Fight or Flight(105)
We were a couple of blocks away when she finally said, “You are way smarter than her.”
A surprised laugh burst out of me as I realized she must have seen Jen next to Caleb. If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry, and I’d already promised myself no more crying. “How could you tell?”
“He looked bored out of his mind.”
“Really?” I hadn’t noticed that. To be fair, I hadn’t noticed much in all my panicking.
“Oh, God yeah. When you were in the room, he watched you like a hawk. He looked at you like everything you said was fascinating. He was barely looking at her at all.”
Although this information hurt, I also craved it. “He looked at me like that?”
Harper nodded at me sadly. “He loves you. He might be too messed up in the head to do something about it, but I can’t hate the guy for loving you.”
That familiar burn started in my chest and I needed it to go away. “Can you hate him for not loving me enough? Because I can’t, Harper. I can’t hate him. You need to do it for me so I don’t look back on my life and regret him. Because if my best friend hates him, then he isn’t worth my regret.”
“I hate him,” she answered instantly and seriously. “He’s quinoa to me.”
Harper detested quinoa. Like, more than she hated most things. “I love you.”
“I love you back. Another beer? In a bar where there’s no quinoa in sight.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, clinging to my strength. “This city is big enough for the both of us.”
“It belongs more to you, though. He’s an intruder. He should really leave.”
My heart ached at the thought even though I wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d just stayed in Scotland. “He should. He can have Scotland. I want Massachusetts. I don’t think I’m asking for a lot.”
“Yeah,” Harper agreed enthusiastically. “He should go and take his little Mini-Me with him so you can visit my apartment.”
“Jamie wants to paint you,” I blurted.
Harper appeared stunned by this news. “What? Paint me?”
“You know he’s an artist?”
“Yeah?”
“He thinks you’re interesting.”
“Meaning he wants to get into my pants,” she scoffed.
“No, I actually think he really means he wants to paint you. Apparently he doesn’t sleep with the models because his art is more important to him than sex. From what I’ve gleaned about him, I think that’s true.”
“Well, whatever.” Harper shook her head, seeming a little dazed by the idea. “I don’t have time to be some guy’s model. Doesn’t he know I am a very important person?”
“I don’t think he got that memo.”
“I’ll slip it under his door. ‘Hey, weird Scottish dude. I make very important art too. And mine tastes better than yours so I win. Find another muse, Mini-Quinoa.’ ”
I burst out laughing, my love and affection for my friend pushing away the pain I felt at seeing Caleb. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Lucky for you, that’s something you’ll never have to know.” She stuck her tongue out at me playfully and skipped ahead. “Now let’s find a bar. There are many sorrows to be drowned!”
Isn’t that the truth, I thought as I hurried to catch up with her in my strappy heels.
Thirty-one
My carry-on suitcase bumped along behind me as I walked down the Jetway to the plane. The nice thing about flying first class—besides the more spacious seats and complimentary dining—was getting on the plane first. There were very few things I disliked more than waiting at a gate to board a plane. At least once you were on the plane you could get settled and crack open a book or put on a movie.
Not that I had been expecting to be getting on a plane at all. This was the second time in as many weeks that Stella had put me on one at the last minute.
The Monday after I saw Caleb with Jen Granton at the bar, I’d walked into the office to start my day only to be interrupted by Stella. She’d perched her pert ass on my desk and announced, “You need a distraction.”
I wasn’t going to lie. A distraction would be wonderful. “What kind of distraction are we talking about?”
“Chicago.”
“Chicago? The musical?”
Stella smirked. “No. The city.” She handed me a slim portfolio. “Calum Scotia. Banker. Divorced. Looking for a design overhaul on his penthouse apartment in the River North area. East North Water Street.” Her smile was smug. “Quite the property and quite the find.”
“How did he find out about us?” I asked, reading through the information Stella had collected on the potential client and what he was looking for.
“He’s friends with one of our Boston clients. She recommended us.”
“And you want me to go out there?” I felt my excitement build as I looked over the photographs of the property’s current condition. The design was about fifteen years out of date and very feminine. But the duplex had extraordinary views and stunning high ceilings and vast spaces. There was a lot of fun to be had with it.
“Yes. Tomorrow.”