Snow had started to fall again and the beginning chords of “Deck the Halls” floated in the air. Neither of them moved for a moment.
Anne knew what had to come next. But she couldn’t quite muster the courage to say the words. Not yet. So she convinced herself she could wait. Until after Christmas, at least.
“I’ll call you when I get home,” she said. She began to take off the Santa coat he had draped over her shoulders, but he waved it away.
“I’ll grab it next time I see you,” he replied.
Another moment passed.
“I love you, Annie,” he finally said.
“I love you, too.”
His gaze traveled down her face, as if trying to read her mind. She held her breath, waiting for him to say it, to know like he had always known so much about her. But nothing came. He just turned and disappeared around the brick wall without another word.
It wasn’t until she was home at her dad’s apartment in the East Village that she remembered the small paper triangle in her back pocket. She read it in the privacy of her bedroom.
It’s Friday, December 22nd. We’re having our annual Christmas party at Half Pint with all our friends and you just walked in. You haven’t seen me yet, and I’m going to let you look around for a minute so I can watch you. I don’t get to watch you so much these days, and I miss it. You pierce my soul, Annie. That view fits a part of me and I never want to be without it. I love you so much, and I can’t wait for our next adventure.
—Freddie
She tried not to cry as she folded it back into its original shape and carefully put it into the small box in her nightstand that held all the others.
You both can’t get what you want, her mother’s words echoed in her mind again.
She didn’t want to believe it, but maybe this time, her mother was right.
CHAPTER 1Eight Years Later
“You miserable, cocksucking tramp!”
The words reverberated off the walls of the cramped edit room, hitting a part of Anne’s inner ear that made her cringe. Her editor was unfazed, though—David just paused the video and turned to stare up at her from his keyboard, the light from his monitor illuminating his apathy.
“Well?” he asked, his voice monotone.
“You have to bleep it.” Anne tried not to sound too condescending, but after editing over fifty episodes ofDivorce Divastogether, she had assumed the answer was obvious.
“Which part?”
“The cocksucker part, David.”
“Yeah, but like, the whole word? Or just the cock part, and leave the sucking?”
Anne blinked back at the screen.Huh.
As she stared at the suspended image of Denise Sinclair, one of the series’ biggest stars, frozen mid-motion as she was about to throw a glass of champagne at her former best friend, Marsha Beaumont, two questions popped into her head. First, why was thisthe most mentally stimulating conversation she’d had in months? And second, was “cocksucker” one word or two?
The door to the edit room swung open before she could ponder an answer to either. The harsh fluorescent light of the hallway silhouetted Theo Travers’s broad frame in the doorway. His usual easy smile had been replaced by a grimace as he swept a hand through his dark tousled hair.
Theo was the showrunner onDivorce Divasand was an objectively attractive man. A few years ago, Anne had even harbored a small crush on him, but it had fizzled almost as quickly as it started, more of a distraction from the monotony of life than any real affection. But she still appreciated how good he was at his job. A master flirt, he excelled in any negotiation, while his inflated ego meant it took a lot to rattle him. Which was why his look of concern right now was so unfamiliar.
“Anne. Can I grab you for a sec?” he asked.
Anne straightened. Thanks to years of her father’s overspending, she had implemented a strict “time is money” policy at Kellynch Productions, which meant that edit sessions—and their expensive editors who were paid by the hour—were not to be interrupted unless the building was on fire.
“Is the building on fire?” she asked.
“No no no, nothing like that.” Then he paused, considering. “Well, it’s an emergency, but David can keep editing. I think.”
