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Oh, yeah, Jamie Bond? You out to kill someone or something, 007?
I snort,getting into the elevator when it arrives.
Bridget
Or something
Will
It’s fine. I was actually going to text you anyways. I forgot I had plans already
Bridget
Awww, Will. You don’t have to make something up just so you don’t sound as lame, you know? That makes it even more pathetic.
Will
LOL.
Call me when you’re done with your mission? Maybe we can still meet up
Bridge
Will do
Will
K. Talk then
Idiotically,I begin to typelove youbut catch myself just in time and delete it in a manic panic. The horror of the moment distracts me from realizing that I’ve made it to my floor, a virtual shopping center of the most incredible dresses—some samples that never went into production and some that became our clients’ bestsellers.
I look around the floor, slack-jawed in disbelief. Like a whole department store floor to myself. I know in a heartbeat this place is going to find something for me.
* * *
“Come on,Ginger. Please eat. What’s going on with you?” I groan, pushing my baby’s food bowl towards her in an attempt to tempt her. She sniffs at her paté, loaded with beef Churus (essentially just cat GoGurt, if you ask me) to tempt her even more. But she just walks away, jumps on her chair, and curls up with a giant sigh.
Anxiety rips through me as I stand in the middle of my apartment in a huge red floral print taffeta dress with a high slit and black heels. Ginger barely picked at her breakfast this morning, but I thought she was just protesting how I’d given her the same meal three times in a row. So I gave her some treats instead, assuming she’d eat when she was hungry, and went to work. But she won’t eat now, either, and it’s killing me.
“At least have some water?” I ask, kneeling in front of her chair, placing the water bowl by her, doing my best not to ruin this dress.
She lifts her head and laps at the water a bit, which eases me a little. Maybe it’s a virus. Maybe it’s nothing. But what if it’s something horrible?
My phone vibrates for the eighth time in the last thirty minutes. I would bet my life that it’s Lena again asking where I am. I considered telling her the truth, but I’m not sure “my cat is sick” fits the list of acceptable reasons to skip out on work events (or is this a work sabotage? I don’t even know anymore).
With a sigh, I place the food and water bowl near Ginger’s chair and kiss her on the head, right between her ears. “I’ll be home as soon as possible, okay? Like, sooner than as soon as possible.”
But she doesn’t reply, of course. Doesn’t even look me in the eye.
Something about it doesn’t feel right, but I ignore my instincts.
With a deep breath, I grab my phone from the bed and stuff it into my clutch before heading out into the chilly spring night.
When I get to the New York Public Library, Lena is out of her mind angry with me. Thankfully, we’re in public, so she reels it in, the vein in her forehead close to bursting.
“What the hell took you so long?” she hisses, pulling me by the arm into the hall. “You missed the presentation and the awards. I told you we need to be everywhere.”
“I know, I’m sorry. But my cat?—”
