I weigh my options. Whittaker has been my partner on enough jobs to know when I’m deflecting. He’s also a good friend, which means he won’t let this go.
“Her name’s Tessa. She runs a dating advice platform. Curvy Cupid.”
“Wait.” Whittaker holds up a hand. “Curvy Cupid? The Instagram account my ex used to follow? The one with the—” He makes a vague, curvy gesture that makes me want to hit him. “Her?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Point out that you’re watching relationship advice content made by a woman you’re clearly obsessed with?” He grins. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“It’s fake,” I say, though the word tastes wrong. “She’s helping me avoid my sister’s matchmaking.”
“Uh huh.” Whittaker nods slowly. “And all thisresearch?” He lifts his hands to make air quotes as he says the word research, and I have to count to ten not to take the bait.
I don’t answer, just stare him down.
“That’s what I thought.” He stands, retrieving his coffee. “For what it’s worth? You look happy. Haven’t seen that in a while.”
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me alone with the Mercer file I still haven’t touched.
I open my laptop again. Tessa’s face fills the screen, frozen mid-laugh, those pink nails visible at the edge of the frame where she’s gesturing.
The most incredible woman I’ve ever encountered, and I have to pretend I don’t know anything about her.
I push back from my desk and head for the stairwell. Up on the roof, the cold air hits my face, and I lean against the railing, trying to clear my head. The city spreads out below—traffic crawling along the waterfront, joggers on the river walk, and farther out, the lock-covered bridge catching the morning light. I stare at it for a long moment without knowing why, then pull out my phone.
Margie.
Drinks tonight? The Velvet Arrow at 7? I need all the Tessa details!!
I stare at the message. Three exclamation points again. At least up here, she can’t see or hear me groan.
Fine.
Margie’salready at a corner table when I arrive—tucked into the dim, candlelit back of the Velvet Arrow, two drinks waiting on the table. The same woman from behind the bar the other nightgives me a nod as I pass. Margie is practically vibrating with energy, which means I’m about to be interrogated.
“Okay.” She leans forward before I even sit down. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I slide into the chair and reach for my drink.
“Archibald Michael Pierce. You have a girlfriend. A gorgeous, funny, clearly-way-too-good-for-you girlfriend. There is so much you need to tell me.”
I take a long drink to buy myself time. The problem with lying to Margie is that she knows me too well. She was there when Rachael left—not just left but cleaned out the apartment while I was out of town on a Heartline assignment. Took everything that mattered and didn’t even leave a note.
Margie was the one who called me after hearing through the grapevine that Rachael moved in with someone new. She was the one who packed up what Rachael left behind and put it in storage so I wouldn’t have to see it. She watched me shut down after that. Watched me take every assignment I could get and volunteer for jobs no one else wanted so I could stay away from home and anything that looked like an emotional connection.
She’s been waiting for years for me to come back to life.
And now she thinks Tessa is the reason.
She’s not wrong, but she’s working with incomplete information.
“How long have you two been together?” Margie presses. “What’s her favorite restaurant? Have you met her friends? Does she know about the—”
“Margie.” I set my drink down. “Lay off.”
“I’m your sister. I’m constitutionally incapable of laying off.” But she softens, reading the tension in my jaw. “I just want you to be happy, Archie. And she seems... I don’t know. Different from the other women you’ve dated.”
Special. She has no idea.
