“We had dinner at the new Arbor office.” I tried to make this sound as if it were no big deal.

“Like a date?” The high pitch to her voice told me that Perrine did indeed think this was a big deal.

“She was working!” Why did I suddenly feel defensive? “You’re the one who set this whole thing up, remember?” I continued. “She’s been dealing with stuff at our office. And I happened to be there and ordering takeout, so I asked her if she wanted some too.”

“Mm-hmm,” Perrine said, raising her eyebrows at me, forever a skeptic. I ignored her and dug back into my salad.

“I’m going with Serena to her gala event on Saturday.” My voice was resigned. “So maybe after that, I should end things.”

“Um, you like someone else. You definitely need to end things.” She said this as if she wanted to also add “you dumbass” but had refrained.

“Even if I did like Franny”—Perrine rolled her eyes at me as I said this—“I’m not even sure she’d be interested in me. I don’t know anything about the type of people she’s dated. They’re probably all, like, graffiti artists or famous musicians.”

She studied me, an amused look on her face. “Just what do you think her type is?”

“I dunno, cool people?” I imagined Franny with skateboarders and artists, punk drummers and moody poets. Free spirits who could keep up with all the magic that flew out of her brain.

“You’re cool,” Perrine said, and then laughed to herself. “I can ask Lola what Franny’s type is. Drop some hints.”

“Oh my god, Perrine, please do not say anything to Lola.” My heart picked up speed, panicked.

“Hayes, you’re a grown man. What are you so afraid of?” she asked.

Everything, I wanted to say.

But instead, I snapped back, “Nothing,” and left it at that.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Franny

I was supposed to be finalizing the last bit of load-in needs for Arbor’s new office, but instead I was hunched over my laptop, troubleshooting a challenging new client. My mom. Since asking for my help figuring out decorations for the baby shower—excuse me, sprinkle—that she was hosting, she’d invaded my inbox with nonstop one-line emails from her AOL account.

19 people have RSVPed, read one.

I’m renting three round tables—is that enough? read another.

Wait, honey, scratch that—it’s 18 people. Donna just canceled because she needs to go wedding dress shopping with Morgan. xxxooo Mom had arrived in my inbox just minutes ago. I had no idea who Donna even was, much less Morgan, but they’d just screwed up the order I was trying to place for folding chairs, so obviously I hated them now.