Breakaway

Presley

Dammit, I muttered from inside my closet where I was digging out my favorite black Louboutin ankle boots. I could hear my phone ringing on the other side of my bedroom.

I found the shoe box I was looking for and grabbed it before emerging from the closet. I tossed the box onto the bed as my phone kept ringing, threatening to send the caller to voicemail if I didn’t hurry up. I had a feeling it was my friend Charlie, who was probably wondering where I was and why I wasn’t downstairs where I said I’d be at that exact moment.

I grabbed the phone without thinking and said a rushed, Hello?

Presley? Why do you sound out of breath?

Dammit. I should have let it go to voicemail. I should have looked at the caller ID.

Hi Mom, I said, fighting the urge to grit my teeth as I said it.

Are you at the gym, darling?

No, I’m not at the gym. I went earlier today. Remember, you called me right when I was walking in to my Pure Barre class.

Oh, that’s right. Did you have a nice workout?

Sure. It was great. What can I do for you? I asked, fighting like crazy to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but my mother had a penchant for not only calling me multiple times a day, but she also seemed to like to call at pretty much the worst times, when I didn’t have a second to talk to her.

Of course if I made it seem like she wasn’t the most important person in the world when she called, then I’d hear about it. And I really wasn’t in the mood for one of her lectures that would no doubt put me even more behind to meet Charlie than I already was.

Are you in the middle of something? she asked, and even though I was, years of training had taught me to just tell her no.

No, not at all, I said as I balanced on one foot to put one of my booties on.

Oh good. Well, I just wanted to confirm what time you were coming over tomorrow.

I switched feet to slide on my other shoe and almost fell over. You said brunch was at eleven, so I’ll be there at eleven, I huffed, as I caught myself on the corner of my bed and grunted.

I had no idea why she was even asking what time I’d be over. Brunch at my parents’ house had been on the third Sunday of each month at eleven in the morning for the past twenty years. The time never changed.

Presley, what are you doing? my mother asked tersely.

I’m putting my shoes on.

And are you running in place while putting your shoes on?

I pressed my lips together in an attempt to keep the huff of frustration I desperately wanted to expel from coming out.

No. I’m standing still, but I’m trying to multi-task. I’m meeting Charlie for drinks in a few minutes, and I’m running late.

I’d probably said too much. And I’d also lied. Charlie and I were going to a concert at Madison Square Garden, but my mother disapproved of both rock music and concerts, so I’d learned to lie years earlier when my plans involved either of those things. Drinks with friends was always safe to tell her.

Are you talking about Charlotte Reeser? she questioned excitedly, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds, knowing I should have left out that small detail.

The one and only. She’s in town for the weekend, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, so we made plans to get together.

Well, that’s lovely. Do tell her we said hello. I just adore her.

I will, Mom, I said impatiently, because the longer this conversation took, the later I’d be.

What is Charlotte doing these days? she asked, refusing to use the nickname Charlie had adopted when she was fourteen. You haven’t mentioned her in months. Is she still living in Los Angeles?

I sighed as quietly as possible. She is, and she’s still working for her dad’s studio. She’s doing well.

I figured brevity was best, because this conversation could go on for days if I let it. My mom had always loved Charlie – mostly because she didn’t know the real her. If she did, she definitely wouldn’t approve. But when she’d met her, Charlie had been an adorable, blond eight year-old who said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, smiled sweetly, and was able to charm the pants off of any adult who crossed her path.

She was still able to do that, which was why my mom still adored her. She’d never been able to see through the façade to know that Charlie was actually responsible for most of her daughter’s bad habits, her tolerance for alcohol, and her penchant for bad boys. Although to be fair, I wasn’t really into bad boys anymore, so that corruption had fallen by the wayside. I figured if I wanted to get serious with my life, I had to find a serious guy.

But anytime Charlie came into town, I let my desire to be serious slide away – at least for a few nights. If I didn’t, she’d drag me along on her crazy train anyway, and I’d spend the whole time fighting it instead of embracing it. So I’d learned to embrace it, because she’d always been able to bring out a side of me that no one else could, and in truth, I always had fun when she was around – just like I had when we were kids and we’d spent every summer together running around The Hamptons, evading our parents.

It had been a few months since I’d seen her, and I’d been starting to feel that familiar tug I did when things got too serious, too intense, and too pressure-filled. And with my last semester of law school starting on Monday, it was as good a time as any to let loose. I needed to disconnect. I needed to not think about my future and the drain the semester would be on me. And I needed to get out of my head, even if it was just for a few hours.

That is just so impressive, my mother gushed, bringing me back to the moment. I’m not sure I can picture little Charlotte Reeser as an executive for Reeser Productions. I guess to me, she’ll always be a child.

Well, she’s definitely not a child anymore, I said, again aiming for brevity.

I know. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen her. Please give her my best.

I will, Mom. For sure, but I really should go. Was there anything else you needed?

My mom paused, and I braced myself for her to tell me how rude it was for me to brush her off – her, my mother, the woman who’d birthed me, who’d raised me, and who’d taught me to be a proper and respectful lady, neither of which I was being at the moment. I’d heard the lecture so many times I could recite it from memory.

Actually yes, she said, and I sighed as quietly as possible. Have you spoken to your brother lately?

And there it was; the real reason for her inane call. She hadn’t wanted to confirm what time I’d be arriving for brunch. That had just been a convenient excuse.

Do you mean Henry? I questioned, knowing full well that she was talking about my older brother and not my sixteen year-old brother, Parker, who still lived at home.

My mother knew Henry and I were close. If she ever wanted dirt on him, she came to me. I’d never told her anything noteworthy, but she’d been trying to get me to rat him out my entire life.

Of course I mean, Henry, she said coolly.

Sure, I talked to him yesterday. Why? I questioned, in as light a tone as possible, almost in spite of her hidden agenda.

Do you know if he’s coming to brunch tomorrow? He hasn’t called me back, and he never answers his phone anymore, so I’m not sure if should expect him.

Well, I’m not sure. Did you invite Marissa?

Yes, of course, I did.

Then he’s probably not coming.

Why do you say that? she questioned, like it was appalling to think that my brother wouldn’t want to spend Sunday brunch with his wife, whom he’d separated from right after Christmas – especially since they weren’t currently speaking.

Most likely because they’re not together anymore.

Oh, that’s nonsense. They’re a married couple.

Who are separated, I reminded her. Mom, they’re going to get divorced.

No, they’re not. This is just a phase. They got married young. Once Henry realizes what he’s missing, he’ll go back to her.

I really don’t think he will, I said, because I doubted there was very much about Marissa that Henry was missing.

I’d known my brother was gay for fifteen years, since the night I caught him and James Danvers making out on the dock at our family’s house in The Hamptons over Fourth of July weekend. I’d only been ten at the time, and Henry had tried to play it off, but I’d known exactly what I’d seen.

He’d begged me not to tell our parents, even though I never would have done that. My parents were uptight and proper, and they had vast dreams for their children. Being gay wasn’t accepted in our family. They never would have allowed it – which was why, when Henry was twenty three, he married his college girlfriend, Marissa Beauchamp.

She came from a prominent family in New Orleans, and she was the perfect match for my brother – at least in my parents’ eyes. I’d known their relationship was a complete sham from the second I met her, when I visited Henry at Tulane during his senior year of college. I was also fairly certain that his roommate Dustin wasn’t just his good friend and fraternity brother.

But every time I tried to talk to Henry about why he was with Marissa, he gave me a bullshit answer. He thought he had everyone fooled into thinking he was happy with her, but I saw right through their ridiculous relationship. I never thought they’d make it down the aisle, and they almost didn’t.

Henry finally came clean to me about his relationship the night before his wedding. It was late, way after the rehearsal dinner had ended, and the guests had all left. Henry and I were up on the rooftop deck of our parents’ townhouse on the Upper East Side. He was drunk, and he told me he didn’t want to get married. He said he was in love with Dustin and had been for a few years. I tried to act surprised, even though I really wasn’t, and we ended up talking long into the night.

When I finally dragged myself to bed around three in the morning, I was under the impression that there wasn’t going to be a wedding the next day. Henry was so confident that he was going to follow his heart. He would tell our parents over breakfast that he wasn’t going to marry Marissa, and he and Dustin would finally be able to be together.

I was happy for him. I was also completely impressed and in awe of him, because you didn’t defy our parents – at least you didn’t if you didn’t want hell to rain down on you. You lived the life they wanted you to live, and you followed their rules. At eighteen I’d already figured that out. Of course, I’d figured it out the hard way, and because of that, while I’d been watching my brother in awe and wishing I could be more like him, I had also been doing everything I could to live the exact life my parents wanted me to live, which included becoming a corporate lawyer like my dad. I was following in his footsteps, and little by little, with time and good behavior, I was earning back the pride they’d had in me before I’d screwed everything up.

It had been a rough six months for me though, and knowing that, I was fearful that my brother would face the same plight if he defied them. But I also knew he wasn’t happy. He didn’t want to marry Marissa. He didn’t want to live a lie. And his eyes lit up when he talked about Dustin. The answer to his problem seemed so clear. Sure, our parents would be mad, and they might cut him off and deny him his trust fund, but at least he’d be following his heart. In truth, I couldn’t imagine him with Marissa, living the cookie-cutter life that we knew was expected of them. And for as crazy as it seemed to even think of calling off a wedding as big as the one that was planned for the next day, it was also the right thing to do.

Unfortunately, Henry didn’t end up telling our parents anything. He married Marissa, and as predicted, he was miserable. They had two kids together, Kennedy and Holden, and my brother spent his life working, while Marissa acclimated to life in New York society, which my mother was more than happy to introduce her to. It was all such a joke, and I was angry at him for a long time for denying himself real happiness. I knew he loved his kids, but his marriage was a complete farce.

Then I found out the truth. He’d married Marissa, but he’d never stopped seeing Dustin. For seven years he’d lived a double life, splitting his time between his family in New York and his life with Dustin in D.C., where he traveled for business at least every other week. And no one knew. For seven years, my brother kept his real life hidden from everyone – until this past December.

It seemed Dustin had hit a breaking point, and he told my brother he wanted to break up. He said he was thirty years old, and he could no longer play boy-toy to the man he loved. He wanted to get married and have a family, and he knew that could never happen with Henry. That was when Henry called me in a panic, because I think he knew I was the only person who’d truly understand and wouldn’t judge him. I was the only person in his life who knew he was gay. He told me everything, crying on the phone from Dustin’s apartment in D.C., scared and alone that when Dustin had stormed out, it meant he was never coming back.

He knew then that he couldn’t lose the man he loved, and when Dustin came home around dawn, Henry told him he would leave Marissa so they could be together. He’d waited until after Christmas to tell her, because he didn’t want to ruin the day for his kids, but he’d done it, and it had rocked my parents’ world. They loved Marissa. She was the perfect daughter-in-law, and they couldn’t believe Henry would ever leave her. Of course, he hadn’t exactly told them the real reason for his decision. He’d left out that very important detail, and knowing our parents, I could understand why.

I honestly thought Marissa was a completely selfish bitch. I’d never liked her, and I was glad to be rid of her – or so I’d thought. I guess I should have expected that my mother wouldn’t let her go so easily. In fact, she was in complete denial that Henry and Marissa were even separated.

I knew Henry had told Marissa he was gay. I knew everything she knew, because he’d practiced what he was going to say with me. So she was either in denial or she simply refused to accept what he’d told her, because she also continued to act like this was just a phase when it wasn’t. Dustin had moved to New York, and he and Henry were living together in Brooklyn. Henry was happier than I’d seen him in years. There was no way he was ever going back to her.

Oh, Presley, you’re such a pessimist, my mother chastised me. Henry and Marissa have been together for ten years. They have children. He might think he wants to live a bachelor life, but how many thirty year-old men find happiness living with their college roommate? In Brooklyn, no less!

Uh, gay men who are actually in love with said college roommate.

You mark my words, my mother continued. Your brother is going to realize what he’s missing, and he’s going to come crawling back to Marissa.

No, he’s not.

Well, maybe you’re right, I told her, because I was now ten minutes late to meet Charlie, and I knew the vibrations my phone was making were annoyed texts from her. I’m sorry, Mom, but I really need to go. I’m so late.

Presley, it’s rude to keep your friends waiting. What’s the matter with you?

You called me.

I know. It’s so rude of me, I admitted, because I couldn’t exactly tell her it was her fault. She’d never accept that. It won’t happen again.

Well, I should hope not. I raised you better than that.

I know you did, Mom. I’m sorry.

I’ll see you tomorrow, dear – at eleven sharp, and wear something pretty. George Davenport is joining us for brunch.

Shit. I’d forgotten about that.

Yup, will do. Bye Mom.

And if you talk to your brother, tell him he’d better be there too.

Okay, sure. You got it. Bye!

Bye dear.

I hung up the phone and let out a growl of irritation. I hated getting lectured by my mother. I was almost twenty-six years old. I was capable of making my own decisions, yet she still felt the need to insert herself into my life. It drove me crazy. But worse than that, she felt the need to constantly set me up with men she thought were appropriate men for me to settle down with. It bothered her that I was still single with no prospects on the horizon.

It had been two years since I’d broken up with Hudson Owens, the last guy of note that I’d dated, who was the son of a senator my dad was friends with. He’d asked me to marry him, and I’d said no, throwing the world off of its axis for a good three months, during which my mother scowled at me constantly and asked me to give her specific reasons why I’d turned down a guy as wonderful as Hudson.

In a nutshell, our relationship had fizzled into something that would have made me want to jab myself in the eye every morning if I had to live with it one more day. Hudson had become boring and predictable, and we barely saw each other. He wasn’t the man I wanted to spend my life with, even though once upon a time I thought he might be.

I’d met him in the Hamptons the summer before my senior year of college while I was lying on the beach with my friends. He’d walked by, and he’d stared just long enough to peak my interest. I’d called him over, and we ended up talking for a few hours before he’d asked me out for that night.

Our first date was to a party one of his friends from Yale was throwing at his parents’ beach house. And even though it wasn’t anything special, Hudson was fun. He had that bad boy quality I’d always liked while still being cultured and well-bred, so I knew my parents would like him. He made me laugh, he made sure I was never without a drink, and he had a sexy-as-hell smile. I liked him instantly, and he quickly became my summer fling during one of the best summers of my life.

In the fall, I went back to NYU, and he returned to Penn where he was finishing his MBA. We didn’t stay together, but we saw each other a few times during the year. And I was excited to learn that after he graduated, he planned to move to New York to start his new job in banking. He asked me if I wanted to try dating exclusively, and since I assumed he was fairly perfect, I said yes.

I figured once he was living in New York, we’d pick up where we’d left off with dinners at great restaurants, parties with our friends, dancing at clubs late into the night, and lazy weekends where we’d get up around ten and spend the day together. What I didn’t plan on was that Hudson would be working ninety hours a week with almost no time-off.

At first I figured it was because he was new to his job and paying his dues, but after six months, I realized he was just the kind of person who liked to work. He loved being an investment banker, and he poured his life into his clients. I started to feel like I came second, and that was because I did.

Nothing about our sexy summer in the Hamptons had carried over. It was like Hudson was a different person. He didn’t have time for fun, he never wanted to go to parties or clubs or do anything more than grab dinner, and worst of all, the sex became robotic. He was usually too tired to do much of anything, including making our time together enjoyable or meaningful, and I pretty much became responsible for my own orgasms, which was just plain irritating.

Seven months into dating, I was starting to wonder how much longer I could put up with him, when he surprised the hell out of me and popped the question. I hadn’t been expecting it at all. In truth, I’d started to think he was going to break up with me. For a few months, it had felt like it was coming. We weren’t on the same page at all. But then he threw me for a loop and he asked me to marry him. After I got over the shock of it, visions of our life together flashed before my eyes, and I said no almost immediately. I knew I didn’t want to marry someone like him, who was already married to his job.

My mom had been so upset with me, and she’d spent the next three months trying to get me to reconsider. I refused, and eventually she got over it, but then she decided it was her mission in life to find me a husband.

Since then she’d set me up with at least twenty guys, none of whom interested me. I always went out with them, because that was what was expected of me, but it never lasted more than a few dates. In truth, I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. I just knew I couldn’t imagine myself tied to a guy who didn’t excite me on a regular basis – or who at least didn’t make me want to fall asleep in my entrée as he droned on about the stock market or the economy or politics.

I knew I’d have to find a guy at some point. I couldn’t stay single forever, but until I found one I liked, I wasn’t going to settle. Hudson had taught me what I didn’t want, but I just wasn’t sure what it was I wanted. So until I figured it out, I’d continue to date the wrong guys, like George Davenport, who was the new shining star at my father’s firm.

I’d heard about him a few times since he’d joined the firm six months earlier as a junior partner. He’d relocated to New York from Chicago, he’d been divorced for two years, had no kids, and he was thirty-two. To say I wasn’t thrilled about meeting him was an understatement, but at least he was a lawyer. I could pick his brain about his job, since I’d be joining his ranks in a few short months.

One more semester of law school, a summer spent studying for the bar exam, and then I’d have achieved my goal of becoming a lawyer. I’d take my place at my dad’s firm, and all would be right in the world.

As I grabbed my bag, my phone dinged again, reminding me that Charlie was still waiting for me.

Hello? Where are you? Her text said.

I’ll be down in two minutes, I texted back. My mom called, but I’m leaving now.

Ugh, mothers, she said in solidarity, even though she dealt with none of the annoyances from her own mother that I did. See you in a few.

Hey girlie, I said to my roommate Sloane when I walked out into the living room.

She was watching Imagine Dragons perform on Palladium. I’d heard the music vibrating through the wall my room shared with the TV while I’d been getting ready. Sloane loved to turn the volume up high enough so she could feel like she was at the concert.

She picked up the remote and turned down the volume a few notches. Damn, you look hot, Pres. That dress is amazing.

I smiled and smoothed out the lace fabric. Thanks.

You heading out?

Yup, Charlie’s downstairs. I’m so late. I hope we don’t miss anything.

You’ll be fine, she assured me. Mad Men won’t go on-stage until at least nine.

But I don’t want to miss the other bands, I said, realizing too late that I shouldn’t have said that. Sloane’s ex-boyfriend was the lead singer of Triumph Theory, and they were co-headlining the tour with Mad Men. They were part of the reason I was so excited to go to this show, even though I’d never tell her that. I mean, I hear the opening act is great.

Sloane smiled coyly. I heard that too. But you don’t have to pretend like you don’t like Triumph Theory. I know you do. Don’t feel like you can’t be a fan because of me.

I’m not a fan, I assured her. I just like a few of their songs.

Another lie. I pretty much liked everything they did.

Hey, she said, throwing her hands up. I actually like some of their songs too. If their lead singer wasn’t such a dick, I might like the band too, but we all have past relationships we wish we could erase. Some more than others.

Some more than others was right. Triumph Theory’s lead singer, Asher Reddick, had done a number on Sloane when they’d dated a few years back. He’d been a struggling musician at the time, trying to make it with his band, and not only had he left her stranded more than once because something came up with the band, but he was always broke, so she had to pay every time they went out. And to make matters worse, we were always under the suspicion that he was only dating her because she worked for a record label. They’d dated for over a year, and I could never really figure out why she stayed with him, outside of the fact that he was good looking.

Well, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be sure to shoot Asher a few middle fingers from the second row if you’d like, I volunteered.

Sloane grinned. I’d actually love that. You’re such a great friend, Pres.

Hey, I don’t exactly like him either, I reminded her. You forget that he used to hang out here, mooch our food, and steal our wi-fi. And he never put his dishes in the dishwasher. I have my own level of hatred for him.

I love the things that get you riled up, she told me. You’re such a society girl.

I rolled my eyes. Shut up. I am not.

Sloane just laughed. Have fun tonight. I’m ridiculously jealous that you get to see Mad Men. I’ve heard they put on an amazing show.

You can come, I reminded her. Charlie has an extra ticket, since Morgan couldn’t go.

Sloane hesitated for a few seconds, looking like she was fighting an internal war with herself. No, I can’t. Dammit, I want to, but I don’t want to see Asher. I refuse to support his career in any way. Go have fun, and tell me all about it. I’ll catch Mad Men the next time they’re here.

Are you sure?

Of course, she insisted. I have plans with Cami anyway. With Emery off making up for lost time with Shane, we figured we’d check out a new club downtown that’s supposed to be pretty great. Deacon got us on the list.

Lucky girl. That sounds like fun.

It will be. You and Charlie are welcome to meet up with us later. I’m sure we’ll be out late.

Maybe we will. I’ll text you.

Sounds good. And be sure to tell Asher I said ‘screw you’, she said with a sarcastic smile.

Will do, I said, with a grin, part of me wishing I would get the chance to tell Asher off. After how he’d treated my friend, it would probably feel pretty good. I’ll see you later.

Five minutes later, I finally made it down to the lobby and emerged from the elevator.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I told Charlie. I suck. I’m the worst friend. Please don’t hate me.

Oh, you’re fine, she said, waving me off as she stood from the bench she was sitting on by the elevator, grinned, and pulled me into a hug.

She wasn’t even mad, which was so typical of her. I should have known something like promptness wouldn’t be enough to rile Charlie up. Since we were kids, I’d always been envious of her confidence and how she never really let things get to her. She treated life like a party, flitting through it with a smile on her face and a drink in her hand, and I often found myself wishing I could possess one tenth of the charisma she exuded so easily.

Oh, my God, she said, stepping back to hold my hands in hers as she looked me up and down. Is this the dress?

I smiled sheepishly. This is the dress.

I fucking love it. It’s fabulous.

It’s really pretty, isn’t it, I said, a giddy feeling washing over me.

Well, it is, but you make it look even more amazing. I can’t believe you designed this. It’s totally gorgeous.

I know. I love it, but I really didn’t do much. Morgan’s the one who made it come to life.

Charlie waved me off. No way. This is your design, Pres. You should take credit for it.

Her praise made my cheeks heat the same way they had months earlier when our friend Morgan was nosing around my room and found my sketchbook that contained the design for the exact dress I was wearing. I’d been drawing since I was a kid, and because I’d always been obsessed with fashion, that was what I drew. But I’d never shown my designs to anyone. For me, drawing was a hobby and an escape. It wasn’t something I shared.

But Morgan found my sketches, and she went nuts over them. She and Charlie had met at Stanford their freshman year before Morgan had moved to New York to go to FIT, which was when I’d met her. Then after she graduated, she’d started her own fashion line. She was always looking for new ideas, and apparently she liked what she saw in my designs. I wasn’t exactly sure what that was, since she had ten times the talent I did, as was evident in how successful her past few collections had been. Her clothes took up a good amount of space in my closet, and not just because she gave me samples to wear for free. Her designs were chic and sophisticated with an edgy twist, and I was only one among the many who’d loved her label after it had debuted at New York Fashion Week a few years earlier.

In fact, she’d just been telling me about her new line when she happened to find my sketches. It was like an ironic moment of panic when I turned around and saw her leafing through them. I froze and started to grab the sketchbook away from her when she looked up at me in wonder, like she didn’t recognize me. She’d asked me if the designs were mine, and I begrudgingly told her they were, wondering if she might start laughing at my sad attempt to do what she excelled at. But then she smiled and hugged me.

I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, especially when she asked if she could buy my design and I saw that she was pointing to a dress I’d drawn almost two years earlier. I had no idea what to say, so I said she could have the design. I wasn’t going to make her pay for it. She was my friend. But she insisted, and the next thing I knew she was dragging me and my sketchbook out of my apartment so she could look at my designs in more detail over cocktails.

Fast forward to six months later, and I was now wearing the dress I’d designed that she’d turned into a real piece of clothing, and I felt incredible. I’d never really thought of myself as a creative person, so it was beyond cool to be wearing something that had started off as an idea in my head and an image on a piece of paper. The dress wouldn’t be available to the public until late summer when Morgan’s full fall collection launched, but that was even more exciting. I had a one of a kind piece that I could show off. And when her collection launched, half of the designs in it would be mine.

I’d spent most of the summer and fall, when I wasn’t in school or studying or working at my dad’s firm, coming up with sketches that she could potentially use. I was shocked that she’d chosen so many, but she felt I had real talent. And I’d loved doing it. For so many years I’d been in school, working toward becoming a lawyer, so it was nice to have something I could actually say I accomplished that wasn’t a good grade on a test, a high GPA, or a recommendation from a professor. This was something real and tangible, and it was sort of fabulous.

I love this dress, I said sheepishly to Charlie, who grinned even wider.

As you should. It’s so good to see you, babe, she gushed, hugging me again. I miss you.

I’ve missed you too, I told her. It’s been too long.

Agreed. You need to make it out to L.A. one of these days. It’s been years since we partied on the west coast.

I know, but things are just so crazy right now. I’m taking a full course-load this semester, and I’m doing an internship at the DA’s office. I’m scarcely going to have time to breathe.

And you’re playing fashion designer with Morgan, she said with a coy smile.

And I’m doing that, I agreed, returning her smile. Only for a few more months though.

Charlie’s grin morphed into a smile that looked like she pitied me as she brushed a stray lock of hair off of my forehead. Poor Presley, she said with a pout. You work too hard. I really need to introduce you to the good life. There is so much more to life than school and work.

I raised a questioning eyebrow at her. Don’t you have a fairly important job at the studio?

That made her laugh. Sure. Keep thinking that. It’s what I have everyone else fooled into thinking, when in reality I pretty much just shadow my dad, attend a few meetings, and make a few decisions. I’d hardly call it work.

That makes me super jealous, I told her, making her laugh.

No, it doesn’t, she said, shaking her head at me. You love the grind, and you know it. I just want to be sure you know that there are other options out there for you.

Oh, yeah? Because I’m sure your dad needs someone else shadowing him.

Charlie smiled. He probably doesn’t, but he’d create a position for you if I asked him to. He’s always liked you. Of course, I know he’d also hire you onto his legal team if you wanted that, so maybe just keep the option in the back of your mind.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Right, and just tell my dad that I’m not going to work for him and that I’m taking off for California so I can work in entertainment law and party with you? I don’t think so.

I know, she agreed. I figured it was a long shot, but I had to mention it.

Maybe in another life, I mused.

Maybe, she echoed as she linked her arm in mine and we headed across the lobby. So, on another note, I have great news. With you being late, I was able to connect with my friend Mike, and he totally came through for us.

Who’s Mike? I questioned as we made our way through the lobby.

Mike and I went to undergrad at Stanford together, and he’s like this genius web designer. After graduation he moved to San Francisco to work for this tech company, and he met the guitarist of a band that was just starting up. They became friends, and he helped them put together their website, and when they got famous, the band hired Mike to run their site. Now he tours with them and keeps their site updated with photos and videos of their shows and stuff.

Okay, I said as we flagged down a passing taxi. So what does that mean?

It means that the band Mike works for is Mad Men, and he totally hooked us up with backstage passes for tonight, she said as we climbed into the back of the cab and told the driver we were going to Madison Square Garden.

Seriously? I questioned, wondering if that knowledge might change Sloane’s mind about going to the show.

Then again, going backstage would almost guarantee we’d see Asher, so she’d probably never go for it. As far as I knew, she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since they’d broken up, and she pretty much planned to keep it that way.

I’m dead serious. How excited are you?

So excited. This is really cool.

I know, she said, settling back in her seat as the cab fought with traffic heading across town. It’s going to be such a good night.

I had to smile, because I had a feeling she was right. Maybe it was the fact that Charlie was