Page 16 of Phillip

“Maybe it’s one of your mother’s people.” Mary Beth paused. “Be prepared to read a column about this in her magazine next month.”

The phone rang again, and they both jumped. “Same number.”

“Oh, that’s her, and she’s pissed,” Mary Beth muttered.

Ashley wondered how many people read her mother’s editorial columns. How many treated the magazine like gospel? Agatha Cartwright always knew the right thing to do.Ha!Most people probably thought the House of Cartwright was a gifted place of perfection; a wonderful home where correct sous-vide temperatures were as common knowledge as the perfect way to fold a fitted sheet.

In Ashley’s house, the fitted sheets were allnicelyrolled in squarish balls and shoved in the linen closet. She and Mary Beth had, so far, survived.

“Here goes nothing.” Ashley steeled herself for Mother, picturing an action-item list written in black ink on thick cream cardstock. She imagined the bullet points detailed wording for handwritten note cards and phone calls to the donors. The action-item list most likely detailed the best way to extract herself from the fund-raiser and anything associated with Phillip Blackthorne. Ashley recalled the coldness from Mother when the woman had joked how Phillip was a blemish to the Blackthorne family name.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ash.” Phillip’s voice crashed into her like a whitecap wave smashing against a jetty.

“Phillip?” Her stomach flipped. “Hey. Hi.” Her eyes bugged as she looked at her best friend. “Hello…”

Mary Beth pulled her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked over the rim, mouthing, “Phillip?”

He laughed quietly. “Hey, hi, hello to you, too.”

Her chin dropped. She was a mess. “I thought it was a bad connection.”

“Right.” He didn’t sound convinced of her pathetic cover-up. “You ready to hash out a few ideas?”

Her jaw fell. “For the car show?”

“Well, yeah. Not a lot of time to make big changes.”

“Oh, right. Wow, you work fast.” She licked her lips, wondering where the steel-fortified version of herself had gone. This Ashley seemed more like a teenager with a crush. She counted to three and added a professional calmness when she said, “I’m ready to help. When works for you?”

“How about you come over now, and we’ll—”

“Now?” she choked.

Mary Beth tipped off her chair, barely catching herself.

“Yeah,” Phillip said. “Unless you’re busy.”

“No. I’m not.” She had a meeting with The Laumet Society’s insurance agent the next day, but other than that, spiked lemonades with her best friend were the only thing on the agenda. She’d never been to the Blackthorne estate before. The idea of heading over tohis placeintimidated her. She could envision it from pictures she’d seen inArchitectural DigestandNew York Timesspreads, and that was a lot to take in. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

They hung up. Ashley dropped the phone in her lap and stared straight ahead, nervous and giddy and…nervous.

“Did he invite you over?” Mary Beth scooted the heavy wood chair closer. “Never mind. That silly grin is answer enough.”

Ashley covered her mouth, mumbling, “I’m supposed to hate him.”

“Clearly.” Mary Beth flipped her hand. “That’s absolutely hatred dripping from you.”

“I’m serious.”

“You never told me the details behind your breakup, and I never pressed. But what I see right now is not an unhappy woman.”

She blinked. “What am I?”

“Put that on your to-do list,” Mary Beth quipped. “Seems you need to figure that out.”

She clutched her purse to her chest. “I don’t think so.”

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