From the enclave desk in her kitchen, Libby picked up a magazine I’d hoped I’d never have to see again. “I’ve got it righthere.”
“Oh. Fantastic.” Feeling a character assassination coming, I took my niece from Aaron’s arms and hugged the nineteen-month-old like ashield.
Libby spread out the offending feature on the island and slipped on her reading glasses. In most ways, my sister had me beat. She and I had spent our formative years around Boston’s upper crust, and while Mom had cleaned, Libby would sneak into piano lessons, ballroom dancing, book clubs, or whatever other extracurriculars were on tap for the school year. She’d used all that to start a business, a boutique nearby. At least I’d one-upped her in one way—my vision had always been twenty-twenty.
Libby flipped through the magazine until she found a pull-quote fromBadviceto read aloud. “‘Date a coworker. In fact, date two or three. The office is an unfairly maligned breeding ground for men who don’t want to work too hard to get dates.’” She glanced at me over her glasses and continued reading. “‘An excerpt fromBadVice, a monthly sex advice column aimed at men, curated and often written by Quinn, a notoriouswomanizer.’”
“That was a joke,” I said. I knew that. Everyone at work knew it. Our readers knew it. But my vilification was no picnic to hear aloud. Especially knowing these kids, and my own, might see it oneday.
“What about the intern who showed us behind the curtain?” Libs asked, sliding her food across the island. “It says here she’d taken off her shoes after a long workday and gone to the breakroom. When she returned, she caught an editor fondlingthem.”
I chuckled to myself as I shifted Carmen to my hip and picked up my drink. “Classic.”
“Why are you laughing?” she asked as she chewed. “That’sdisgusting!”
“That’sJustin,” I said. “He wasn’t fondling them. He was trying to hidethem.”
“Dude,” Aaron said. “How is thatbetter?”
“You have to understand the history there. They had a thing going, and he was over it. The last woman he’d ended things with had thrown a heel at him and nearly given him a concussion, so he never breaks up with a girl while she’s wearingshoes.”
“That is so utterly ridiculous and immature,” Libby said. “And sounds exactly like something Justin woulddo.”
“Look, we’re not perfect,” I admitted. “We’ve got some changes to make. But everyone’s acting like the sky isfalling.”
Libby closed the magazine and picked up her fork. “This is bigger thanModern Man, Sebastian. You guys need to get with the times and have somebody hold youaccountable.”
“Oh, believe me,” I said, “we’re being heldaccountable.”
“By your editor-in-chief?” Aaronasked.
“The board hired a consultant.” Talk of Georgina had a history of riling me up, so I lowered my niece into her playpen. “Also known as a glorifiedbabysitter.”
Libby raised an eyebrow. “Apublicist?”
“She calls herself a ‘publishing consultant,’” I said, “but I call her a pain in the a-s-s.”
Aaron laughed, but Libby didn’t even crack a smile. “I think you could use some pain in your ass,hermanito.”
I nearly rolled my eyes. She only called me “little brother” to irk me. I’d been born six minutes after Libby and four after midnight, which technically made her a day older. A fact she never let me forget. “What’s that supposed tomean?”
“It means sometimes, I worry you’ve forgotten where you come from.” She turned to Aaron. “Did you know he once paid twenty dollars for a cocktail? And that he and Justin are considering renting a place in theHamptons next summer? And that he’s been onthreedates in a singlenight?”
She had a point about the cocktail. Twenty dollars was excessive, especially for a drink that’d been tossed in my face. Come to think of it, that’d been the night of the three dates, but that was well over a year ago. “That shit-for-brains ‘journalist’ called me a womanizer,” I said defensively, “but I’ve barely datedsince. . .”
Libby and I had already done the anniversary thing over the phone, and I didn’t want to bring up Mom’s deathagain.
Neither did Libs, it seemed. “He used to be scrappy and pinch pennies,” she toldAaron.
“Wasn’t this countertop like a hundred dollars a square foot?” Iasked.
“This is my forever home.” She stood and moved the skillet from the stove to the sink. “And we’re not talking aboutme.”
“Mommy,” José said, twisting on the barstool. “I want icecream.”
“Not until after supper,” she said automatically, and then to me, “So you’renotawomanizer?”
Aaron moved his Bloody Mary as his son tried to dip a finger in it. “Don’t get on Seb’s case or he’ll never bring anybodyover.”
