I didn't answer that question.
I put the contract in the drawer, turned off the light, leaned back in the chair, and closed my eyes. Casey's words still spinning in my head.
That can be my birthday present—let me meet the people in your life.
Just that one request. Light. No pressure.
But that one request was the one thing I currently had no way to deliver.
Chapter Three
Casey
Seven-twenty a.m. My phone alarm went off right on time, but I'd already been staring at myself in the mirror for over an hour.
For today's birthday date, I'd pulled out all the stops like I was cramming for finals.
I'd wrestled my usually grab-and-go mess of hair into submission, curling it strand by strand until each piece fell just right. Applied shimmer primer with the focus of a surgeon. Held my breath while lining my eyes, making the hazel pop under the morning light.
I'd even picked out the dress—that emerald silk number hanging front and center in my closet.
Then my phone lit up. Paul.
"Sorry, the emergency meeting ran long. Rain check on dinner. I'll have my assistant take you shopping—sending you the card info now."
I read it three times. Then put the phone down and went to brush my teeth.
Not because I'd made peace with it. Because my brain flat-out refused to process what I'd just read. Yesterday he'd promised to wish me happy birthday in person. Today I got this.
I rinsed my toothbrush under the tap. Teeth still needed brushing. Birthdays still happened. The world didn't stop spinning just because Paul Vincent was an asshole.
I caught my reflection—all that careful work suddenly felt like a joke. I started pulling out the curls one by one, then grabbed my phone and typed back.
No worries. Do your thing.
The second I hit send, my chest squeezed tight, like someone had wrapped both hands around my heart.
Then Lucy called.
"Casey," her voice thick with congestion, "I'm dying."
"You've got the flu. You're not dying." I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder, digging through drawers for socks. "Need me to grab you fever meds?"
"More urgent than that. Tonight at the Four Seasons, an international business dinner, Italian clients. I booked a translation gig, starts at six, and I can't even get out of bed..."
I found a sock. Stopped. "You want me to cover."
"Casey, I know it's your birthday—"
"I'll do it."
Silence on the other end. Two seconds. "Really? You don't need to think about it?"
I stared out at Boston's flat gray sky. "What's there to think about? Not like I've got other plans."
The words came out smoother than I expected. So smooth it hurt a little.
I opened the file Lucy sent. Italian legal and business terminology. Mid-level difficulty. No problem.
