Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
But I can’t ignore it any longer. Now that someone’s dangling an out-of-this-world chance to run a kick-ass, cruelty-free, forward-thinking makeup brand, I know exactly what I want.
To run Mia Jane with Mia.
But after the other day with my mom and finally making some progress, I don’t want to hurt her again.
And I did make a promise to take care of her.
I meet Geeta’s dark gaze. “I just need to think a little longer.”
She tries to mask her disappointment with a smile, but it’s unconvincing. “Of course.”
When I leave, my smile is forced too. It masks the pang in my chest. The one that comes from not knowing what to do.
Even if I don’t know what to do, I know where to go.
When I return to Manhattan, I grab a bagel sandwich from a bodega, then go straight to Central Park. My compass is pointing me to the bench. As I go, I cross my fingers that it’s empty.
There have been times over the years when I came here to think and someone else was using it.
To eat, to read, to nap.
Today, I need it. I want it. I’ll think and eat and listen to some music. It’ll be all mine. My public secret.
I walk faster, my heart pounding a little too hard. I don’t want to make a mistake. I don’t want to hurt my mom. I don’t want to hurt Geeta.
As I’m passing the lake, I start to jog. Like something’s chasing me, I go faster, then I’m running past the water, around the bend, down the path and…
I stop short, panting.
A homeless man is sitting on the bench, picking through a takeout box that must have come from a garbage can.
I feel like I ran into a brick wall.
I do the only thing I can. I take the bagel sandwich from my purse and walk over to him. “Would you like this? I haven’t touched it.”
“Thank you.”
I hand it to him, then turn around and leave.
The bench isn’t truly mine after all. It belongs to others now. It belongs to whoever needs it, and so do the words on the plaque.
47
PLEASE OVERSTEP
Layla
My instinct is to find Harlow and Ethan. They’ve been my people for so long. They always will be.
But there’s someone else who can help me more, someone who desperately loves to help.
As I leave the park, I write a text.
Layla: Hi. I need to talk to you tonight. About a business thing. I’m kind of…lost.
I hit send before I can second guess myself.
Help isn’t something I like asking for, unless it’s from my two closest friends. But I suppose this is what having a relationship is all about.
A few minutes later, he replies.
Nick: Of course. Anything you need.
I wince, a little embarrassed I need him for this question.
But I do. He’s the only one who can help. After we make plans to meet at my place that evening, I head home, lock myself in, and shower without washing my hair. I change into fresh clothes, tossing on a tank top and pulling on jeans.
I loop my dry hair into a messy bun, then grab one of my makeup bags, ready to begin putting on my face.
I stare in the mirror, considering what kind of makeup to use. Maybe just some foundation and gloss? Add in a little mascara for a finishing touch? As I like to say, you’re never fully dressed without mascara.
But when I grab the foundation brush, I have this sudden impulse to…not put on makeup.
It’s weird, this feeling.
Great, just great. Another thing I don’t know how to handle.
I put the brush back in the bag, set the bag on a shelf, and go to my living room, flopping down on my chaise longue and letting myself exist with this uncomfortable, naked feeling.
I click open a book, and I read until Nick texts:
Nick: I’m on my way.
I pop up, feeling totally unsure of myself. But when he knocks and I yank open the door, my uncertainty vanishes.
At least I’m certain of this.
Him.
Us.
He looks like he did when I met him. Strong, powerful, wise. He wears charcoal slacks, and a burgundy button-down. His tie is unknotted. He’s such a messy-tie guy after hours.
I tug on it, pulling him through the door and closer to me. “Hi. I need you.”
“I’m here,” he says.
A few minutes later, we’re on my couch, and I’ve shared the digital copy of the deal memo Mia gave me earlier in the day.
That’s not what I need Nick’s advice on, though, that’s where he starts. When he sets the phone down after reading, he asks, “Do you want to do this?”
Easiest answer ever. “Yes.” I’ve been certain ever since I went to Mia’s office. “It seems challenging and fun and meaningful and right up my alley.”
“It does sound like you,” he says, but he’s not grinning. He watches me with concern, and before I can gather the nerve to ask my big question, he asks, “But you think you’re breaking a promise?”