As if on cue, a text comes through. It’s Mei. The dove has flown the coop.

“She just texted me,” I say to Jared. “She has the powder.”

“Okay, question. How do we get it into Brandi’s apartment?”

“We need to get rid of both of them for a while. They have to be gone at the same time or it won’t work.” I bite my lip, thinking. “Don’t worry. I know how. She’s desperate for a new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “What are you thinking?”

Monday takes forever to come. Maybe it’s just the anticipation. By ten thirty, I’m in the car waiting in front of Nate’s building, watching as he turns out of the front door, slinging his duffel over his shoulder. He doesn’t slip into a waiting car or jog down into the subway. He heads to the gym on foot, AirPods in.

He goes every day. Same time.

Brandi was right. Nate is still as diligent about his training as he was back when we were at Regency. I never understood his overachieving mindset. His father is a football legend. There has to be something in his genes. He’s never had to try as hard as he does, but then maybe his commitment has always been about proving himself, about showing the world that he’s as good as his father.

Commitment.

I fucked things up. I know I did. But that was so long ago. I couldn’t see it then, but Nate was the once-in-a-lifetime kind of boyfriend, like Dean was to Rory. I would never hurt him the way I did back then. Never. I just need him to give me a second chance.

But first things first.

Once I can no longer see Nate, I glance at the time on my phone. Mei should be calling me any—

“Where are you?” I ask, in lieu of a greeting. There is no time for small talk.

“Climbing out of the station now,” she says, drily.

“ETA?”

“Calm down. I’m down the street.”

“Sorry,” I say, glancing in the passenger mirror. “I just always wanted to say that.”

I keep the phone to my ear as I step out onto the concrete. I barely have time to fret over the fresh soles of my new Fenty sling backs getting their first scuff marks before I see Mei approaching.

“Is the lobby empty?” she asks.

“It’s just one doorman. He was reading something. Should be easy.”

She ends the call just as I’m about to run through the plan one more time.

“You just hung up on me,” I say, feigning shock as I wave my phone in the air.

“We’re face-to-face,” she says, stopping a foot in front of me, but that’s not the point. “That’s kind of how this works.”