He squints at me. “Things between you and Dawn all good? After your week hiatus from the comedy group?”

Does Jamie talk to him about the comedy group?

I swallow, trying to work up the gumption to confront him further. This is an opening. He’s listening. Point out how he’s been gaslighting Jamie about Mara her entire life.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” I answer.

“You know I love you,” he says more quietly.

My lips start to wobble. I hate that he doesn’t know who he’s speaking to. I head up the stairs and lock myself in Jamie’s room. I need to tell her how the gig went.

I’m dying to tell her how the gig went!

I pull out Gladys and punch in my own number. It goes straight to voicemail. Three separate times.

“Jamie! Call me back! I have news and I want to tell you in person on the phone, not over an email!”

66. A Girl Is at a Rooftop Soiree

JAMIE

September 6, Sunday Evening

New York City

“Dude, you look hot!” I catcall from the middle of the street.

Zarar pivots in my direction, his face going blank for a moment as I step up onto the sidewalk.

His eyes flit down to my cleavage for half a second before they bounce back up to my eyes. “You.” He runs his hand down the arm of my blazer. “You look like a sexy firework.”

“Ah yes, the sexy firework. Exactly what I was going for.”

“You’re only five minutes late,” Zarar compliments, placing a hand gently on my back and directing me down the block. “I was a little concerned when you didn’t respond to my text this morning.”

I grin. “That would be due to the fact that I’m off the grid. Left that piece of plastic at home and I’m living without its addictive pull. I tore apart Siri’s room earlier and found a wristwatch.” I hold up my arm. “A watch and a plan, it’s all a girl really needs.”

We step out of a taxi fifteen minutes later in front of a swanky hotel. A doorman pulls open the door as we walk through the entrance. Zarar leads me toward the elevator.

He’s doing this smoldering thing with his eyes and I’m trying not to let it get to me, but it takes a conscious effort not to feel it in my loins.

We come to a stop in front of the lift.

“This place is chic, Mr. Intern. Look at you go.” I smirk and reach out to tap his nose. He catches my hand midair and pulls it back down. The elevator dings open as he arches a brow at me. My breathing hitches as we step into the lift together. Zarar.