I’d have to check the city records to verify it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were far more casualties on rainy days than sun-drenched ones. I’d nearly died just this morning, when an overzealous power-walker elbowed me off the street into the path on an oncoming taxi. I’d escaped with my life, but my black and white Miu Miu pumps hadn’t been so lucky — the puddle I’d landed in was deep and spilling over with grime, leaving stains no amount of suede-cleaner would ever lift.
Work itself hadn’t been so bad, I guess. Sebastian wasn’t there to torment me from afar and Angela had finally assigned me a project in my wheelhouse, writing a period piece that would be sandwiched between the 1920s and 1930s photo spreads in the Centennial issue. I spent my day settled at one of the work stations in a quiet corner, researching the years leading up to the Great Depression and immersing myself in a world that was, surprisingly, not all flapper dresses and finger curls. It was hard to tear myself away to break for lunch — I’d become enthralled by all the fashion and flagrancies that made the Jazz Age so deliciously immoral — but when the two Jennys invited me to grab salads with them, I couldn’t say no. We ended up at a small cafe just around the block, where the lines weren’t too long and the food was inexpensive but remarkably good.
“This project is so much fun,” Jenny S. squealed, pouring some vinaigrette over the bed of lettuceon her plate. “Way better than some of the other spreads we’ve been working on lately. Remember the sex position shoot we had to do last month, Jen? With the chocolate sauce we had to smear all over that model’s ti—”
“Please!” Jenny P. interjected forcefully. “Don’tremind me.” She grimaced before stuffing a forkful of salad into her mouth.
I laughed, easily envisioning the horror. Practically every monthLusterfeatured a photo spread of scandalous poses inspired by the Kama Sutra, typically accompanied by a user guide of helpful tips and tricks to spice up our readers’ sex lives. Despite all my complaining, at least I could say my column rarely strayed in that direction.
“Seriously, though, we are so totally lucky to be working on this,” Jenny S. gushed. “And with Sebastian Covington of all people. I mean, the man is like the hottest thing in photography right now.”
“Not to mention the hottest thing in a five hundred mile radius,” Jenny P. chimed in.
When I remained silent, they both turned to stare at me expectantly. I felt my cheeks heat.
“Yeah, he’s hot I guess,” I mumbled, dropping my eyes to my plate. “Why is it so delicious when they put strawberries on top of salad? I mean, you’d think fruit and lettuce would be a totally gross combo, right? And yet—” I stuffed a large bite into my mouth. “—delicious.”
My oh-so-subtle attempts to drive the conversation elsewhere were ignored.Sigh.
“Ohmigod!” Jenny P. had a terrifyingly astute gleam in her eye. “You totally like him!”
I shook my head in denial. “That’s ridiculous,” I snorted.
“Oh, girl, you’ve got it bad.” Jenny S. nodded her head in sympathy.
“He’s dating a model!” I deflected. “I’d never be attracted to someone who was into girls like Cara.” I crossed my fingers under the table as the white lie slipped out.
Both Jennys gaped at me.
“What?” I asked, wondering if there was a lettuce leaf stuck between my front teeth.
“Sebastian isn’t dating Cara,” Jenny P. said.
“He’s not?”
“Of course not.” Jenny S. laughed. “Maybe they’re together in Cara’s deluded dreams. But definitely not in reality.”
“Cara follows him around like a puppy after her master, and he lets her because it’s the only way to get her to pose for photos.” Jenny P. explained. “She’s not the most cooperative model in the industry, or so I’ve heard.”
“No kidding.” I laughed, thinking of my trips to Starbucks and Whole Foods.
“Apparently Sebastian took this job as a personal favor to Mr. Harding. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. Plus, he’s a total professional. I really doubt he’d ever get involved with someone he works with.” Jenny P. smiled at me reassuringly. “But, girl, you’ve totally got a shot. You’re hot.”
“Plus, I’ve seen him watching you a few times,” Jenny S. murmured, her gaze distant with thoughts. “With this sad, almost-longing look.”
“That’s crazy.” I dismissed her words in a flat tone, though my heart was racing inside my chest. “Have you been huffing too much glue over there in set design?”
Jenny S. responded as any mature adult would — she stuck out her tongue in my direction.
Jenny P. clapped her hands three times, a sunny smile crossing her face. “This totally calls for some matchmaking, don’t you think, Jen?”
“Please, don’t do anything,” I begged them, watching in horror as they locked eyes and grinned at one other.
“Ooookay,” Jenny S. drawled. “We promise.”
Jenny P. winked at me. “Yep, pinky swear.”
“Shit,” I muttered. They laughed in unison.