So far, Leo loves living with four different parental figures, even if it is a strange situation compared to some of his peers at school. He also still spends plenty of time over at his nanny Rosa’s place. She will always be an important part of his life, since she was such close friends with Evan’s late wife.
I suppose there aren’t many normal aspects to this life I’ve stumbled into, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
***
Our new office takes up half of the eleventh floor of a renovated building in Midtown. It’s a fancy sort of place with floor-to-ceiling windows and decorative plants in the communal spaces. Gone are the days of mildewy carpet and furniture pillaged from the sidewalks.
When I step off the elevator, I pause to smile at the words etched into the frosted glass doorway.
Hartstrings Public Relations: Crisis Management & Brand Strategy
“Morning, champ,” Lou chirps at me when I walk in. She’s rummaging around behind the front desk, where our newly hired secretary is scheduled to start next week.
Honestly, I can’t believe we’ve grown to the point where we need asecretary.
“Morning, Lou!”
She gives me a knowing look, which I don’t understand at all.
“What?” I run my fingers through my hair. “Does my makeup look weird?”
“No, you look great.”
I glance down at my watch. “And I’m not late. It’s seven thirty-four. We still have twenty minutes until our client will arrive.”
“Nope. You’re not late.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Lou blinks innocently. “Like what?”
“Um, like I’m about to go walk into my office and be sent into cardiac arrest by a surprise confetti canon?”
“Why on earth would I hide a confetti canon in your office on a regular-degular Tuesday morning?”
“You tell me.”
Lou merely smiles blithely and turns back to her rummaging.
I sigh and continue on down the hall to the office with a little plaque that reads:Lila Hart, Co-Founder.
Right next door is,Louise Giovani, Co-Founder.
There are four other offices currently home to our new employees, and a few more we’re hoping to fill over the next year or so.
Because Hartstrings PR is growing rapidly, and it shows no sign of stopping.
Meanwhile, I take great satisfaction in the fact that Barry Pelavin is now officially a perpetual failure. Shortly afterformerCouncilman Banks lost his reelection campaign, an up-and-coming journalist named Ashley Crone—who was kind enough to warn me about the snakes in my camera crew last year—came out with a scathing exposé about his agency’s unethical business practices.
Last I heard, he left the city. I’m sure he’ll probably try to start over somewhere new, maybe Philly or Chicago, but at least he’s not my problem anymore.
With a satisfied smile, I push open the door to my office.
And instantly understand why Lou just looked like the cat who killed the canary.
“I wondered where you ran off to so early,” I murmur, shutting the door behind me.
Noah is spinning around in my desk chair, wearing gray sweats and a FDNY T-shirt. His hair is still damp from the shower, though, and I imagine he must have snuck over here from Station 47 before his shift was supposed to start.
