Still, the thought of that quiet middle, the part without handlers or lighting cues, doesn’t fade.
I grab my phone, half-expecting nothing, half-expecting something.
There it is.
Her name.
Tomorrow. 7:30.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary, then lock it and shove the phone back into my pocket.
This is supposed to be simple.
Suddenly, it isn’t.
And for reasons I don’t bother unpacking yet, I’m already looking forward to it.
Chapter nine
Sloane
“No.”
Paige laughs at the dress in my hands. “EvenIwouldn’t wear that on a date.”
“That’s not a no,” she adds, immediately. “That’s a cry for help.”
I’m standing in my bedroom holding up a dress Iabsolutely do ownbut only take out when I’m alone and feeling reckless. Paige lounges on my bed like she’s here to supervise a reality makeover episode, while Nancy sits cross-legged on the floor with a glass of wine, observing us like we’re a fascinating social experiment.
“It’s a charity dinner,” I say. “Not a date.”
Paige points at the dress. “That dress is a felony.”
“It’s aspirational,” I say. “You know. Appropriate if I were interviewing at a strip club.”
Nancy nods her head. “It’s whispering something.”
Paige nods. “Threateningly.”
I giggle and drop the dress onto the bed and reach for something safer. Something neutral. Something that says competent adult woman who knows how to keep a situation firmly in bounds.
“This,” I say, holding up a soft black top.
Paige groans. “You wear that to meetings.”
“I wear it toimportantmeetings,” I correct.
“And yet,” Nancy says, taking a sip of her wine, “you didn't wear it on stage last night.”
“That was different.”
“Because?” Paige prompts.
“Because there were cameras,” I say.
Paige blinks. “There will be cameras tonight.”
“Different cameras,” I say, even though that argument collapses immediately under scrutiny.
