Frenemies(63)

“You know what his eyes are like,” Georgia said. “Now imagine them completely blank and without that … Chris Starling spark. It was like he suddenly had zombie eyes.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, delighted. “I know you finally woke up and realized he was a cutie, but is that what I think it is? Because from over here it sounds like the short, fat, balding guy managed to get to you!”

Georgia actually blushed, which was all the confirmation I needed, because I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen that before.

“He is not short and fat, or even balding,” she said. “Maybe he has a receding hairline.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Georgia.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” she said. “It’s way too soon to be throwing big, scary words around and you have to let me finish the story, okay?”

“Please,” I said, gesturing for her to continue.

It was in rainy, dark Seattle, outside a hotel near the Pike Place Market, that Georgia finally lost it. They were returning from another round of depositions, and were both quite obviously chilled to the bone. Georgia—very naturally—suggested they grab some of Seattle’s famous coffee. The original Starbucks was within walking distance of the hotel lobby. She figured they could ease the chill between them as well as the outside chill from the Seattle winter.

I wouldn’t want there to be any further misunderstandings, Chris Starling said in that monotone he’d been using, with a cold sort of glare to match.

Which had infuriated Georgia so much that she’d lost it right there, standing outside in the endless rain.

“What do you mean, you lost it?” I asked. Because it was hard to picture.

“I mean I completely lost it,” Georgia said. “Flipped my wig. Went nuts. Whatever you want to call it.”

“You screamed at him?”

“Mostly,” she said, “I burst into tears.”

Had she known that tears were the secret to cracking Chris’s disinterested exterior, Georgia might have tried it earlier. Because the moment she broke down, his whole Mr. Distant Boss thing crumbled. Oh no, he said, horrified, please don’t, Georgia. He kissed her, and so suddenly they were kissing while Georgia was still sort of crying, and it was raining, so then it was funny, too, and they couldn’t seem to stop kissing, and when they ended up in a hotel room this time, they stayed there all night.

“So … ?” I asked, after a long beat.

“So … wow,” she said, and flashed me a wicked sort of grin.

“Wow,” I echoed, happily.

They had done a lot of talking, in between more exciting things, and it turned out that Chris had had a thing for Georgia for a long time.

“Which, now that I think about it,” I said, “duh.”

“I know!” Georgia cried. “I’m such an idiot.”

Chris was older, at forty-two, and knew exactly what he wanted from life—he had the impending divorce to show him the folly of hanging on to the things he didn’t want. He told Georgia very frankly that he and his ex had been the perfect corporate couple. She was a consultant and more cutthroat than he was. They’d planned a perfect life: no kids, nice cars, sleek condos and a weekend house in Vermont. The only trouble was, Chris hated it. He wanted a different life from the one he’d trained for, he discovered. He was tired of being married to his job, with a wife married to hers. He wanted to take it easier. Maybe see the person he was supposed to be living with. Maybe quit Waterbury and work somewhere with better hours. Maybe see about the kids it turned out he wanted after all. He wasn’t sure about any of those details, he just knew he wanted out of the rat race.

Only trouble was, he had this thing about hard-as-nails career women. Particularly mouthy ones with wild, unprofessional hair and Amazonian bodies.

“So?” I demanded when she lapsed off into reverent silence yet again. “What happened? Are you going to live happily ever after the way I predicted or what?”

“Well,” Georgia said, straightening slightly in her seat. “That’s the thing.”

It turned out that Chris Starling was the cautious type.

This is great, he had told her just last night, but what happens between us on the road is completely outside reality. It’s wonderful, but I think you need to think about what it would mean for it to be a part of your reality here in Boston. I’m not exactly your type.

So they agreed that Georgia would go off to the big New Year’s party, where she would be forced to contend with Jared—the last of his type, we could all only hope. Chris didn’t want to hear from her until she’d looked around her real life and imagined him in it. If she thought he might fit, despite the fact he was about as removed from her normal sort of boyfriend as could be, well, she could call him and they’d talk about it. But no need to rush into anything. If she was confused, that was fine. He wasn’t any twenty-five-year-old jackass, filled with ultimatums and drama. She could take her time.

“That’s almost cruel,” I said then. “Doesn’t that make you want to call him right now?”

“You don’t even know.”

“I like him!”

“So do I,” Georgia breathed. “I just want to get to this stupid party, see dumbass Jared, kick myself, and call the man I think I should have been into about a year ago. Then, if there’s time, I want to drink a lot of champagne.”