The morning flies by, and when I finally take a breath and look up from the code I'd been tweaking after a conversation with Preston's assistant, I realize it's already after noon and I'm supposed to meet Jamie in ten minutes.
I'm late, of course, but she's even later, and when she slides into the booth across from me she's overflowing with both excitement and apologies.
"Don't worry about it, James. I was late, too. And I don't even have a full hour because I have a client coming. But what's up with you?" Honestly, she's bouncing so much it's a wonder people aren't staring.
"Two words," she says. "Weekend. Anchor."
My eyes go wide, and then I lean across the table and grab her hands, forcing myself not to squeal. "Jamie, my god, that's huge."
"I know, right?"
I'm not surprised--Jamie's not only camera-ready gorgeous, she's also incredibly talented. She'd tried her luck as an actress, but despite her hard veneer, she has a soft heart, and the sharks that swim in the Hollywood waters smelled blood and attacked. Journalism is different, though, and I really think she's found her niche.
"Are you still going to get the reporting gigs? Or will you just be behind a desk?"
"Hopefully I'll end up in the prime-time anchor spot--that's where I'd like to be one day. But right now, I'll file stories for the weekly edition and anchor the weekend." Her smile practically lights up the room. "It's really cool, right?"
"Cool? It's amazing. I'm so proud of you," I say, and I swear she actually beams.
"So how about you? Anything notable since I saw you? Normally, I'd assume it's same-old, same-old, but in the last eighteen hours, I have a whole new job description. Considering your financial means, you might own Australia this morning."
I roll my eyes. "No new real estate," I admit as the waitress brings the Cobb salads I'd ordered for both of us before Jamie arrived. "But my mom called yesterday," I add once the waitress is gone.
Jamie had been drizzling dressing over her salad, but she stops in mid-pour. "After you got home?"
I grab my fork and stab at a hunk of avocado. "On the island, actually. Sunday morning."
Jamie puts the dressing down. "Okay, what? Wait, let me rephrase--what the fuck?"
My instinct is to keep poking at my salad, but I force myself to look up. And when I do, I see Jamie gaping at me, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.
"You didn't tell me?"
"It wasn't--" I drag my fingers through my hair. "I'm okay, James," I finally say. "Damien was there when she called, and so--"
"Yeah, I get that. But come on, Nicholas. This is me."
I lift a shoulder, feeling oddly guilty. Because Jamie is my best friend and has been forever. But more and more, I don't need her the way that I used to. I'll always need her, of course. But I'm finally in a place where I can either work through my crap on my own, or I have Damien there to hold my hand and help me cope.
"I'm sorry," I finally say, apologizing not for my silence, but for this gap that I fear is growing between us.
Her chest rises and she draws a breath and then noisily exhales. "Oh, god, Nicholas, there's nothing to be sorry about. You've got Damien now, and you guys are so good for each other. And I have Ryan, and I know I'm dumping more of my shit on him than on you, and I guess that's good, but--"
I reach across the table and snag her hand. "You're still my best friend."
Her shoulders dip as her whole body relaxes. "I know. You're mine, too. But it's different now. We're both in relationships and you've got this whole family now with Syl and Jackson and Ronnie, and pretty soon you're going to start having kids, too, and--"
"Whoa, there, cowboy," I say, laughing. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
She looks sufficiently contrite. "Sorry. But you know what I mean."
"I do. But different isn't bad. It's just different, right?"
"Absolutely."
"So we're good?"
Her smile is wide and genuine. "We're great."
"Excellent."
"So rewind--back to your mom. She called? Why?"
"I have no freaking idea," I admit. "Said she was thinking about Ashley and my dad."
"Huh." From her expression, I can tell she's as befuddled as I am. "Any particular reason she was thinking about them?"
"Not that she told me."
"She's up to something."
I grimace. "Wouldn't surprise me."
Jamie violently stabs at her salad. "Well, fuck her. I mean, where does she get off calling you out of the blue and messing up your mojo."
"Mojo?" I can't help but laugh. "Seriously?"
"I'm just saying forget her."
I wave my hand over my head as if shooing a swarm of gnats. "Already done."
"And the rest of it?" Jamie asks, a mischievous lilt to her voice.
"Rest of what?"
"Duh. Hello. Babies. Following in Sylvia's footsteps. What's going on there?"
"What is up with you and the baby questions? I told you at Christmas that I'm overwhelmed enough with my job. It's not exactly the best time to start a family."
"And that's the only reason you and Damien are waiting?"
I put my fork down. "You know it's not."
Jamie sighs. "You're not your mom, Nik. For that matter, you're not your sister or your dad."
Leave it to Jamie to understand all my neuroses. My mom is bad enough as a role model, but my sister killed herself when things got so bad she couldn't cope. And, of course, my dad just disappeared, letting my mom have everything in the divorce and leaving his kids behind.
"I know. But it's not just them. It's me, too. You know damn well I have issues of my own."
"Had," Jamie says firmly, because I haven't cut in years despite coming close several times.
"Have," I say firmly. "It's still in me. I still fight it. You know that."
"Yeah, but you have Damien now."
"I'm not ready for kids, Jamie," I say flatly. "But I do want them. So if all of this is about you being an aunt, there's hope, I promise." I take a sip of my sparkling water and lean back. "For that matter, when are you going to have a little one?"
"Excuse me? Not even married yet."
I make a dismissive noise. "Like you ever bothered with all those cultural niceties. Seriously, have you and Ryan talked about it?"
The blush that rises on her cheeks lets me know that they have. "Don't you have someone coming to your office pretty soon?"
With a laugh, I point my finger at her. "Turnabout is fair play. Remember that the next time you bug me about babies."
"Fine, yeah, whatever." She motions to the salad. "Hurry up and eat so you can go meet your client. Lunch is on me. My new job comes with a new salary."
"I'm so proud of you," I say, which makes her start beaming again.
"It's cool, I know. And I'm proud of me, too."
Despite staying and talking for another ten minutes, I still manage to get back to my office with five minutes to spare. I give a quick wave to Marge, the new receptionist for the office suites on my floor, then hurry inside to clean off my nightmare of a desk before Mr. Frank Dunlop arrives.
My timing is perfect, actually. I'm shoving the last of the clutter on my desktop into a file drawer when Marge's voice wafts over the intercom announcing the man.
"Send him in," I say, then walk around to greet him at the door. He's older, probably in his sixties, with an attractive but weathered face and hair that's gone gray at the temples. He looks to be in good shape, though, and I guess that this is a man who spends a lot of time outside, probably doing something physical. I have absolutely no idea what type of app he wants, but already I'm curious.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, extending my hand.
He hesitates before taking it, but when he does, his grip is firm and he holds on to me for what feels like a second too long, then smiles and shakes his head, as if he's a little befuddled.
He must realize, because he laughs awkwardly, then head
s to one of the guest chairs on the other side of my desk to take a seat. "Sorry. My mind's already on how I'm going to explain my project to you. I actually drew up some notes, but this, ah, app is so important to me that I still don't feel prepared."