Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“It all started with Joe Ashley . . .” I continued into the camera. I went on to explain about my coat on the subway, the teens afterward, and George’s cruel breakup. I didn’t cry because I was still too angry for tears—I’d wasted three months on that jackass.
“But as if to prove him, and almost everyone else in my life, right—that I am a ridiculous person who has ridiculous things happen to them—my lunch break got really weird. . . .”
* * *
“I would come with you,” Althea said as I stopped at her cubicle in the main shared office space to ask if she wanted to join me for coat shopping, “but I have to work through lunch. Lia’s spot in New York Style magazine is under threat because Koy Event Management just booked an event for a Montenegrin royal, and they think that’s more exciting than what we’ve got going on.” My friend was one of our marketing coordinators, even though Althea eventually wanted to do what I did. She looked frazzled, and she never looked frazzled.
Concerned, I offered, “Want help? I could go coat shopping later.”
Althea gave me a soft look. “No, I got this. Amanda de la Cruz is just a little hard to get a hold of.”
“Amanda de la Cruz of New York Style magazine?”
“Yeah. She’s my contact, why?”
“Well, she hired us two years ago and owes us for talking a VIP client into another venue when they demanded the Rainbow Room on the same date as her wedding last year. A gentle reminder about that might just do the trick.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Hallie.” Althea was already tapping numbers on her landline phone. “Now go buy a coat . . . and one that won’t kill you this time.”
A few minutes later I was on Fifth Avenue, diving quickly in and out of stores, looking for a trench coat. What? I’d make sure I kept it closed whenever I got on and off the subway.
In all honesty, the hunt for the coat was as much to keep me distracted as it was a desperate need for the perfect spring outerwear. Now and then I’d get flashbacks of George breaking up with me, his horrible words echoing around and around in my head. And then I’d remember affectionate moments between us during the last three months, like snuggling with him after sex and talking to him about my parents’ divorce, and I’d cringe at the memories.
I hated that I’d made myself vulnerable to someone who thought so poorly of me.
It wasn’t the first time, obviously. I’d been broken up with before. But that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.
Forcing the memories out of my head, I zeroed in on my task. Fifteen minutes into the hunt, I walked into a store and was checking through the racks of their coat section when I spotted a camel trench draped over a coat sale rack like someone couldn’t be bothered to put it back in its rightful place.
My eyes lit up in delight.
“Please be my size, please be my size; please be on sale, please be on sale.” I reached for the coat, frowning at the lack of a tag. Someone had clearly snapped it off while trying it on.
Though somewhat reluctant to try on something that I maybe couldn’t afford, I slipped on the trench with its butter-soft fabric. It sat perfectly on my shoulders.
Yay!
Hurrying over to a full-length mirror at the shoe department, I twisted and turned, admiring myself in the coat that was almost identical to the one I’d lost.
Maybe my luck was turning.
“Where’s my coat?” I heard a frantic voice in the distance but paid only vague attention. I was too busy searching for a sales assistant who may or may not break my heart by telling me I couldn’t afford my new coat.
Spotting a tall, slender man dressed sharply in pants, shirt, and tie, I waved him down. “Hi.” I beamed, hoping my cheerful smile might put something like a 50 percent discount out into the universe, “Can you tell me how—”
“That’s my coat! Stop her! Thief!”
Spinning around to see who was trying to steal something from the store, I was shocked to find a red-faced, angry woman in stylish thick black glasses storming toward me.
“Thief! She’s stealing my coat!” she shrieked hysterically.
And that was when I realized she was talking about me.
Understanding dawned, and horrified, I looked down at myself.
I shrugged out of the trench faster than when mine got caught in the subway doors.
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I held it out to her, pleading with her and the sales assistant who looked at me like a bug he’d quite like to step on. “It was lying over the sales rack. I thought it was for sale.”
“Likely story.” The woman yanked the coat from my hands and turned to the assistant. “Where is security?”