Her phone beeped on the nightstand, and she turned away from the mirror and flipped it open.

“You ready?” Laila asked. “I’m almost there. I’ll be in the lobby in five.”

Laila was crashing with a girl Frankie didn’t remember who was two years behind them in college but who had returned to get her master’s in something related to literature. (Laila had told Frankie, but she hadn’t been paying close attention.) Laila had stayed in touch with this woman all these years because she was better at those things than Frankie.

Frankie pushed her shoulders back and reached for her coat, then her purse. She stuffed her CD player into her jacket’s oversize pocket and flipped her yellow Sony headphones atop her hair. She had Night Vixen’s early cut of their new album but never gave them feedback until she’d listened to it at least twenty times. She kept hearing new things, new nuances with each spin, but then that’s what made her the best at what she did.

Frankie held her head high as she swung the door open and strode down the hall toward the elevator. She heard the door latch behind her and told herself that she was Frankie Harriman, music manager to the stars, and she was capable of anything. She’d eradicated Ezra Jones from her life once before. How hard could it be to do for one weekend more?

—

Ezra Jones popped open the black velvet box one last time. The ring, naturally, was still there. He didn’t know why he worried it wouldn’t be. But nevertheless, it was reassuring to see it secured away in its place, sparkling and magnificent, a single two-carat solitaire. He thought of his mother and how much he wished she were here so he could call her and share the news. She was always happy for him, whatever his choices.

A knock on the door startled him, and he closed the box with a start and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat, which was slung around the mahogany wood chair in front of a matching desk. Ezra had sprung for a suite, which felt a little foolish now—he didn’t want his old college friends to think he was being flashy about his bank account—but it was too late to do anything about it. Besides, he wanted tomorrow night, New Year’s Eve, to be special. Mimi was coming, and it felt like exactly the right time, the right moment to make a new start, even if this was the place where plenty of things had come to an end.

“Hello?” he called from behind the door, then unlatched the safety lock.

“Dude!” He opened the door to find Gregory Mason standing there with open arms, double fisting two large bottles of booze. Gregory, whose brown hair was shaggy and who still looked about twenty-two despite a half-hearted attempt at a mustache, bear-hugged him like they hadn’t seen each other in years, which wasn’t quite true. Gregory had moved to Portland three summers ago, but they’d stayed close. They’d planned a trip to Prague last summer that Ezra bailed on last minute—instead, he went to Nantucket with Mimi for her work retreat—and Ezra was relieved that Gregory didn’t seem to hold a grudge.