Page 131 of Manhattan State of Mind

But the knowledge that JP is next door with another woman sends a sharp, painful twist through my chest. What a fucking asshole.

The dazzling lights of Manhattan suddenly seem harsh and cold. A raw sob wrenches itself from my throat.

Somehow I have to pull myself together and escapeunseen.

And then what? Confront him? “Hey, JP, funny thing! I was lurking outside your apartment and saw you with a gorgeous brunette after you lied about working…”

No, screw that.

That’s it. I’m done with JP Wolfe.

THIRTY-FIVE

JP

I pace the kitchen, nerves pulled taut as a wire. Hours have crawled by since Lucy’s vague text about an “unforeseen engagement.” Radio silence since. She’s left me on read, vanishing into the black hole of her phone.

This isn’t like her. Lucy doesn’t ghost—she’s always shot straight, for better or worse. But each call that dumps to voicemail twists my guts.

If she won’t come to me, I’ll go to her.

I snatch my keys from the counter and head to the parking lot.

The drive is a blur of tense thoughts. I’m sure I shattered every speed limit in Manhattan. Thankfully, since it’s Sunday, the traffic is quiet.

When I pull up outside her apartment, I ignore the ridiculous blow-up doll glaring from the shop window and scan her windows. No silhouette. Damn it.

Hard to know if she’s even in. Only one way to find out.

I tap a message into my phone:I’m outside your apartment.

The typing dots taunt me, disappearing and reappearing.

A reply pops up:Busy right now. Talk tomorrow?

Like hell. I dial her number. Again.

The seconds stretch into a lifetime before I finally hear her voice trickling down the line.

“Lucy.” I can’t hide the relief in my voice. Or the annoyance.

“Hey.” Her voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t place.

“Why the hell aren’t you talking to me? Do you have any clue how worried I’ve been?” I grind my molars, willing calm I don’t feel. “You can’t just vanish.”

“Sorry, crazy morning.” She’s lying. I hear it in every word. “Are you really outside? I’m not home.”

“Where are you?”

“My mom’s.” Another lie.

“Can we meet?” I need to see her, need to fix whatever this is.

“No, I can’t today. I have to do some things at my mom’s and I have the presentation tomorrow. Sorry.”

“You’ll knock me dead at the presentation. You always do, Lucy.” Is that all it is—she’s worrying about tomorrow? “Can I see you later this evening?”

“I’ll be at Mom’s until late tonight. Sorry. Maybe another time.”