If Farrah tried hard enough, she could use the Kelly-screwing-her-godson-and-employee info to her advantage and take down her old boss. Kelly wasn’t married, but it would be a big enough scandal to tarnish her otherwise spotless reputation.
Farrah had been ready to do it. She’d even drafted anonymous emails to the gossip rags and Kelly’s competitors, tipping them off on her salacious discovery. But she’d deleted them before ever hitting send.
She wasn’t that kind of person. She didn’t care about drama and revenge, and she refused to stoop to Kelly’s level. Plus, Farrah didn’t have concrete evidence that Kelly blackballed her, though that seemed like the most plausible explanation.
She believed in karma. If Kelly did screw her over, she’d get her comeuppance.
After an afternoon of wallowing, Farrah threw her energy into her new project instead of plotting her old boss’s downfall like a soap opera villain. Thank God Kelly’s reach didn’t extend to every single person in Manhattan. Farrah could find enough clients to tide her over if she hustled hard enough.
Yuliya, the model, proved easy enough to work with. Her studio apartment was small, and she needed an interior decorator more than a designer. Decorators focused solely on aesthetics; designers focused on aesthetics, space planning, and structural execution. It didn’t take Farrah long to pull together a concept that had Yuliya squealing in excited Russian.
“You’re back early.” She looked up from her computer when the front door slammed open, and Olivia marched in wearing her new green wrap dress and strappy black heels. “Date didn’t go well?”
Olivia had been on a record number of dates since the Fourth of July, though none of the poor men ever made it past date three.
“It was fine.” Olivia kicked off her shoes and placed them between her black ankle boots and black sandals. The shoe rack in their entryway was, like everything else in the apartment, organized and color-coded to Olivia’s exact specifications. “But men in finance are so boring. Just because I deal with financial models during the day doesn’t mean I want to discuss them over bucatini alla carbonara.”
Farrah’s lips twitched. “Perhaps you should venture outside the finance world for dates.”
“I hate hipsters.” Olivia waved a hand in the air. “That’s the entire New York dating pool. Finance, hipsters, and vain model/fitness trainer types.”
“You’re generalizing.”
“Generalizations exist for a reason.” Olivia plopped onto the couch next to Farrah. “How was your night? Where’s Loverboy?”
“Blake is on his way to Austin for his father’s birthday.”
“How filial.” Olivia snatched a chip from the open bag of salt and vinegar Lays on the coffee table. “Can’t believe he didn’t take you.”
“We’re not at that stage of our relationship.”
“Relationship?” A wicked grin spread across Olivia’s face. “I didn’t realize you and Blake were in a relationship.”
Farrah’s cheeks warmed. “We’re not. It was just a turn of phrase.”
She didn’t know what she and Blake were. Something changed between them two weeks ago, after they ran into Kelly and Matt. Officially, they were friends with benefits. But Farrah recognized the glow in her chest when she was around him.
She’d had the same feelings before, five years ago. She knew what they meant, even if she refused to say it out loud.
Farrah’s phone rang. Blake’s name flashed across the screen and, yep, there went her poor little heart.
Not good.
“Hey.” Farrah hoped he couldn’t hear her chest pounding over the phone.
“Hey. Just landed in Austin and thought I’d see how you’re doing,” Blake said, his voice rich and velvety amidst a background of boarding announcements and airport chatter.
Farrah bit back a smile. “About the same as I was doing this morning before you left for the airport.”
“No pining? No shaking your fist at the moon, wishing I were there beside you?” He clucked in disappointment. “I’m offended.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m pining so hard, you have no idea. In fact, I’m staring at a picture of you right now, wondering how any human being could be so perfect.”
“That’s the spirit,” Blake drawled. “What do you say, phone sex tonight? Don’t want you to have to make do with only a picture when we can add my voice to the equation.”
Farrah wasn’t one hundred percent sure Blake knew she’d been joking, and she was even less sure he was joking.
“Did you call to proposition me for phone sex?” She swatted at Olivia, who made an extremely unladylike gesture with her fingers at Farrah’s question.
Very mature, she mouthed.
Olivia shrugged and smirked.
“That hadn’t been on my agenda, but it is now.” Blake’s voice faded out before it regained strength. Must be the cell signal. “Actually, I called to ask if there’s anything you want from Austin. As far as I know, there aren’t any pastelitos here, but there’s a cafe with a kick-ass house-made coffee blend.”
Farrah’s stomach turned to warm goo. “You don’t have to get me anything.”
“I want to. So, coffee? I’d surprise you, but when it comes to food and drink…better safe than sorry.”
“Coffee sounds good,” she said through the lump in her throat.
“Great. I have to go—my sister’s giving me the stink eye for ignoring her.” Blake lowered his voice. “Phone sex later tonight. Text me when you’re wearing that little black lace teddy of yours.”
“Good night, Blake.”
He laughed.
Farrah hung up and stared at the ceiling with a ridiculous grin on her face.
“Oh, babe.” Olivia sighed. “You’re a goner.”
Farrah didn’t deny it. They both knew it was true.
