“Yep,” he says, and from the way he says the word I get the impression that he’s standing in several inches of water in the basement of the house that shouldn’t be mine any longer. “We can get that squared away by five, six o’clock tonight.”
“Thanks, Greg,” I say. “I’ll speak to someone about the drywall.”
“That’s probably the best idea.”
I disconnect the call and flop back onto my plush, firm pillows.
Go ahead, universe, I think to myself. Hit me with it. I can take it.
Half an hour later, I’m riding the elevator down to the lobby of Carolyn’s building—my building—wearing a summery dress on loan from her closet, my hair piled on top of my head in an elaborate bun that looks more complicated than it is. I’m meeting Carolyn for lunch in three hours. In the meantime, I’m shopping.
I browse some of the boutiques I saw last night on my rainy trek through SoHo, goddamn treasuring it every time I come out of an air-conditioned clothing store into the gentle morning sunlight. The rest of my life might be waterlogged, but this—this is perfect.
Until my phone buzzes in my purse as I’m making my way back toward the sushi restaurant I wanted to try. It’s not far from the building where Carolyn works—one of her favorites, she said when I told her about it last night.
“Hello!” I lilt into the phone, my mind on a coral dress that’s inside one of my shopping bags. It’s going to look sharp as hell under a blazer for work, and classy but hot for a night out. Not that I’m planning any nights out. I’m perfectly content to watch Lifetime movies with Carolyn every night until forever.
“Quinn Campbell?”
“This is she.”
“This is Bennett Walker from HRM. I’m calling to check in—have you arrived in the city yet?”
“Yes, I have!” I say. A cab pulls slowly up to the curb next to me, and anxiety spikes down my spine. Is it that psycho coming for his revenge? A guy in a suit jogs up to the car and hops inside. My pulse slows.
“Ms. Campbell?” says Bennett Walker, and I realize I must have missed something in my distraction about the cab.
“Sorry about that—my attention was on something here. What did you say?”
“No problem. I said that I hoped the city was treating you well.”
I can’t help but laugh at that one, but there’s no reason to burden my new boss with the story of my arrival. “It’s wonderful. Thanks for asking.”
“The reason I’m calling,” he says, “is that there’s been a change here that’s going to affect your job description.”
My heart plummets into my shoes. Jesus Christ. Am I getting fired? Demoted? It would be right in line with everything else that’s happened, with the one exception of Carolyn’s awesome apartment.
“We’ve just brought on a high-profile client. It’s a new account,” Walker continues. “Instead of coming in on the associate level, we’d like to bump you up to an executive of reputation management. Obviously we’ll have a new salary offer commensurate with the increased responsibility.”
“You’re giving me a promotion?” I say, unable to keep the relief out of my voice.
“You come highly recommended from the Boulder branch, and we need someone experienced to handle this client. All of the other people we’d tap are maxed out on accounts, so your transfer is coming at the perfect time.”
“That…sounds great!” I say. Maybe New York City isn’t going to be a disaster.
“See you on Monday, Ms. Campbell,” Walker says. “Enjoy yourself this weekend.”
“I will. Goodbye!”
“Who was that?”
The voice comes from directly behind me, and I whirl around, coming face to face with Carolyn.
“My new job,” I say, giving her a quick hug. “They promoted me.”
“Already?”
“I know! Something about a new client? I’m not going to argue.”
“You know what we need to do?” Carolyn says, hooking her arm in mine and tugging me toward the door of the restaurant. “Celebrate. We’re going out tonight. To the Purple Swan.”
Chapter Eight
Christian
It’s a typical Friday night at the Purple Swan. Everyone’s energy is high, incandescent somehow, and even the wait staff seems to be in on it. They’re practically running from the kitchens to the tables to the bars and back, and though the Swan is too high class to overbook, there aren’t many seats sitting empty around the linen-covered tables.
But the noise is giving me a fucking headache.