2. Naomi

I setmy new laptop bag on my bed. The lemon yellow made me happy, as did the small stitched daisies that an inventive artist had added to it. I'd picked it up in a small shop called Every Line A Story when I'd gone out exploring. Nearby Crescent Cove was super adorable, and I'd spent a lovely afternoon walking their Main Street, but the little shop had taken a hold of me.

At first, I'd thought it was just a bookstore. Two hours later, I'd bought a notebook and a fountain pen I definitely hadn't needed. The whole place was made for readers and writers, as well as crafters. I was trying desperately not to spend unnecessarily, but I'd needed a bit of retail therapy.

Which made me feel even more guilty about avoiding these particular boxes. I toed one of the two white banker's boxes as well as nearly stubbed a toe on one hefty tub. My life's work lived in these three containers.

I flipped the top off the larger tub and stared down at copies of all the books I'd written. The boring covers in varying shades of white or navy with very staid serif fonts proclaimed my greatest hits: Standard Operating Procedures of Real Estate in Ohio, or the equally scintillating How to Use Outlook manual I'd written in 2021, 2022, and 2023.

"Stop staring in those boxes."

I glanced over my shoulder at my college best friend, Iona. She was leaning against the doorjamb of my bedroom. Her short blond hair was slicked back today, the ends flipped up in sharp edges. Big, gold hoops gave a playful edge to her severe hair and full face of makeup. Shrewd amber eyes winged with a dark liner that echoed her edgy hair made me feel frumpy and frizzy.

"They aren't going to unpack themselves."

She entered, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Poppy red slacks with a knife edge crease down the center of each leg made her seem far taller than she actually was. The black bustier showed off her chest and a neck full of chains in various lengths. A large center medal of Medusa hung from the choker laying perfectly in the middle of the tangle of other necklaces.

It was damp as hell outside, and she still looked as if she'd just walked off a runway.

I moved aside as she seemed to be on a mission.

"You're not going to sit in here and pout about your job any longer." Iona lifted the biggest box and carried it to my closet. "We're putting these away and you can think all about job hunting on Monday."

"But it's only Thursday." I twisted my fingers together as she picked up the next box and stacked it beside all my carefully arranged shoes.

Then she shoved the two boxes to the very back of the closet and shut the door soundly. "You're on sabbatical."

"I was fired. Very different."

Iona swung around and crossed her arms under her stupendous breasts. "No, you're on sabbatical. You got two months severance from that stupid company."

"Two months to use the severance as a cushion while I look for a new job." I folded my arms over my much less spectacular chest.

"Nope. You're not going to worry about finding a job yet because you are not going to do another technical job like you were doing for Webster Press." She stood in front of me and laid gentle hands on my upper arms. "Because that's not what you should be doing, and you know it."

My heart kicked up at the thought. "It's good work, Iona."

"I know it. But it's boring and it's getting outsourced left and right these days. No one needs creativity to write a textbook—especially the kind you were writing."

She was right. I hated that she was right, but she was right. The tech industry was rapidly getting replaced by AI-generated writing, which horrified me on a level that I couldn't explain. It wasn't my dream writing, but the idea that a computer could replace people to that level was staggering. I'd put my name in for a half dozen jobs already and they either wanted entry-level people who were little better than data entry drones, or editors who were willing to hack away at said shit AI writing.

I was a writer, dammit, not an editor. Not that the editors were getting paid a living wage, either.

I had to find a new way to make a living and it was making me question everything. When Iona's sister had gotten a new job in California, it had seemed like the perfect solution. I could save money by splitting rent with her, and it would make my surprisingly generous severance last a little bit longer.

Chicago was a beautiful city, but it was hella expensive. I'd spent the last four years there, climbing the corporate ladder at Webster Press, only to get fired with the first set of layoffs.

And now, I was back in New York, with my tail between my legs at the first sign of trouble.

"You are going to write that book."

I backed away from Iona. Little black floaters tried to crowd around my vision. "No. I'm going to find another job. I can do tech editing if I have to."

"No, you're going to spend this time working on that book you always wanted to write. It's the perfect time to do it. You have a steady bank account for at least two months, and I know you, Naomi. Your savings account is more than padded."

It was. I hadn't made a huge salary, but I'd invested well and had sublet my apartment for a lot more than I was paying. I still had six months on my lease and it had been insanely expensive to break it and rent control was hard to come by. Any income was good income right about then.

"There's no guarantee I'll be able to get published. I just got fired because the publishing industry is a hot mess." I shook my head. "Nope. I have to put my head down and get my resume out. I can work remotely so I should be able to extend my?—"

Iona stalked to me again. "No. You are going to work on that book. You're going to do something for yourself, Naomi Taylor. Not your parents, not your stupid boss who fired you, or that idiot guy you were seeing who dumped you the same day you lost your job. What an asshole."

I tipped my head back. I wasn't going to cry. I was't going to cry. "Trent was?—"

"Trent was a piece of crap." She shook me. "He had no redeeming qualities. He didn't even know how to get you off."

That was enough to dry up my tears and a laugh escaped. "No. He definitely didn't know how to do that. Just himself."

"See?" She dragged me in for a hug. I knew I was in real trouble, because Iona wasn't the hugging kind. "I asked you to live with me to give you some room, Nay."

I sighed and hugged her back at the old nickname. "Aww, Iona."

"Don't get mushy." She set me back. "Now you're going to put something cute on and we're going to go get a drink over at Lonegan's."

"Oh, but it's raining and gross out."

"It's literally across the street. It's ladies' night over there, and we get cheap drinks. You're going."

"I don't have anything to wear."

Iona hooked her arm through mine. "Now there we don't have a problem."

I glanced at her chest, then at mine. "Umm, I don't know about that."

"C'mon. I have tons of samples from Frankie."

I sighed and let her lead me out of my room and into hers. Where mine was sparse with the few things I hadn't sold off in the move, Iona's was lush and wild just like her. The walls were a dark green except for one which was papered with a big floral design in magenta. One wall was full of clothes meticulously organized in a closet built-in. Her actual closet was outfitted for her obscene shoe collection.

Iona worked for Frankie Ramos, a clothing designer from the city. She took care of selling to the shops from Central New York to Eastern Upstate. It meant she was on the road a lot, but most of her connections were around Kensington Square, Syracuse, and Rochester. She also did a lot of Frankie's online marketing.

She bypassed her own clothes to aim for a rolling rack in the corner beside the slim window. "Frankie's new spring and summer line has been done for a while. I'm already starting to shop out the autumn line, but I know I have something in here that would fit you. You're a four, right?"

I looked down at myself. I was petite, but I wasn't that small. "Not in this lifetime."

"A designer four is a little different."

"Doesn't that mean it's really a two?" I sat on the edge of her bed, braced for whatever she was pulling out to dress me in.

Iona laughed. "Probably in Paris. But for the real clothes that Frankie makes it's made for actual women's bodies." She snapped through hangers. "Ah-ha. This is what I was looking for." She swung around with a pair of stovetop pants in cornflower blue and a soft yellow top. "Perfect for the after-work people over at the bar. A little taste of corporate, but just a tiny bit sexy." She tossed the clothes at me.

"I don't know. This looks really high end for me, Iona."

"It's linen and polyester, not fine silk." She moved to the armoire on the other side of her bed. "And even if it was, you're worth it, Naomi. We need to get you back out there. Maybe you can even get your flirt on with someone at the bar."

"I don't know about that. I just broke up with Trent two weeks ago."

"You should have broken up with him two years ago. You're not rebounding. You were just in a holding pattern and too nice to break up with him."

I sighed. Again, she was right. I hadn't been happy with Trent for a long time. Not exactly unhappy, but I'd never been excited about going to see him. Or having him take me out somewhere. Not that he did that too often, unless he needed a date for one of his work functions. Having a girlfriend who worked for a publishing house was just good enough for his family's rich blue blood.

What did it feel like to actually be excited to be with someone? To look forward to a kiss, even?

Like that guy in the elevator. He was the antithesis of Trent. Tall, blond, muscular, and had an easy smile. I was pretty sure charm actually came off him in waves.

"What's that look for?"

I blinked at Iona as she stood in front of me with a handful of jewelry. "Nothing."

"That was definitely something."

"Nothing, really."

Iona just stared at me.

"Okay, fine. I was just thinking about the guy I rode up in the elevator with this afternoon."

"Oh, and who was that?" She held out big silver dangling earrings and a chunky cuff bracelet.

"I think his name was Colder." It was definitely Colder. The name wouldn't be leaving my brain for a while.

"Oh, you'll definitely like Lonegan's then." She grinned. "He works over there. And the perfect guy for flirt practice." She tugged me up off the bed. "Now go get dressed. Happy hour starts in a few minutes. We can be fashionably late, but not too late to get a good seat."

"I don't know."

She shook her head. "Nope. Either get dressed here—we've seen each other's everything—or go to your room."

I sighed and stood. "I'll take a quick shower."

"Don't wash your hair. I'll make it cute."

There wasn't any point fighting Iona when she was in this mood. "Fine."

"And I'm doing your makeup!" she called after me.

Of course she was.