Page 73 of Daring You

I makeit back to my apartment in record time. Midday traffic, surprisingly, wasn’t too bad.

There’s no way I’m going back to the office, so I send an email to Altin, cc Taryn and Mike, and tell them I’m not feeling well and have to take the afternoon off.

As I kick off my shoes and dump my tote on the floor in my entranceway, I don’t think I’ve ever, in my entire career, taken a day.

Sighing, I peel off my blazer and throw it over one of the kitchen stools as I pass, and raid the fridge for wine.

That’s right. I’m day drinking on a Tuesday. Fuck it.

There’s a satisfying pop as I uncork a crisp bottle of Chardonnay—Mom’s favorite—and as it sloshesinto my wine glass, it’s a soothing sound in such a quiet room.

If Mike were here, music would be playing somewhere in our hidden speakers, the Red Zone would be displaying talking heads at top volume on the TV, and I’d be in the bedroom, on my laptop, going over caselaw and yelling at him to at least choose one over the other.

I stand in the center of my kitchen and take in the empty surroundings as I hold the full wine glass near my chest.

The chime of the doorbell jolts me out of the fugue I fell into, and I frown. Don’t move.

“Who is it? Mike, I swear, if that’s you…”

“It’s me!”

The familiar female trill has me more curious than annoyed. “Carter?”

“Yes! Can we come in?”

We?

On another sigh, I set my glass down on the marble top and pad to the door, figuring I should have the decency to explain that I want to be left alone to their face instead of through metal.

“Seriously, Carter,” I say as I swing open the door. “If you and Locke are here to—oh. Not Locke.”

“Definitely not,” says a perky, small blonde in giant black-framed glasses standing behind Carter.

She’s in black, ripped denim with puffy navy jacket, and beside her, I can barely see Carter’s eerie, golden eyes under her maroon knit cap with a giant fluffy pom-pom on top.

“Hi,” Carter says again.

“Hey,” I say, with much less perkiness. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Locke said you were home,” Carter says.

“How’d he know I was here?”

“Twin sense?” the girl in the back chimes in.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask.

“Whoops,” Carter says apologetically. “This is—”

“Sophie.” The girl shoves out her hand, and I shake it on automatic.

“How’d Locke know I was taking the day off?”

“—I thought I’d take the opportunity to come over. And you know, hang out a while. I heard about the hearing thing at court. You probably weren’t going to make it to lunch.”

What’s left unsaid is, I’m not gonna give you the chance to cancel, Astor.

Ugh, friends. I forget how much they care and want to make things better.

---