Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(4)

“Please don’t say white picket fence.”

“Oh God no.” Audrey shuddered, then pointed to her shoes. “These red soles are meant for Fifth Ave, not the burbs. But I still want the fairy tale, and I just . . .” She swallowed. “It’s harder to believe these days.”

“So let me get this straight.” Naomi turned to Claire. “You’re going to turn into a cat lady, and you’re giving up your Disney princess dreams,” she said, turning toward Audrey. “All because of a guy.”

Claire and Audrey exchanged a look, and Naomi pressed.

“Ladies, I know we just met, but let’s face it, we have the same shoes and we were screwed over by the same guy, so as far as I’m concerned, we leapfrogged a few steps in the female-bonding process.”

“Perfect, I’ll invite you over for a slumber party,” Claire said, starting to stand.

“Hold up.” Naomi put a hand on her arm. “I’m not suggesting we get matching tattoos, just that we can help each other.”

Claire stared at her but sat back down. “You want me to help my husband’s mistresses—do what, exactly?”

“We watch each other’s blind spots as it relates to men. Left to our own devices, obviously we’re no good at seeing a guy for who—and what—he really is. But what if we combined forces? Help each other spot another Brayden.”

Naomi knew it was spontaneous, a little bossy, a lot nuts, but it felt right. And Naomi had made a name for herself trusting her gut.

“Respectfully, I don’t even know you,” Audrey said, running a hand over her dark ponytail. “I get your point, but why would I have two strangers do a gut check on a guy I like instead of my friends?”

“Because who knows better how to spot another woman getting scammed than three women who just experienced it?” Naomi pointed out.

Audrey bit her lip and looked at Claire. “You know, I don’t hate this plan?”

Claire fiddled with her watch, and Naomi’s gaze tracked the motion. “Cartier.”

Claire looked up. “Yes. How’d you know?”

“I know designers. I also know that I have the exact same watch at home.”

Claire’s eyes went wide. “Brayden . . . ?”

Naomi nodded.

“Me, too,” Audrey said, almost inaudibly.

Claire stared down at the watch on her left wrist, and Naomi knew they had her.

Naomi extended her right hand. “Hands in, girls, we’re making a pact, high school–style. May neither of you ever fall victim to a cheating bastard again. Not on my watch.”

“And to helping each other find the right man. That’s on my watch,” Audrey said, placing her palm on top of Naomi’s hand.

After a moment of hesitation, Claire set her hand atop Audrey’s. “Oh, what the hell. I’m in. To no more assholes.”

Naomi had never been a girl’s girl, and she certainly wasn’t the type to get all fluttery about fate. And though she’d been half-joking with the whole pact thing, something odd happened in the moment the three of their hands met. As though they were bound together now not by Brayden, but by something bigger. Something important.

And Naomi was suddenly certain that this moment with Claire Hayes and Audrey Tate was somehow going to change everything.

As they all let their hands fall away, Audrey let out a long sigh and looked eastward in the direction of the church. “I guess we should make an appearance, huh?”

Naomi stood and flicked her sunglasses back onto her face with one finger. “Screw it. Let’s go shopping.”





TWO MONTHS LATER—MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 24

The moment Naomi Powell’s Manolo Blahniks stepped off the elevator at Maxcessory headquarters, a pair of discount Nordstrom Rack pumps fell into step beside her. The synchronous click of their matched pace was as familiar—and dear—to Naomi as the woman wearing the other shoes.

“That better not be what I think it is,” Deena Ferrari said, narrowing her eyes at the pink bakery box in Naomi’s hands.

“Double chocolate birthday cake for my favorite assistant,” Naomi said, making a smooching noise in Deena’s direction.

“Reject,” Deena said.

“You can’t reject your birthday,” Naomi argued as Deena opened the glass door to Naomi’s corner office and followed her inside.

“Well, seeing as I’ve rejected it five years in a row now,” Deena said, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and sending an impressive amount of cleavage heaving upward in her leopard-print wrap dress, “I’ve gotten real good at it.”

“But wait, you haven’t seen the best part yet,” Naomi said, setting the cake on the desk, tossing her Hermès purse in her chair, and opening the box with a flourish.

Deena’s feet stayed firmly in place, her arms stubbornly crossed, and she craned her neck to see what it said.

Happy 35th!

Deena, who Naomi knew full well was not a day under forty-seven, grinned. “Birthday accepted.”

“Thought so,” Naomi said, flipping the lid closed so it could be taken to the break room for the employees to share.

“But no singing,” Deena said, lifting a red-manicured fingernail tipped with gold glitter. “And no candles.”