“Ugh. Maybe?” I try to remember the last time I heard Andrea spout off with that gross turn of phrase. Even if he did hear, it wouldn’t be like Charles to take that sort of thing seriously. Then again, I didn’t think he could be cruel or cowardly either.

“With Charles out of the picture,” says Ming, walking again, “have you had any word from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fuckable?”

“That’s a good one. But no. At this point, I don’t even know if I’m going to see the guy again.”

“Boo,” she jeers. “You should have at least gotten the chance to knock boots once, get him out of your system.”

I don’t reply. The boots-knocking is appealing, but Darcy has gained traction in my mind; I don’t know that a quick roll could dislodge him. While New York isn’t struggling for tall-dark-and-fuckables, since I’ve cleared my social calendar to be around for Jane, Will Darcy has gained legendary status in my subconscious. I’ve started more emails to his Pemberley account than I can number but never get past the subject line. Where do I start? WTF is wrong with your best friend? Wickham, Pemberley, and unforgivable heartbreak? Re: Your mouth and the many words I’d like to feel it say against every square inch of me?

“You still drawing, at least?” she presses. “If Chicken-Shit Charlie has ruined your chances with his buddy, he’d better not eff up the rest of your life.”

“I’m still drawing.” Jane’s insisted that I not back out of working with Charles. I appreciate that he doesn’t want me to miss out on the opportunity, but the prospect makes me feel like a jerk. I’m happy with my progress on Meryton, but whenever my thoughts stray to Darcy, my design work inevitably drifts to Pemberley. I even created a new file for the material. I’ve lost hours to sketching and have to shut the file in my desk to force myself to focus on Meryton. “I need to be careful, though. Last night, Jane was streaming March of the Penguins. I almost converted an entire concept to a solely black and white palette.”

“Stark,” she muses. “But glam. My red number would be fine as hell in that setup.”

We arrive at the subway entrance at Bleecker. Ming squeezes my arm before releasing me. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Jane. I’m good for lunch anytime.”

“Sure. And thank you.” I lean against the green railing around the subway entrance, then consider what gunk might be on it and straighten. “How might all this affect you?” I ask. “Meryton’s sale, if things fall apart there.”