Page 11 of Someone Just Like You

Without thinking, I raised my head in keen interest. Jude’s forehead was scrunched with concern. Was this the lawyer? Or had he moved on to someone else?

“Do you mind?” Jude’s eyes, directed at me, were rounded in annoyance.

My cheeks flamed, and I stepped backward, nearly colliding with a pedestrian. “Sorry.” I paced the sidewalk in front of my thirty-two-story building a few times, then stopped. Why was I outside waiting for him to finish his call when I was already home? I cleared my throat to get his attention. “I think I’ll just”—I pointed at the entrance to my lobby—“go inside. We can talk about the party…um…later.” I started walking.

“Let me call you back.” He ended the call. “Wait.”

I froze.Crap.

“Do you have a minute?”

I turned back around. “What?”

“About this rivalry.” He pointed between us as if there were any question who the rivals were. “Can we stop?”

My mouth formed an O. These were the last words I expected to fall from the lips of one Jude Stark.

“I thought we ended these pranks in high school. We’re pushing thirty, Mole…Molly. It’s boring. Don’t you agree?”

Slightly dizzy with disbelief, I planted my feet firmly on the ground. “Are you serious? You started it! Did you not? You used my love of dogs and concern for Yogi against me, knowing I’d fall for your lies.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

Jude shrugged. “After George stormed off at Society Cafe, my mouth opened and before I knew it, it was on. It wasn’t like I could say, ‘Never mind’ after the fact.”

I cocked my head. “Why not? There were fifty-five minutes between us leaving Society Cafe and our planned meeting at eight. At any point during that window, you could have sent a retracting text, but you didn’t.”

A momentary flash of regret washed over his face, and I held my breath, wondering if he might finally apologize for being the worst version of himself around me. “It was so much more fun to let it play out, though,” he said.

“For one of us.” I gave him a pointed look.

“You’re right.” He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, making it messier.

I pulled on my ear. “I’m what now?”

“You’reright,” he mumbled. “But it’s been a rough year for both of our families. What do you say we focus on the party and only the party starting now?”

I searched his face to gauge his sincerity. There was no twitch to his lips, quiver of his chin, or laugh lines around his eyes. I scanned the length of his body for evidence of suppressed humor, like bobbing shoulders. When it occurred to me it might look like I was appreciating his strong neck and muscular calves…I most certainly wasnot…I lifted my head. “Okay,” I said, taking him at his word. My voice sounded like it came from someone else’s mouth—in an alternate universe, one where Jude Stark had actually turned into a grown man.

“Let’s do this for our parents,” he said. “By the way, nice job throwing me off the scent by choosing something similar to my prank. I honestly would have fallen for it if I hadn’t called to confirm. Like I said, it was a solid effort.” He smiled, and for a split second, I saw the little boy with a mop of dark hair and golden cheeks from all the time he spent outside riding his bike and playing SPUD in the backyard.

“It was, wasn’t it?” The knowledge that he saw the wisdom in my choice of prank sparked a lightness in my belly completely unfamiliar to me in Jude’s presence. I returned his expression—matching smiles—and allowed myself to imagine a reality where, despite everything, we could be friends again. Or at least civil.

Chapter Six

Later that week, my mood was bright despite discovering an empty container of half and half in the office pantry. Settling for whole milk, I poured it into my bitter coffee while humming “Karma” by Taylor Swift. Coffee creamer was small stuff, and I had bigger, more pleasant, things on my mind. Earlier that morning, I had secured an interview for Patrice—the candidate who’d left my office disappointed the week before.

Still singing to myself, I returned to my office and stiffened at the sight of my managing director, Michael, hovering over my desk with his back to me. Michael, also a former lawyer, had replaced our previous managing director, Jill, a month earlier when she retired. It was safe to say I missed Jill.

Our one-on-one meeting was scheduled for ten-thirty inhisoffice, not—I glanced at my watch—9:14 in mine. This was weird. But weirdness would segue into creepy if I continued to observe him from behind. In his late thirties, Michael was white with short, spiky brown hair, blue eyes, and a slightly oversize forehead. He was decent-enough looking, but carried himself in an entitled douchy way, and his ass wouldn’t make any top one hundred lists. I straightened the collar of my chambray shift dress and cleared my throat in greeting.

He turned and flashed a smarmy smile. “Molly. I had a cancellation this morning and thought we could meet earlier.”

I waited for him to follow up the suggestion with something along the lines of “if it works for you,” but it never came. It wasn’t a suggestion. Lucky for me, my calendar was open. “Do you want to talk here?”

“Here is good. Have a seat.”

---