Page 6 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“No.”

She pouts. “I haven’t even asked yet. You’re in such a mood today.”

“I’m in a mood every day, so if you’ll excuse me.” Despite her tailored pink suit, she relaxes in the chair like the indulged daddy’s girl she is, apparently making herself at home.

“I thought you had to get going?” Marlow doesn’t take hints very well, but let’s pray she does today.

I need time to debrief the last few minutes before I walk into my next meeting. Usually, my post-Tealey ritual is to commit everything about her to memory.

Her pink-colored lips. An insight gleaned from our conversation.But today?Today, I’ll be trying to make sense of this moving mess.

“Radcliffe?” Marlow snaps her fingers, pulling me back to reality

“What?”

She sweeps her long hair off to one shoulder and then leans in. “I need a favor.”

Rolling my hand in the air, I encourage her to get to the point. “What is it?”

As if I have nothing better to do this afternoon, she opens a compact and eyes her brows, taking her time. Annoyance flickers in her eyes as she smooths a finger over it. “There.”

“I have a meeting with a client soon,sooo . . .”

A smile rolls into place. “My dad is in town, and he wants us to join him for dinner tomorrow night.”

“What’s the catch?”

My desk phone rings. “Yes, Ashleigh?”

“Your next appointment is here,” my assistant says.

“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and stand, reaching for my jacket hooked on the wall. I mentally calculate how long this meeting will run and how soon I can get to Tealey’s for answers. “I need to go.”

Marlow takes her bag and slips it to the crook of her elbow as she walks toward the door. “So that’s a yes?”

“Sure. Fine.”Just fucking go.

“Thank you, Rad. I can always count on you.” She taps her Rolex before opening the door. “I have to run. My personal shopper is waiting. I’m already fifteen minutes late, so I’ll text you the details. Ciao, darling.”

Like a hurricane, she whips in here, destroys any plans I might have had, and races back out. I should protest, rushing to firmer ground to stand on, but she’s gone, leaving me just enough time to check my schedule. As if I didn’t have enough Marchés for the day . . .Speak of the devil.

I walk out, and Ashleigh flanks my side, handing me a file. She gives me the rundown at the pace of our fast walk. “Robert Marché. Movie producer with credits for three of the biggest films in the past five years. Net worth $350 million. Homes in Sun Valley, Los Angeles, Cabo San Lucas. A condo in Miami, and apartments in Manhattan and Paris. One daughter. Grown. Twen?—”

“Twenty-eight,” I fill in, “Robert Marché is Marlow’s father.”

With wide eyes, she asks, “Marlow, who just left Marlow?”

“The very one.”

“Oh.Wow.Does she know he’s getting a divorce?”

“After the conversation we just had, I’m thinking she doesn’t.”

Gripping a small laptop to her chest, she takes a deep breath just as we round the corner. “This should be interesting.”

Maybe that’s why he invited all of us to dinner tomorrow. He’s going to tell her but wants her surrounded by her friendsfor support. That makes sense. And more so, maybe being surrounded by friends will remind Tealey this is where she belongs. We’re basically a dysfunctional family, but we’re family. “My thoughts exactly.” I stop abruptly and lower my voice. “She can’t find out from us. If she comes by for any reason, make sure we keep this under wraps.”

“Yes, sir.”

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