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“Mr. Jacobs…” said Monica slowly, as if she was processing it. “Well, holy shit, Heart. That’s amazing. I told you that leather skirt would work.”
“Oh, come on. Couldn’t you chalk it up to my outstanding people skills?”
I heard her laugh on the other line before falling silent again.
“But what’s with this morning’s papers? I thought he had a thing for you?”
“Uh, no. He doesn’t. You assumed he did because that’s how a romance writer’s brain works.”
“Pfft. Whatever.”
“He actually brought Kiera with him to the meeting, so I would say it’s pretty serious.”
“Wait, she was there?” asked Monica loudly.
“Yep.”
“What the hell?”
“I know. She was not the nicest person in the world either.”
“Spill.”
I told Monica about the snarky way Kiera greeted me, if you could even call it that. And about her attitude toward charity work and children.
“She sounds nice,” said Monica sarcastically.
“I don’t know what he sees in her,” I agreed.
“Boobs. He sees boobs.”
I laughed out loud. Monica always made me feel better. I should have just talked to her yesterday before I fell into a stupid depression with egg rolls and slasher films.
“Well, I’m sorry, Heart. Clearly the guy lives up to his reputation,” said Monica.
“It’s okay. I’m actually getting to the office now. Back to reality. Sorry I couldn’t be the material you needed for your bestseller.”
“You’re my best friend. That’s all I need.”
I smiled as I said goodbye and walked through the door to my work. At least I had this as a distraction.
Chapter 8
Daniel
I slammed this morning’s paper down on my desk, startling Margaret, who had just appeared in my doorway holding a cup of coffee. I saw it spill slightly on her cream skirt, but she ignored it before walking over to set it on my desk.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
I pulled the checker-print handkerchief from my jacket pocket and offered it to her. She took it gratefully and dabbed at the coffee that seeped into the fabric of her skirt. It was a useless attempt, but at least I didn’t look like a total asshole.
She eyed me warily before speaking. “Is everything okay, Mr. Jacobs?”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, placing my hands behind my head and pressing my head against them.
“Not really,” I replied.
I watched as her eyes traveled to the paper on my desk and saw no surprise. She already read it, along with all of New York City. She forced a smile and handed me back my handkerchief.