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Caught in the misogynistic undertone of being called a schoolgirl for smiling, Libby rejected the implication. Her grandmother waved her away and focused on the more salient point.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were going to the art benefit? I could have gone as well and brought your parents.

A perfectly simple solution to her being too busy for us,” the eldest Cassanova said as she peered at Libby.

The possibility had occurred to her, but she was in no way ready for that trial by fire yet. They needed to have their story perfectly straight, a milestone still far o considering they hadn’t ironed out any details.

“I wasn’t planning on going,” she explained honestly, leaving out that she didn’t have a date until one was contractually obligated to accompany her. “But at the last minute, I thought maybe it would be good for the company for people to see me with my partner.”

Her grandmother nodded slowly as if not completely convinced. “Was it so last minute you couldn’t pick up the phone and call your poor grandmother?”

The accusation was accurate and hard to hear. She hadn’t intended to be sneaky; she just wasn’t ready for a public outing and a homestyle grilling for Reagan. It was too much in one night.

“Next time I promise I’ll let you know, Mima.” After a beat that Libby took as an acceptance of her regret, she changed topics. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I stopped by your condo and you weren’t there. I assumed you were here or with your new . . . friend. Since I don’t know where she lives, I took my chances here.”

Libby grinned a little. “You wanted to criticize me in person for taking Reagan out before you got a chance to meet her.”

“Maybe,” her grandmother replied as she stood. “And I needed to pick up the financials Taylor left for me.”

“About that,” Libby said despite the knot in her throat.

“You should have a seat. I want a chance to explain the numbers before you freak out.”

They’d only lost a percentage of their client base, but they were important clients and she wanted to break it to her personally. Her grandmother listened without saying word.

She still hadn’t spoken when she picked up the folder with her name on it on Taylor’s desk and left.

Crushed by her grandmother’s obvious disappointment, Libby collapsed onto the sofa and picked up her phone again.

Despite the ache in the pit of her stomach, the series of messages she returned to lifted her spirits.

Reagan’s slew of baby pictures made her feel a little less hollow. Not wanting to appear rude, lest Emily Post roll over in her grave, Libby fixed her hair, applied a little lipstick, and posed with the city behind her. It was the first time in a long

time anyone had asked for a picture of her. She couldn’t be rude.

C H

A P T E R 1 1

AFTER SUNRISE YOGA by the pool hovering high over the city’s financial district, Libby opted for the stairs to get from the pool on the twenty-second floor to her condo on the fortieth.

Once inside the modern, two-story loft overlooking downtown and the Miami River, Libby kicked o her sneakers and wandered out to her balcony.

The tail end of summer was unbearably hot, but perched so high in the sky like an exotic pigeon, the whistling wind dried the sweat from her skin. She tried and failed not to think about her grandmother, who hadn’t been answering any of her calls. What if she decided to take the business from her? She tried and failed to swallow the knot in her throat. Would she fight her for control, or would she respect her wishes and step down? She didn’t know what she’d do.

Tears stung the backs of Libby’s eyes, but she closed them until the unshed emotion retreated. No. She couldn’t give up. There was only one option and that was to keep KMQ on track and prove to her grandmother that she was capable. Not by doing things the old way, but by forging her own trail. They were losing clients, but they’d gotten some new ones too. People who welcomed inclusivity and diversity would replace the intolerant. Didn’t her grandmother see

that as a net good? Nothing survived while clinging to the past and ignoring the changing tide.

After another attempt at mantra meditation failed to ease her worry, Libby traded the balcony for her shower. The blue glass windows that stretched across both floors of the loft made it impossible to see inside, which was the reason many units had no curtains, and the master shower had a full window instead of a wall. Showering with a view had taken some getting used to, but after a while, it became Libby’s favorite part of her home.

Clean and content, Libby wrapped herself in a robe and her wet hair in a towel and laid in bed. Overlooking the living room below and the city beyond, it was her nest. She’d resisted a king-sized bed initially, but the space was so big it needed the softness of the bed or risk feeling too cold.

Tucked under her down comforter, Libby opened the agenda on her phone.

Tackling the first thing on her list, Libby jumped on her social media page to post a weekly #SuccessStorySaturday image. Thanks to generations of matchmaking and her family’s dedication to record keeping, she had thousands of happy couples to post about. Libby smiled as she pulled one of her favorite couples, a handsome pair dressed to the nines captured in faded sepia tone. According to her notes, Rafael and Maricela Cortez were matched in 1932. They survived a world war where Rafael served as a sailor on the only Cuban ship to sink a German submarine. Libby added a picture of the mustached young man in his gleaming white uniform to her collage. For the final picture, she selected a colorful one of an elderly pair at the center of several children and nearly a dozen grandchildren. Libby lingered on the image. What she wouldn’t give for a love like that.