook my head, wordless.

Georgia snapped back at him. She had not slept with opposing counsel, she threw at him, and how dare he—

Good, Chris Starling said.

“He said it just like that?” I asked, enthralled. Georgia had made him sound so—fervent.

“Exactly like that,” Georgia said, smiling slightly.

And it had altered everything. They’d finished lunch and returned to the depositions. Chris Starling had slapped Mr. Jugular down a few times. Georgia had played her part. It was all normal, except … it wasn’t.

“All of a sudden,” Georgia told me, “I was aware. I knew every time he took a breath. I could feel when he looked at me. It was crazy. I felt like I was wearing a corset, like I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs, whenever he walked into a room.”

“Wow,” I breathed.

The days passed, until finally they were finished with the depositions. It was Thursday night, and they were due to fly out in the morning. Georgia once again found herself in the hotel bar, only this time, everything felt epic and terrifying instead of depressing and tired. They chatted about inane things, things Georgia couldn’t even remember. Chris Starling pointed out that it was late, and that they had an early flight. He paid the check, and then they walked to the elevator. It took a long time to come, and they’d seemingly run out of things to say. Georgia felt as if she might burst—into tears, into laughter, into pieces, she wasn’t sure. The elevator finally arrived, they got in, and the door closed, leaving them all alone inside. They stared at each other. Georgia made some crack, something about having nothing to say, because she couldn’t bear the silence for another second.

Which was when Chris Starling pulled out his big gun—that smile.

Georgia felt something melt inside of her, and it was like he’d been waiting for it. Without saying a word, he reached across the distance between them, pulled Georgia to him, and kissed her.

“Just like that?” I was whispering. I practically had to fan my face.

“Exactly like that,” Georgia whispered back.

And it turned out that Chris Starling could kiss. So well that the next thing she knew they were in his room, rolling around on his bed, and half naked. Georgia had come to in a moment of clarity.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means I sat up with as much dignity as you can when you have to refasten your bra and find your shirt,” Georgia said dryly. “And then I told him that I was tired of being treated like Sally, the Sheraton Whore.”

“Oh, no.” I put my face in my hands, and then peeked at her. “?‘Sally, the Sheraton Whore?’?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well … what happened? What did he do?”

“He sat there in understandable shock as I gathered up my tattered dignity and stormed away,” Georgia said. “I can’t blame him, really.”

“He didn’t chase after you?” I frowned. “Maybe I don’t like him very much after all.”

“He didn’t chase after me,” Georgia said. “The next morning, on the oh-so-awkward taxi ride to the airport, he said exactly one thing to me. Guess what that was?”

“I can’t possibly.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘If you’re Sally the Sheraton Whore, what does that make me?’?”

I thought about that for a moment.

“Huh,” I said. “Ouch.”

She let out a sigh, and took a deep pull of her coffee.

“Well?” I demanded. “What happened next?”

“We flew to New York, got stuck for hours in JFK while they deiced the runways or something equally irritating since it’s December in the Northeast and you’d think they’d be prepared, and got home late last night. I believe Chris and I exchanged three entire sentences. When I got home I cried some more, pretended to sleep, and then called you.” Georgia gave me a thin smile. “It’s been quite a week, and just so we’re clear, I wasn’t giving you the silent treatment. Not deliberately.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s a lot. And your partnership dreams are involved how?”

“Hello. My boss has seen my breasts.” Georgia made a face. “And while they’re obviously smoking hot, I also insulted the man and ran away. I just shot my career trajectory in the foot.”

“Oh.” I thought about it. “Not necessarily.”

“But most likely,” Georgia said. She shook it off, and smiled at me. “But it’s your turn. Tell me the Henry story, you lying bitch, and it better be good.”





chapter seventeen





“Well,” Georgia said when I finished telling her the tangled history of Henry and me, up to and including his rejection of me after the caroling party.

And then she fell silent, her attention on the French toast she’d ordered.

“Well?” I echoed after a moment, not at all interested in my omelet. “That’s all I get?”

“I’m trying to decide whether or not I should forgive you,” Georgia said, eyeing me. “Not for keeping it a secret, or even for the whole Henry-is-evil thing, because whatever. Shit happens. But because you have had intimate and personal contact with that man’s hot body, and you kept it from me when you know perfectly well there was a time when even proximity to Henry Farland was enough to keep me going for weeks.”