Page 84 of Synced to Us

“You absolutely were. I can tell by your split ends and the purple sacks under your eyes. He’s what is keeping you up at night, not spreadsheets. Hurting him is what’s making you lose your passion for self-care. I know you, Dee, and as hard as you’re on the outside, you hate upsetting people. When you left him that night, he hasn’t recovered any more than you have.”

“Please stop,” I moan into my hands.

“Not until you get your ass out of that chair, get dressed, and come have brunch with me. Heck, let’s make it a meal where I regale you with the motivation to start up your own firm, be your own woman, and get back together with Wyn. You’re both idiots if you think you guys weren’t falling for each other throughout this whole ‘contract’ you had.”

I peer at her through my fingertips.

She raises a brow in challenge. “Wyn’s going on tour soon, along with my husband. I’m sure you’ve heard about Nocturne Court’s reunion.”

I sneak a glance at my computer screen, where I’ve been pretending to pore over numbers, but really, all these weeks I’ve been checking out the blogs and media outlets reporting on the highly anticipated world tour. What must Wyn be thinking? Is he happy? Nervous? Anxious over leaving his family while they’re so fragile? What about the sudden influx of money? Will he be able to handle it, or will it all go to—

“I can list every single damned thing going through your head right now.”

I scowl at her. “It’s excellent news for Wyn and everyone else.”

“Kind of. I lose my husband for eight weeks when I’m seven months pregnant, and the guys’ relationships with each other are tenuous, at best. They’ve grown up and have less and less in common. Here’s my real issue—this better be damned worth it for Mason to be gone that long. Wyn moping around stadiums wishing for things he could’ve reached for but didn’t, and you moping around your apartment whining for a boy’s club you hated and ignoring what will truly make you happy, isn’t how this story is going to end. The last thing I need is stress thinking about you and Wyn in my last trimester. Understood?”

I fall back in my chair. “Wow. Yes. Understood.”

“Terrific. So get your ass up. You and I are having a business lunch.”

* * *

McKenna chooses one of my favorite brunch spots in DUMBO. It’s obnoxiously crowded and small, but it has the best crepes this side of Paris. McKenna guides us through the potential patrons milling around the hostess stand waiting for a table.

Wyn’s email remains at the back of my mind. Once I satisfy McKenna’s hunger and get back to my apartment, I’ll go through his accounts with a fine-toothed comb.

We reach said hostess, who looks up from her tablet. “Omigoodness! Dee! McKenna! How long has it been, huh?”

To every spectator’s jealousy, Savannah kisses both our cheeks, pulling back to rub McKenna’s belly. “You look so cute! Mason must be frantic.”

McKenna laughs as I smile. “You bet. And with the upcoming tour, he’s about ready to place cameras in every single one of our rooms, so he doesn’t miss a thing.”

“I can imagine. You two must be in dire need of food therapy. Come. I have the perfect table.”

Savannah winks at McKenna, whose smile falters ever so slightly. Anyone who isn’t familiar with every single expression on McKenna’s face wouldn’t blink, but it gives me pause.

Why is McKenna suddenly nervous?

I’m distracted by the focus it takes to navigate between the crowded table tops and the many people who’ve sat down and can’t quite fit into the uncomfortably thin, French-style bistro chairs. Savannah puts us near the window, the late morning sunlight cascading onto our table and making the plates and water glasses gleam. McKenna sits down and her gorgeously thick hair shines in the sun.

I finger my own, suddenly wishing for that hair masque I’d disregarded last night in favor of a bottle of red wine.

“I’ll get one of our signature mimosas for you, Dee, and our featured fresh juice for you,” Savannah says to McKenna, who nods in thanks.

“Remember when we used to share a pitcher?” McKenna reminisces once Savannah departs. “I miss those days.”

“You’ll get them back,” I say. “You’re having a baby, not cloistering yourself.”

“I’m not sure there’s a difference.” McKenna laughs at her own joke, but grows serious. “Tell me the truth, have you given any thought to starting your own firm?”

I stare down at the table. “Honestly, I have.”

“Good!” she exclaims. “That’s what I want to hear, not this woe is me bullshit. You can get the life you want back, Dee—if you even wanted that life.”

My brows come down. “I’ve always been so busy working so competitively, I haven’t stopped to think about finding the point where I’m happy.”

“I know. Just as much as I’m certain big clients will follow you wherever you end up. Yes, you made some enemies, but you also cultivated fantastic relationships. You have a knack for getting men to do what you want.” McKenna leans back and grins. “Remember? So get them to want you. Business-wise, I mean. As for Wyn—”

---