Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(29)

“Did she ever get her act together?” Lara asks, leaning on the counter as Kate checks her dip in the oven.

I shrug as a way of evading. “I left when I was nineteen, as soon as my half brothers were under custody of relatives on their father’s side. The few times that we talk on the phone, she invariably hangs up on me.”

Lara’s blue eyes flash in anger. “Her loss.”

I look down at my wine, then back at Kate. “Is it hot yet?”

“Nearly,” Kate says, shoving the rack back in the oven. “How about we go to the living room and hear Lara’s news?”

I know what she’s doing, and I give her a grateful look. It was hard enough to even mention my mom. I definitely don’t want to get into a big old thing about it.

Kate gives a quick nod in acknowledgment, her dark-brown eyes conveying understanding.

Kate and I are just about as different as can be. My eyes are blue to her brown. I’m five seven; she’s five one. We’ve both got brown hair, but she wears hers in a blunt shoulder-length cut, frequently pushed back with a slim headband. Mine is halfway down my back, and its tousled style requires thirty minutes with two different-sized curling irons every morning.

She had a modest, conservative upbringing in southern New Jersey with a kindergarten-teacher mom and a mathematician dad. I grew up in Philly’s worst neighborhood with a mother who most of the time was so drunk she didn’t even remember she was a mother. She was certainly never a mom. My father? Dead of an overdose before my first birthday.

The rest of my mom’s men were hardly the “father figure” variety. I learned that the first time one of her boyfriends bought me a bikini from Kmart in January and suggested I try it on for him. I’d said no, and my mom had screamed at me. I was thirteen.

But backgrounds aside, Kate and I both grew up into the same type of person. Strong, smart, and completely unwilling to buy into the idea that our lives would somehow be more complete with a man in it.

That said, I’m pretty damn sure Kate Henley’s hopelessly in love with Kennedy Dawson. Not that he knows it.

I’m not even sure she knows it.

“Sabrina, can you grab some champagne flutes?” Lara says, gesturing toward a cabinet. “I know we still have some white, but we’ll just have to double-fist for a while.”

“Don’t have to twist my arm,” Kate says, going into the living room and flopping onto the couch. “Man, I love this view.”

“Isn’t it about the same as your view from the office?” Lara asks, pulling the champagne from the fridge and joining Kate in the living room.

Kate snorts. “Yeah. Because my seven a.m. to seven p.m. nonstop schedule really allows for admiring the office view.”

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime,” Lara says.

“You hear that, Sabrina?” Kate says with a playful grin at me as I walk toward them. “We can come watch Lara and Ian be disgustingly in love anytime!”

“Hey!” Lara exclaims.

“Oh, come on, honey,” I say gently, setting the glasses on the table in front of us. “It is a little like every day is Valentine’s Day around here.”

“I know,” Lara says with a happy sigh. “Maybe after the wedding it’ll stop feeling like a fairy tale.”

“I doubt it,” Kate says. “I’ve seen the way Ian looks at you. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

Hmm. Was that the tiniest trace of longing I heard in Kate’s voice?

Or worse . . . was it my own heart giving a quick squeeze at the thought of having someone care about me—for me—the way that Ian loves Lara?

“Okay, so what’s your news? I want that champagne already!” I say, beyond ready to be done with the sentimental part of our girls’ night.

“Well, we can’t open it yet,” Lara says, taking a breath. “See, I hope my news is good, but I won’t really know until I hear your responses.”

“Get to it already,” Kate demands.

Lara balances the Dom Pérignon bottle on her knees, rolling it slightly between her palms, and I realize she’s nervous.

“Okay, so you guys know Gabby,” she says on a rush.

“Padilla, Gabby. Your best friend, former roomie. Model. Lives in Paris with her boyfriend,” Kate recites automatically.

“Yes, thank you,” Lara says in an amused voice. “Anyway, Gabby’s agreed to be my maid of honor, and I’m thrilled. But I’m also a little bummed, because other than the bachelorette party, my bridal shower, and the actual wedding, I know it’ll be hard for her to make it back here for stuff. I know I haven’t known you two long, but . . .” Lara takes a deep breath. “You’re some of Ian’s closest friends, you’ve become my closest friends in the city, and I’d love it, really love it, if you’d be bridesmaids.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Kate and I sit there slightly stunned.

Kate recovers faster than I do. “Hell yes,” she says, her face breaking out into a huge grin. “I’d be honored. I’ll even wear an ugly bridesmaid dress, because that’s what friends do. Now open that champagne and let’s talk venue, because I’ve got a whole list of reception locations. Have you considered a boat? Because a chartered yacht could really—”