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SHAYLA

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ISTAB AT MY SALADlike it personally offended me. The lunch crowd at Meyer's Deli ebbs and flows around my corner table, but I barely notice them. I'm too caught up replaying everything my boss has said this morning.

You should stop wearing that.

Thank you, but no.

You should get over that scum.

I twist the cheap gold band on my left ring finger. Nine years working for Adriano Kontides, and he's never shown this much interest in my personal life. Commenting on my fake wedding ring. Getting irritated about the bondsman at the courthouse.

It's like he suddenly noticed I exist beyond the borders of his calendar.

I spear a cherry tomato with unnecessary force. What would he say if he knew the truth? That there was never a husband. Never a divorce. Just a twenty-dollar ring from a pawn shop and a carefully crafted lie to keep men—and complications—at a distance.

The fork hovers halfway to my mouth. Would he fire me? Laugh at me? Or worse, look at me with that intensity that makes my stomach flip...

My phone vibrates against the table, saving me from that dangerous line of thought. An unknown number lights up the screen.

"Shayla Tolentino speaking."

"Shayla?" A woman's voice, warm and hesitant. "It's Hope. Hope Tiangco? Well, Soukoulis now."

I nearly drop my fork. "Hope? From St. Agnes Elementary?"

"Oh, thank goodness." A relieved laugh plays out from the other end. "I was worried you wouldn't remember me."

"Impossible." I mean this, too. Hope was the only one who shared her lunch with me when my mother forgot—again—to pack mine. The only one who didn't whisper about my secondhand uniform.

"How on earth did you find me?"

"LinkedIn," she admits. "I know this is completely out of the blue, but my husband and I are in New York for business, and I remembered you lived here. Would you want to meet up? Maybe dinner tonight?"

"Tonight?" I glance at my watch. Adriano has a dinner with Senator Holbrook. I've already prepped the talking points. Nothing requires my presence. "I'd love that."

"Great! How aboutRyuat seven? It's this little Japanese place in Tribeca my husband loves."

"Perfect." I pause. "It's really good to hear from you, Hope."

"You too, Shayla. Can't wait to catch up!"

I end the call smiling. A genuine smile—not the professional mask I wear at the office. When was the last time I had dinner with a friend? Not a networking event. Not a client meeting. Just... people.

I can't remember.

My phone pings with a reminder. Fifteen minutes until the 2:00 PM meeting. I need to get back.

The elevator is packed when I return to Kontides & Partners. I squeeze in, clutching my portfolio against my chest as the doors close. Two junior associates from the tax department huddle near the front, whispering.

"Did you see him in court today?" The blonde one's voice carries despite her attempt at discretion. "I swear, Adriano Kontides in a suit should be illegal."

Her friend giggles. "I'd let him object to me anytime."

"I heard Melissa from Accounting tried to ask him out at the holiday party."

"And?"