Page 114 of Manhattan State of Mind

Then, as if someone flips a switch, the nightmarish world bleeds into soothing light.

There’s the chilly kiss of the AC, the silk sheets on top of me, the familiar scent of JP’s mansion.

I whip my head around, following the source of a guttural noise. Matty’s sprawled out, his head hanging off the edge of the bed. I can already hear his incessant whining about his stiff neck in the morning.

My heart’s still going a mile a minute as I sit up, wiping damp hair from my forehead.

I’m no shrink, but it feels like my subconscious is practically shouting at me.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I pull my dream journal from the bedside drawer. I scribble down the bizarre fragments of the dream.What the actual hell is my brain trying to tell me?

There’s definitely a hidden note in there, a message tangled up in the madness. Some buried memory trying to claw its way out. Is it about Dad’s death? Or is it somedeep-seated bullshit about my inner child that Libby loves yammering on about?

Would waking up wrapped in JP’s arms have changed anything about this bizarre dreamscape?

Dangerous thoughts. It took all the willpower in the world to leave his bedroom in the middle of the night to come back here.

It’s the final day of the hackathon, so I really need to get my act together and focus on work.

I tiptoe across the room and gently reposition Matty’s head back onto his pillow. He mutters incoherently but remains dead to the world.

This dream is like a cryptic crossword puzzle that I need to solve, but it makes absolutely zero sense. Maybe it’s just some silly dream and means nothing at all. And maybe, I should stop looking for meaning in everything.

???

When the rest of the team eventually surfaces, the caterers are laying out a breakfast spread fit for a seven-star hotel, which is likely where it came from. The spread screams luxury, and a small part of me wonders: Is this how JP starts his day, or does he only break out the silver platter when he has an audience?

Meanwhile, my neon sign has been upgraded to JUST FUCKED THE BOSS.

“God, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” Matty groans, kneading his neck. His eyes narrow at me. “Lucy, did you use my neck as a pillow last night or what?”

I roll my eyes. “Actually, I was nice enough to put your drooling face back on the bed. So, you’re welcome.”

His eyes narrow further. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

With a saintly smile plastered on my face, I retort, “I stayed up reading downstairs for a bit. You were in dreamland, snoring your head off when I came up.”

He gives me a look that calls bullshit, but then shrugs it off and proceeds to savage a croissant.

“How was the charity event, Lucy?” Taylor probes, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s clearly still salty about me going instead of her.

Oh Lord, flashbacks of JP and me in the cloakroom come flooding back. “Oh, you know, it was fine.”

Her gaze is piercing. Oh my God, does she know? I can feel my ears burning.

Coughing awkwardly, I mumble, “Um… I’m… going to run it past JP about taking some time off for my clinic session this afternoon…”

“Honestly, he’s not a monster. Of course he’ll let you,” Taylor says as she pours herself a glass of orange juice.“For the record, I think you’re handling this remarkably. I don’t think I could cope with amnesia like you are.”

I’m floored. “Is that a compliment, Taylor? Are you feeling sick or something?”

Her lips tighten, clearly not appreciating my jab. “Maybe if you and Matty didn’t provoke me so much, you might recognize when I’m being genuine.”

My eyebrows rise. “Okay. Well… thanks.”

I smile at her and walk away, mind churning. Is it really such a disaster that Taylor is the boss? She’s meticulous, dedicated, and not afraid to get her hands dirty. Begrudgingly, I admit she’s more suited for the role than Andy.

Maybe it’s my own pride getting in the way of seeing that.