Okay, that one is obvious: Because I can’t let Meg and Rufus know about Noah. Because of my NDA. And also, if I’m honest, I would still like at least the façade of a professional relationship. I don’t know if Noah Ross could look at twelve-hours-post-breakup Lanie and trust me as his editor.

I wish I didn’t feel the need to prove myself to him.

Now, I’m working myself up again over Noah Ross, and I don’t want to. I want to go back to brunch and get drunk with my friends. I round the corner, return to my seat.

“Sorry about that!” I chirp and make my tequila disappear.

“So, what wisdom did BD impart?” Rufus asks, his tone leading.

“Oh, she . . . wasn’t home. Got her voicemail.”

“It was that guy with the bunny,” Meg announces suddenly.

“What? No. What?” I laugh a very weird laugh.

“I recognized him,” Meg says. “Took me a minute, but he’s that guy from the launch. Man of the Year. You were talking to him at the end of the night.”

“Oh yeah,” I say, “I remember that guy. He was here?” I look around me. “I didn’t see him—”

“Lanie, you’re so bad at lying!” Rufus says. “Dig yourself out! Not deeper into the hole!”

“You sparked with that guy,” Meg says, eyes narrowed, finger pointing at me.

“What is this, an Anna Kendrick movie? I did not spark with anyone.”

The thought makes my fists clench, because Noah and I have done exactly the opposite of spark. But then, I see the commitment in Meg’s eyes. I realize that it’s going to be much easier to lean into her version of events than it would be to leave open any other possibility why seeing Noah Ross has got me so freaked out.

“A little,” I say, holding my proverbial nose.

“Ohhhh,” Rufus says, pursing his lips and giving me a knowing nod. “And you think you look like hell today, so you don’t want this mystery Man of the Year to see you?”

“Yeah?” I try to go with all of this. At least, the last bit is partly true.

“You know, you actually look really good when you’ve been crying,” Rufus says.

“Really?” I bump his shoulder. “You’ve failed to mention that on several dozen previous occasions.”

“Yeah, but I was always giving you the silent compliment,” he says. “It’s your eyes. They get super blue.”

“Aw, thanks, Ruf.” His words remind me of my mother. Her eyes used to do the same thing.

“So . . . go get his number,” Rufus singsongs, ushering me out of the chair.

I wave him off. Noah is still just a block away. Too close. “I will do nothing of the kind!”

“At least let us google-stalk him, then?” Meg says, picking up her phone.