Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(46)

The heaters Maureen mentioned wonderfully heat the Cannons’ outdoor seating area against the late-September chill. I join Matt’s family by the fire pit, both pleased and alarmed when he sits beside me, close enough for our knees to touch.

Pleased, because I like the intimacy of the moment.

Alarmed . . . because I also like him.





21

MATT

Saturday Night, September 30

Sabrina and I haven’t spoken much on the drive back, but it’s a companionable sort of silence.

By the time we get back to the city, it’s nearly eleven, and the crisp dryness of the early evening has given way to a relentless rain that soothes away the sharp edges of the night.

Then again, that could be the effect of the woman beside me. I’d never have thought that Sabrina Cross could have a calming quality. From the very beginning, she’s always been the fuel that lights my flame, the spark that sets me on fire.

Sabrina sighs as I turn onto Park toward her apartment building. “I use to love the rain.”

I glance over, the city lights playing shadows off her profile. “Use to?”

“Until I got a dog.”

“Juno’s not a fan?”

“She’s fine with rain as long as there’s no thunder. And if there’s no umbrella within twenty feet of her. Oh, and did I mention she freaks out if I wear a hood?” She touches her hair. “Bye-bye, good hair day.”

“I’ll take her.”

She looks over. “What?”

“I’ll walk Juno.”

“You are not walking my dog.”

“Why not? I’ve done it before when you were out of town.”

“Yes, but I didn’t ask you to. I asked Kate. She betrayed me.”

“Yeah, a real Judas, that one. Look, you didn’t ask me then, and you’re not asking me now. I’m volunteering.”

“You have your car.”

“Which—and brace yourself for this news flash—can be parked.”

“There’s not that much street parking. My apartment building has a garage, but it’s . . . expensive,” she finishes as I pull into said garage.

“Really?” I say, rolling down the window and punching the button for a ticket. “You have no qualms about my dropping four digits on your clothing, but you’re worried about—” I glance at the sign with the parking prices. “Damn, that is expensive parking.”

“Right?” She unbuckles her seat belt. “If you turn around now, you can sweet-talk the attendant, tell her that you came in here by accident.”

I ignore her as I pull into an available spot and turn off the engine. She huffs. I grin.

“Okay, fine. But you taking my dog out does not make us even,” she says as we climb out of the car and walk toward the elevators. “That dinner was horrendous.”

I laugh. “It really was, wasn’t it?”

“Does Felicia always show up for dinner?”

“No, but it’s become more frequent the past couple years.”

“Has your mom ever brought one of her . . . guys?”

“Nope. Felicia’s divorced, but my mom’s guys have always been married. I don’t think their wives would be keen on them coming over for a cozy dinner party.”

She shakes her head as we step into the elevator. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in Manhattan. Open marriages aren’t nearly as uncommon as you’d think. But this is the first time I’ve seen the other woman join the family for dinner, complete with son and new girlfriend.”

“You’re welcome for the novel experience.” I keep my voice light, but I feel her watching me.

“Does it bother you?”

I look toward her without moving my head. “Would you believe me if I said I’m used to it?”

She considers this for a moment. “Yes. But that’s not what I asked.”

We step onto her floor, but it’s not until she digs her keys out of her purse that I answer the question. “Yeah. Yeah, it bothers me.”

She nods in understanding, and I’m relieved that she doesn’t press me to say more.

Instead, we let ourselves be greeted by an ecstatic Juno, who’s so busy bounding in circles that I can barely get her leash on.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Sabrina says as the dog tugs me toward the door.

“You endured my mother’s dry lamb chops and my dad’s mistress singing an ABBA medley. I’ve got this. Keys?” She tosses them to me, and I catch them in midair.

Juno charges full speed through the hall, paces impatiently in the elevator, and then shoots across the lobby. Once outside, she slows her roll. She may not hate the rain, but she definitely doesn’t love it. She does her business quickly and efficiently before dragging me back toward the door.

Even still, we’re sopping wet by the time we get back inside. Juan’s working again tonight, and he lifts an idle hand in greeting as I pass. I grin, wondering how Sabrina would feel about the fact that her doorman is officially and thoroughly used to me.

Even if I didn’t already know where Sabrina lived, Juno knows the way. I let her drag me to the apartment, where her tail wags impatiently for me to dig the key out of my pocket.