Page 4 of Not That Into You

I lift my brows. “What?”

“You’re scowling.”

“I’m always scowling.”

“Yeah, but this is more. Closer to a glower.”

“Is a glower really any different from a scowl?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Why are you grumpier than usual?”

“I take offense at that unjust characterization.”

“Whatever, Eeyore. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I roll my eyes at Claire’s unconvinced look. “I’m just frustrated with this website. I’ve urged the client to hire someone to create a brand guide—I even offered to do it for a discount—but they insist it’s unnecessary. Which may be true, since they’ve been entirely on-brand with their lack of clarity for the website update they hired me to do.”

My shoulders relax when Claire seems to accept my explanation. “That sucks.”

I shrug. They’re not a bad client. They’re just shortsighted and more concerned about saving money today than investing in consistency and continuity for tomorrow. Then again, I know they’re operating on thin margins and barely have a cent to spare.

When Claire’s phone pings with a text message, she glances down, and her eyes practically morph into hearts as she grins. There’s little doubt who the message is from.

My stomach dips as my frown deepens. I can’t help wondering when she’ll start pulling away. If history is any indication, it won’t happen overnight, but there’ll be longer periods of time between coffee meetups and brunch dates. She’s already skipped a few Wednesday nights at Blue Iris.

I swallow down a swell of bitterness. When she was living with her ex, Stephen, our friendship took a backseat. All three of us went to the same college and moved to New York after graduation. At first, Claire and I lived together—she said she wanted to maintain her independence—and Stephen lived with three other friends. But a few years later, Claire decided it made more sense to live with Stephen, and I was left to find a new roommate.

Admittedly, it had worked out in the end. Hayley had been looking for a place to stay, and she hadn’t been deterred by the tired, two-bedroom walk-up Claire and I had shared in Hell’s Kitchen, even though she could’ve afforded a much nicer place with an elevator and doorman. Initially, I’d been hesitant because Hayley’s bubbly personality wasn’t an obvious fit. But she’s proven to be an easy roommate, and her perpetual cheerfulness isn’t as annoying as I’d feared.

But once Claire moved in with Stephen, they became attached at the hip. They’d been a couple for years at that point, but living together had catalyzed a togetherness that was somehow more conjoined. Claire still showed up at Blue Iris, but less frequently, and she’d usually be the first to leave to get home to Stephen.

Stephen is now long gone—thank goodness—but Claire recently moved in with Elliot. It’s only a matter of time before her focus narrows.

“Incoming.”

I come back to the present and register a fashionably dressed woman with blonde hair gliding toward us.

“Claire! I thought that was you.”

Sawyer Winthrop is a walking stereotype of the Upper East Side’s privileged set, right down to her tennis bracelet and designer handbag with a small Ewok-like creature peeking out.

Normally, Sawyer wouldn’t bother to acknowledge us, but Claire’s close association with Elliot Blake has caused Claire’s status to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of the common folk. Though Elliot and I have only ever exchanged stilted pleasantries, I know he isn’t a snob and doesn’t care much for social standing. That doesn’t deter New York’s elite from fawning over him and now, apparently, Claire.

Sawyer is also a friend of Hayley’s, which still baffles me, so I’ve met her on more than one occasion, though she feigns ignorance each time.

I sigh inwardly while Claire smiles tightly. “Hi, Sawyer.”

Sawyer’s face glows, clearly delighted Claire remembered her name. “Will we be seeing you and Elliot in the Hamptons this summer?”

“I’m not sure of our plans yet.”

“Well, you must let us know when you’ll be in town.”

Claire merely blinks, and there’s an extended pause before Sawyer’s smile falters as she realizes Claire isn’t going to volley the conversational ball. She readjusts her handbag, which elicits a grumbling complaint from within its depths. “Well, I have to get Sugar to her nail appointment.” I barely contain my eyeroll. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the Stanhope Foundation Gala.”

Sawyer lets her gaze slide to me with a smirk, apparently assuming I’m heartbroken to have been left off the gala’s guest list. I give her a bland look, while my stomach churns at the mention of the Stanhope name.

Cameron will no doubt be at the gala.

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