“That was a job interview,” Freddie answered.
George laughed. “Yeah, Mark called me on his way back to the office. Said you were as good as hired.”
Freddie sighed. “Great.”
“You sound thrilled.”
“Sorry.” He glanced out the window, at the shop windows lining Fifth Avenue. It was only mid-November, but the Christmas decorations were already on display, an explosion of reds and greens and golds that bled into one another as his car headed downtown. “I guess I forgot how superficial these corporate meetings can be, especially when the bigwigs want to court you. I have to get used to it again.”
“Only if you want to.” George said it like it was nothing but an observation, but after working with Will for the past few years, Freddie could read the subtext.
“It’s what’s expected, though, right?” Freddie replied. “My mom is already picking me out a collection of silk ties.”
George laughed. “Hey. I wear ties every day. They’re not so bad.”
“Right.”
“Oh, I meant to ask you, how are things with Anne?”
Freddie’s head fell back against the seat. For a moment, he considered telling George about the day before—the play, the debacle in the subway, the car ride home, the roof…
No, he wasn’t doing this again. He had been working to keep Anne from his thoughts all morning, tamping down the feelings that had stirred last night. It had taken so long to lock them away; he couldn’t risk them getting loose again.
“Why?” he asked.
“At the housewarming party, you two were staring daggers at each other. Just wondering if you kissed and made up.”
A muscle in Freddie’s jaw ticked. “We’re not getting back together, George.”
“I’m not talking about getting back together,” he said. “Just getting to a place where you can stand being in the same room together. Who knows, maybe you could be friends.”
“You sound like my mom,” Freddie murmured.
“Well, she’s a very smart woman.”
Freddie let his gaze go to the window again as the suggestion turned over in his head. The last time he’d been asked to think of Anne Elliot that way was eight years ago, when she asked to be friends right after she broke his heart. He had blocked her number then, tried to block the idea entirely, but now the idea didn’tseem so offensive. He had spent so much time and energy over the last few weeks trying to keep her at arm’s length, he hadn’t even considered anything else.
“Friends, huh,” he mused. “That’s interesting.”
George chuckled. “No, Freddie, that’s called growth.”
CHAPTER 15
“So,” James said from where he sat on his marble countertop, staring at his phone. “How’s Freddie?”
Anne almost dropped the bag of flour she was pulling down from the shelf as her heart plummeted to the kitchen floor. James had called her a few hours before, asking if she had any cake pans, and now she was upstairs in his kitchen mixing the dry ingredients for a chocolate cake, while James pored over his monthly horoscope.
“What?” she asked, feigning ignorance as she did a survey of the array of measuring cups and ingredients laid out in front of her, the bright orange stand mixer and attachments at the ready.
“Freddie Wentworth,” he repeated, looking up from the astrology app. “Has he come by the apartment looking for Cricket since she’s moved on with Glen Rinnard?”
“No, I haven’t seen him,” she said, ignoring the annoying disappointment that accompanied the statement.
“Poor guy probably has whiplash,” James said with a snort. “She was making the full court press the night of her play, then bam! She gets arrested and starts shacking up with her lawyer.”
Anne threw him a disapproving glare over her shoulder. “She’s not ‘shacking up’ with Glen.”
“Oh really?” James cocked an eyebrow at her. “And when exactly was the last time she was home?”
