Just Three Words Read online

  “You have a ton of spring outfits that you happen to look great in. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you duplicate one.”

  “Yes, but they’re all very last spring, which is a problem.” Libby eyed the closed laptop next to Samantha. “Working again? You never give yourself a break. And you deserve one.”

  “When you run your own firm, it’s not exactly a nine-to-five.”

  “I get it, but I’d much rather see you reading whatever book you’re toting around in that bag of yours today. I love it when you read. It’s adorably nerdy how caught up you get in your stories. What do you have today?”

  It was true. Samantha loved to read and devoted most any free moment she could find to some epic tale. Classics were her favorite, and more specifically, the great romances. She’d read Pride and Prejudice upward of fifteen times. She wasn’t really particular about the settings or the time period, however. If there was a romantic tale woven in there somewhere, she was in. She reached into her bag and showed Libby her copy of The Princess Bride. She’d found a second edition on eBay and splurged. “I spent this morning before work with Westley and Buttercup.”

  Libby smiled. “I’ve seen the movie. Maybe I can borrow it when you finish.”

  “As you wish.” Sam smiled, but the reference seemed lost on Libby. “At any rate, it’s an easy one to get lost in. I had to force myself to stop earlier.”

  “You’re such a romantic.”

  Samantha shrugged. “Something about two people destined to be together despite the obstacles they face just never gets old.”

  Libby sighed—the good kind, too. “I like that.”

  “Well, that makes two of us.” The familiar Libby tingle arrived right on cue, and after basking in it for a moment, Sam refocused. “So tell me about the rest of your day.”

  “I met Tanya and a friend of hers after work and we went shopping in Chelsea. There’s the cutest little boutique that just opened up. Oh, and Tanya wants us to celebrate my promotion tomorrow night at Splash, so don’t make plans.”

  Sam set down her raspberry iced tea. “But tomorrow is the movie in the park with my friends, remember? They’re running my favorite, The Way We Were. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

  Libby’s face fell. “Oh no. I forgot about the movie. I’m sorry, honey bear. I told Tanya I was a definite to celebrate, and she’s been having such a rough time lately after the breakup with that horror show of a chick, Heather. Do you remember Heather? God.” Sam opened her mouth to answer, but it had apparently been a rhetorical question. “I don’t think I can back out on Tanya now. Maybe we can rent the movie next week? Just you and me. On the couch. Alone. Your friends will understand, don’t you think? It’s my promotion, after all. Kind of a big deal for me, and I want you there.”

  The overly hopeful expression on Libby’s face rendered Sam helpless. She really was wrapped around Libby’s little finger. Not that she was complaining. It was a pretty gorgeous finger. She sighed as the disappointment at not seeing the film washed over her. “If you promise that we’ll actually watch it together.”

  Libby raised a victorious eyebrow. “Thursday. My place. We’ll snuggle up on the couch with popcorn. I might even feed it to you. You have my word.”

  *

  “I can’t believe you’re not going to be there.” Brooklyn sat atop the kitchen counter in the loft apartment they shared in Soho. Samantha and Brooklyn had been roommates for the past six years since they’d graduated from NYU and first opened Soho Savvy with their best friends Hunter and Mallory. “Who am I going to quote along with? We’re the quote-along team, you and me. That’s the best part. I may die.”

  “You won’t die. You’re just being super dramatic.”

  “I will. I might actually die,” Brooklyn said, blinking back at her.

  “Okay, no. Do not shoot me Bambi eyes. You know I can’t take them.” It was true, the Bambi eyes killed her soul.

  Brooklyn blew out a breath. “Fine. No Bambi impersonations, but I’m in the depths of despair. Please make sure that’s noted for posterity.”

  Sam thought on this, scurrying to find a solution. “Mallory loves the film. She can probably quote with you.”

  “But not like you and I do. No one’s as good a Katie as you.”

  This was true. Sam batted her eyelashes, channeling Barbra Streisand. “I don’t have the right style for you, do I?”

  Brooklyn slid off the counter, not missing a beat. She stalked over to Sam, dropping her voice an octave. “No, you don’t have the right style.”

  “I’ll change.”

  “No, don’t change. You’re your own girl and have your own style.”

  “But then I won’t have you.” She brought a hand down in front of her face theatrically and bowed her head. “And, scene.”

  Brooklyn snagged an apple from the bowl on the counter and tossed her layered blond hair. “That was magic. We’re magic. And now I’m even more bummed that the magic ends here. Don’t desert me, Sammie-Sam.”

  It killed Sam to flake out on Brooklyn, but she didn’t see another way. “It’s an important week for Libby. She got that promotion and she wants to see her friends tonight to celebrate. Apparently, her best friend Tanya is having some kind of crisis.”

  “I get it. Just makes me sad,” Brooklyn said. And she really did look the saddest of the sad.

  “I know, but how many times have I gone somewhere without you lately so you and Jess can go off and stare into each other’s eyes for hours on end?”

  Brooklyn took on that dreamy, faraway look she got whenever someone mentioned her girlfriend, Jessica, who also happened to be the CEO of Savvy’s biggest competitor. Luckily, they’d crafted little ways to work around the conflict of interest. “That’s true. You’ve let us do lots of staring.”

  “And to her credit, Libby came out with us two weeks ago.”

  Brooklyn nodded. “And spent the whole night entranced by her phone. I think we bore her. I should try jokes. People can’t resist my jokes.”

  “It’s a fact. You excel at joke telling. But she’s not bored with you, Brooks. It’s just how she is. She’s very social and wonders what her friends are up to. I get the feeling she was one of those ultra-popular girls in high school. Her social calendar is everything.”

  Brooklyn narrowed her gaze in speculation. “I can see that, yeah.”

  “In some ways, and I say this only to you, I can’t believe she’s with me. Think about it. Little miss stay home and do homework on a Saturday night in high school. I was salutatorian and had approximately two friends. Is it wrong that I feel somewhat accomplished at landing someone as amazing as Libby? Holding the attention of the popular girl?”

  Brooklyn passed her a look and pulled her into an embrace. “It is wrong. It’s backward, actually, because you always sell yourself short. And that wasn’t a short joke, even though you’re pocket-sized. You, best friend of mine, with your luscious auburn hair and shockingly green eyes, are worthy of Libby and a lot more, if I’m being frank.”

  “If you’re Frank, then who do I get to be?”

  Brooklyn cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Funny. You’re a very funny short person. I have to go stare at my gorgeous girlfriend for a while now because there’s never enough of that.”

  “Kiss her cheek for me. But stop there.”

  Brooklyn looked wistful. “Not sure that’s humanly possible, but I’ll try.” As she slid the loft door open, she practically collided with Mallory.

  “Tell her she’s awesome,” Brooklyn said on her way out.

  “Have I told you today that you’re awesome?” Mallory said as she glided easily into the room. Mallory Spencer had a way of gliding. It was enviable. She looked elegant today in her crisp navy business suit and heels. Her dark brown hair was fastened with a clip in the back and her blue eyes sparkled with unfettered confidence, which signaled she’d just come from a meeting with a client.

  “Nope. This is your first reference
to my awesomeness, but I’ll take it. What’s new, boss?” Technically, Mallory wasn’t her boss, but she was the glue that held Savvy together. Due to her polished persona and ability to organize the group, she acted as their CEO. She was also the face of the company, as she could schmooze with the best of them. It was a testament to why Savvy worked so well. Each of them brought a different strength to the table. Brooklyn was the creative force behind their ad campaigns, Sam did the books and managed the money, and Hunter was responsible for all the graphic art and web development. Together, they composed the well-oiled machine that was Soho Savvy. And after recently landing the Foster Foods account, they were getting lots of recognition.

  Mallory seemed to hesitate. “I know it’s after hours, but I thought we could chat about funds for a second.”

  “Sure. What do you want to know? Wine?”

  Mallory checked her watch, the consummate rule follower. In good news, it was after five. “Definitely. Red if it’s open.” She slid into a chair at the table to the right of the kitchen as Sam poured two glasses of Cab. “How much wiggle room do we have in our monthly budget?”

  Sam considered the question, tilting her head from side to side. She delivered the wine and took a seat across from Mallory. “There’s room. Business has been on a big upswing lately and the steady cash flow has added a nice cushion. I’d like to keep it that way if possible. The idea is eventual expansion, and we’ll need the capital.”

  “This came today.” She slid an envelope across the table. “The building is raising our rent.”

  Unfortunately, this kind of thing was quite common in New York City. Sam took the envelope and checked out the news. It wasn’t good. In fact, it was more the crawl-under-the-table-and-whimper-softly variety. “This is a twenty-five percent increase!”

  “I caught that. Apparently, the rest of the world is picking up on what it is we like about this place. Soho real estate has become extra trendy and thereby extra expensive. Can we handle it?”

  Sam sighed. “Let me crunch some numbers and explore a few options. We can afford it. It’s just a matter of if we want to.” And then another horrible thought came crashing down on her. “Is this a building-wide shift?” Savvy’s office space was located just five floors below the loft she and Brooklyn shared. Before waiting for an answer, she scurried to the island where Brooklyn usually dropped the mail. And there it was, a duplicate envelope from the company that owned the loft space. “No. No. No,” she said as she ripped into the envelope. But the verdict was the same. Her and Brooklyn’s rent would jump exponentially in the coming months.

  “Sorry, Sam. It’s the same with my place.” Mallory lived several floors up in a larger loft space of her own. “I guess we all have some decisions to make. Why don’t we take some time with this before coming to any rash conclusions?”

  But Sam already knew where her heart was, and it was with their apartment. The Savvy office. Their building. The operative word was theirs. And call her sentimental, but she didn’t want to pack up and walk away from it all. She liked that her morning commute consisted of a short elevator ride down to the office, and what other building in New York, besides an artist’s loft, offered that kind of zoning freedom? More importantly, there were memories attached to these walls. Valuable ones. Each room meant something to her for a different reason. It was home, and leaving just wasn’t an option.

  “We have to make it work, Mal. I think Brooklyn and Hunter will agree.”

  Mallory nodded. “I suppose we need to find out pretty quick. Midnight Chocolate?”

  “Definitely. This is major, so right away. Tonight. I’ll set it up.”

  Midnight Chocolate was their go-to method for solving any and all of life’s problems. Inspired by that first night together in the village, they’d latched onto the practice and it had never let them down. Chocolate, wine, and pajamas could take down most anything, and at midnight, the combination had a way of producing some very honest conversation. A fail-safe that never let them down.

  Sam crossed her proverbial fingers that they’d come to the same conclusion. It was too important not to.

  *

  “Okay. Now take a few deep and cleansing breaths as you move into Downward Dog.” Hunter Blair followed the yoga instructor’s directions and extended forward onto her hands, feeling her muscles lengthen in the most wonderful way. With just that gentle tug, the stresses of the week began to wash off her one at a time. Yoga could be counted on to wake her body in a way that nothing else really could. Simply put, she loved it. “Hold there. Draw your belly button toward your spine. Keep your leg muscles active, alert.”

  God, she needed this. The soft sounds of the background music floated past her and through her, completing the experience.

  “And now walk your feet in slowly toward your hands.”

  It occurred to Hunter that April, the yoga instructor du jour, had the most calming voice ever. She generally attended the six o’clock class, but the eight thirty was taking on new and attractive meaning. Given this sexy turn of events, maybe it was time for a change. Nighttime yoga seemed to have a whole separate appeal. A happy accident, due to the fact that her schedule had been wildly off-kilter lately.

  In an annoying development, her sublet was up on the studio apartment she rented in the Meatpacking District, and because she’d procrastinated, she now needed to figure out something fast. Unless, of course, she was okay with being homeless on the streets of New York. As it turned out, she wasn’t. Unfortunately, her laid-back attitude had come back to bite her once again. It was a lesson she hoped she’d learn one day. Unfortunately, the damage was done and apartment hunting was eating up a ton of her time, and the little things, like her twice-a-week yoga class, were falling by the wayside. Annoying, especially since she’d yet to find anything.

  “Inhale as you extend your hands over your head. Exhale as you bring them down and to your heart. Namaste.”

  “Namaste,” Hunter answered back in unison with the group. The class was over, but as was her custom, she took a minute on her mat, ending her session with some final cleansing breaths. By the time she stood, most of the other students had filed out.

  “I haven’t seen you here before.” Hunter glanced up to find the instructor, April, addressing her.

  “No, you’re right. I generally hit up the six o’clock class, but I thought I’d try something new. I enjoyed it. Thank you.”

  April, of the short, layered hair and fantastically toned body, flashed a smile. “I’m glad you came. Maybe we’ll see you here again.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I’m April, by the way.” She extended her hand and Hunter accepted it. Firm handshake. Impressive. Kinda sexy.

  “I remember. You told us at the start of class. I’m Hunter.”

  “Interesting name. I like it.”

  “It was my grandmother’s maiden name. Thanks again for class. See you next time.” Hunter picked up her bag, tucked her mat under her arm, and headed toward the door.

  “Do you get out much, Hunter?”

  Aha. She turned back and studied April with interest, very familiar with where this was all heading. “On occasion. What about you?”

  “I get out, too.” April looked thoughtful and then, as if she’d made a snap decision, grabbed a pad. “I don’t normally do this, but…what the hell.” She scribbled something down, ripped out the page, and handed it to Hunter. “In case you’re ever looking for company. I never do this, by the way. Did I already say that? God, I did. And now I’m awkward. Perfect.” Her hand flew to her forehead. It was cute.

  “Not at all.” Hunter flashed the smile she reserved for moments like these and beautiful girls like this one. She held up the piece of paper, her eyes lingering in a way that prompted April’s lips to part subtly. It was kind of a gift. “I’ll hold on to this. You have a great night.”

  “You, too.” She could feel April’s eyes on her as she walked away, heard her exhale quietly as Hunter pushed open th
e door.

  Getting hit on wasn’t anything new.

  She’d attracted attention from both sexes since she was sixteen years old and first came into herself physically. Genetics had been good to her. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the attention, and maybe even encouraged it. As a result, she’d obtained a reputation as a flirt in the lesbian community. A player, some called her. Who was she to argue? She happened to enjoy women and spending time with them. Not exactly a crime. She preferred the no-strings-attached model to all of the coupling up everyone else seemed so intent on.

  Life was too short for boring.

  But she had rules. She didn’t lead women on, and she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. Those things were important to her. She wasn’t into hurting feelings. Ever.

  By the time Hunter hit the sidewalk, night had descended on the city. She pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and let the jet-black strands fall loosely down her back, giving it an effective shake. She shrugged into the long sweater and held it tightly against her five-seven frame, grateful that it would keep her warm against the chilly night air.

  As she walked, Hunter took a deep breath, enjoying the savory aroma wafting from a street vendor’s cart she passed. She loved the city at night. And New York had a vibe like no other place. Something about it just felt so dynamic, like there was something important happening around each and every corner. It thrummed with a pulse all its own, which was one of the reasons she planned to live in Manhattan for as long as she could.

  Typically, she spent her evening hours at a bar, a club, or in the company of a beautiful woman. Talking, flirting, or, once in a while, a more intimate exchange. She smiled, wondering what the night would bring. She liked to keep her options open.

  As the light changed and the Walk sign flashed, Hunter checked her phone and was greeted with the usual string of text messages crowding her screen. She skimmed them briefly. Melanie. Tricia. Kara. Deanne. Her dry cleaner. Nothing overly important, except the last text: a note from Samantha calling a Midnight Chocolate. Huh. That snagged her attention. She wondered what was up. Her three best friends were the most important people in the world, and no one called a Midnight Chocolate unless there was something pressing at hand. So it was decided. She’d be there. The rest could wait.