Love on Lexington Avenue(60)

“I won’t hate it though, will I?” Claire took a sip of her drink.

“Nope. The guy is good. You were smart to hire him.”

“Hey, where’s my credit?” Naomi said. “I suggested him.”

Audrey gave her a look. “You or your lover?”

“Well, okay. It was Oliver’s idea initially. But I pushed for it. Although, had I known she was going to be kissing the guy . . .”

Audrey opened her mouth, then shut it, giving Claire a curious look, clearly wondering why Claire hadn’t yet told Naomi things had gone much further than a kiss.

Claire sighed, realizing it wasn’t fair to leave Naomi in the dark, or to ask Audrey to keep it a secret. “I slept with Scott.”

“What?” Naomi scowled dramatically at Claire. “What’s the point of having a pact to protect each other if we don’t listen to each other! I thought we agreed it was a bad idea!”

“Naomi,” Audrey scolded.

“What! I’m right on this. We agreed to be each other’s lookout, to pinpoint the guys who have bad news written all over them. And Scott, as far as relationships go, is one of those guys. Claire agreed!”

“I did agree. And turns out we were right,” Claire said. “It was an awful idea. And by the way, Naomi, I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours berating myself, so your lecture would be superfluous.”

“What happened?” Audrey asked gently, as Naomi’s expression transitioned from scolding to concern.

Claire looked down at the olives in her cocktail and swallowed. “I’m not ready to talk about it. I don’t know that I can deal with that and this,” she said, nodding toward the mess of her guest bedroom.

“Okay, we’ll handle one guy problem at a time,” Naomi said. “Brayden first.”

Audrey squeezed Claire’s arm, but then followed Naomi’s lead and changed the subject. “Okay, so I actually think this will be sort of easy. When my grandma passed a couple of years ago, we hired this service that came and cleaned out her place. All we have to do . . .” She reached behind her and pulled a stack of stickers out of her back pocket. “. . . is put blue stickers on the things to be donated, orange on the stuff that goes to the dump. I’ve already called the guy, and he’ll be here tomorrow to haul it all away to the appropriate place.”

“How much will that cost?” Claire asked skeptically, knowing that hauling away a room full of crap in crowded Manhattan was no small feat.

“My treat. I’d pay a zillion dollars to get Brayden out of your life completely,” Audrey said. “All you have to do is decide what of the bastard’s stuff goes to Goodwill and what is trash.”

Claire took a deep breath and a fortifying sip of her cocktail before setting it on a shelf near the door. “Okay. I can do that. You guys take some stickers, too. Use your best judgment.”

“All right, but how do we know what stuff you want to keep?” Naomi asked cautiously.

It was an innocent question, but it rocked Claire to the core, as she realized that right there was the reason she’d been putting this task off for so long. This room, this stuff, was the last of Brayden. All that she had. Letting go of his stuff meant letting go of him, once and for all.

And she hadn’t been ready, she’d realized. She’d been mad. She’d been determined. But anger and determination alone were not a reason to move on.

She’d needed a reason.

She’d found that reason but was pretty sure that reason wasn’t ready to move on with her. Or just was not interested.

Claire looked around, suddenly so sick of men. “All of it goes,” she said firmly.

“All of it?”

“Everything in this room,” Claire said, knowing there was one thing she’d keep that was hidden safely in her underwear drawer. “Do you think they’ll take the ugly bed?”

“There’s a bed in here?”

Claire pointed to a mound in the center of the room. “Under the clothes. The mattress is awful, older than I am. I want to get rid of it and put the master bed in here so I can get a new bed in my room.”

“A bed you didn’t share with him,” Naomi said astutely.

“Bingo.”

“They’ll take it away,” Audrey said, gingerly wading into the room. “And can I just point out that Brayden apparently had more clothes than me? And that is really saying something.”

“His stuff took up about eighty percent of the closet,” Claire agreed, annoyed that even the mention of male clothes made her think of Scott.

She’d snooped in his closet, finding the expected small assortment of T-shirts and flannel, but also a handful of suits, dress shirts, and slacks. Not to mention the tux. And that was just in one of his houses. It made her realize there were facets of Scott she hadn’t met. Probably never would.

The three of them got to work, chatting as they went, thankfully not about men.

“What do you guys think, donate or dump?” Claire held up Brayden’s briefcase.

“Donate,” they both said.

“It’s Hermès,” Naomi said. “Someone needs to get in on that action. I’d take it to Oliver if it weren’t the creepiest thing in the world to give my dead lover’s briefcase to the man I’m living with.”