She’d been there. Done that. Moved on.
Emma wiggled her fingers at her friends and then headed toward Camille’s office. The Stiletto office was energetic even on the dullest of days, but today it was downright buzzy. Camille Bishop was practically an institution, not only at Stiletto, but in New York.
The change in leadership, even temporary, had people chirping with theories and predictions.
One noisy whisper in particular caught her attention. “I mean, can you imagine reporting to Alex Cassidy every week? He’s gorgeous. I wonder if he’s single.”
He’s not, Emma silently answered. She knew he was seeing someone, even though the Stiletto girls were weird about mentioning Cassidy’s relationships to her under some misplaced girl code. Granted, Emma had never actually told her friends what happened between her and Cassidy—not the full story.
In fact, if Emma had had it her way, she’d have gone to her grave without anyone knowing their history. But she supposed secrets that big weren’t meant to stay secrets. It had taken only a few short months for the group to realize that she and Cassidy had once been engaged.
Still, even Riley, Grace, and Julie didn’t know everything. Not just yet. Maybe not ever.
Emma had found the only thing worse than thinking about heartbreak was talking about it. Did that make her a little lonely?
Maybe.
But lonely was better than hurt.
New York should have been the one city big enough for both her and Cassidy to coexist without interacting, and yet somehow they’d found themselves not only working for the same company but in the same friend group.
They avoided each other as much as possible, but with Julie’s wedding right around the corner and Riley’s coming up right after that, she knew they’d have a couple of face-to-face moments.
And that was before she knew she’d be reporting to him as her supervisor.
God help her.
Emma knocked on Camille’s door. “Boss?”
Camille glanced up from her cellphone and motioned Emma in. “Come. Sit.”
Emma sat in the seat across from Camille’s, her gaze briefly taking in the panoramic view of Central Park and the city’s skyline. For a girl from the suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina, glimpses of Manhattan never got old. Not yet, anyway.
“You’re looking…glamorous,” Camille said, as Emma crossed her legs and carefully made sure her short satin dress didn’t ride up.
“Long story,” Emma said. Though her friends had an easy relationship with Camille, Emma was newer to the group—newer to Stiletto—and she wasn’t quite secure enough in her position at the company to run her mouth.
Not that Emma was ever one to run her mouth. She was more the live-and-let-live type.
It was a natural evolution for someone who’d grown up with a twin sister who’d had more than enough personality for the both of them. And speaking of her twin, Emma had no doubt that Daisy’s southern-belle sensibilities would probably be all why, I never! if she could see Emma’s current state of dishevelment.
Emma’s perfectly coiffed sister would have found a way to emerge from a flooded apartment looking every bit as darling as she had at the daffodil parades. All the daffodil parades.
It hadn’t been easy being Daisy Sinclair’s quiet, boring sister. When they were growing up, Daisy had been the quintessential little princess. She always wore dresses, and the dresses would never have lemonade spilled down the front like Emma’s. Daisy knew exactly what to say to boys to make them fall all over themselves, whereas Emma had been horribly shy around the opposite sex.