He took another bite of his sandwich. “What—did you buy multiple volumes of this person’s diary or something? One diary doesn’t span years, does it?”

“This one does, because she doesn’t write in it too often. The time hops around—it’s months between entries at some points. She wrote in it a lot before her wedding, describing everything she was planning. But then it mostly stopped after. I guess she had nothing exciting to write for a year or two…until she started sleeping with her husband’s friend.”

“You better take this one slow. Sounds like you’re going to have withdrawal after you finish it.”

“I know. It’s because the woman it belonged to and everyone she writes about are all right here in the City. I’ve never read a local diary before, much less one that takes place right down the block from my work. It makes it all seem so real—like it’s going on now instead of whenever she wrote it. I can’t stop thinking about the people in the story and wondering if I might be passing one of them. The other day I was at Starbucks, and the barista’s nametag said Jasper. I dropped my iced latte all over the floor because I got so excited, thinking it could be him. I sat inside the store until he finished his shift. Luckily, his boyfriend came to pick him up, so that ruled him out as the diary woman’s paramour.”

“Was the barista cute?”

“He was, actually. But I was stalking a man because his name was Jasper! I don’t even know the real name of the guy the woman in my diary is having an affair with.”

“What Starbucks was it? A hot, gay barista sounds more up my alley than yours.”

I chuckled. “Seriously, Fisher. What was I going to do after waiting two hours for that poor guy to get off of work? Follow him all the way home?”

“You’re starting to sound a little obsessive.”

I sighed. “That’s what Aiden said. We recently had a fight because my phone was dead. I’d forgotten to put it on the charger, and when I went to look for his cell to text you to tell you I’d be late for dinner, I realized he never leaves his phone around anymore. It made me suspicious because of how paranoid Alexandria is about getting caught, and Aiden and I wound up arguing. He’d done nothing wrong.”

Fisher shook his head. “Maybe you should take a little break from reading.”

I finally opened the container of salad I’d made for lunch. Stabbing a fork into it, I sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Fisher snort-laughed. “You’re so full of shit.”

CHAPTER 14

 

Hudson

 

Our lunch meeting had turned into a party. Robyn, the host of the show, invited her co-host and a segment producer, the head buyer was bringing someone along, and Jack had also decided to grace us with his presence. With so many people, and Stella wanting to bring sample boxes for everyone, I drove to make it easier. My car was parked at a garage a few blocks away from the office, so I left early and told Stella to meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.

She was waiting in front of the building when I pulled up to the light at the corner. It gave me a chance to watch her without her knowing. Two large flowerpots sat on either side of the main entrance to the office. They were old wine barrels, and I’d never given them much thought, though I passed them every day, other than to notice that building maintenance changed the flowers out every so often. I watched from a distance as Stella looked around, almost as if to see if anyone was paying attention, and then leaned over. I’d thought she was going to smell the flowers, but she bent lower and brought her nose to the barrel beneath. Did she just smell the pot?

I chuckled to myself at how nutty she was. Anytime I thought I knew what she was going to say or do, I quickly found my assumption wrong. It was oddly refreshing. Within five minutes of meeting most women, I could guess the salad they were going to order, or that yoga or tennis was their hobby of choice. But not Stella—there was nothing cookie-cutter about her.

She stepped over to the flowerpot on the other side of the doorway and again checked to see if the coast was clear before going in for a sniff. Only this time, she didn’t bend at the knees. She bent in half at the waist. Which gave me an unobstructed view of her ass—her phenomenal freaking ass.

Great. Just great.

I nailed the gas as soon as the light changed and pulled up in front of the building. I’d brought the boxes downstairs to the lobby before I went to the parking garage, so I got out and headed inside.

“Why don’t you get in since I’m double parked, and I’ll grab the stuff from security?” I told her as I passed.

“Oh…okay.”

After I finished loading the trunk, I slammed it shut and waited for traffic to slow enough so I could open the driver’s side door and get in without being clipped.

“Thank you for taking care of that,” Stella said.

“Of course.”

I buckled. “We have an hour before we have to be at the restaurant, but it’ll probably take us almost that long with this traffic.” Looking over my shoulder, it took a while before there was a gap in the cars big enough to pull away from the curb.

Stella sniffed a few times. “Is this brand new?”

My car was actually three years old, but it looked new since I didn’t drive very much.

“It’s a few years old.”

“It still has that new-car smell.”

“Oh yeah? Do you like that smell better than the flowerpots outside the office?”

Stella sighed. “You caught that, huh?”

“I did indeed.”

“I was curious if they were actually aged barrels once used for wine.”

“Were they?”

“I’m not sure. All I could smell was dirt.”

I smirked. “Large quantities of soil tend to smell that way.”

“What kind of a car is this? The interior is so pretty.”

“It’s a Maybach S 650.”

“Is that an impressive car?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Are you impressed?”

She smiled. “Not really. I don’t drive, so I don’t know too much about cars.”

“You mean you don’t have a car because you live here in the City?”

“No, I mean I don’t have a driver’s license. I had a permit once, and my ex tried to teach me years ago, but I hit a fire hydrant rounding a corner and, well, that was the end of that.”

We inched our way uptown slowly. At one point, a car came out of nowhere and cut me off, so I had to slam on my brakes. Stella and I both had our seatbelts on, so we were fine, but her purse flew off the seat and dumped onto the floor. It landed upside down, and when she went to pick it up, the contents spilled all over the place.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

When she leaned forward to collect her belongings, I noticed the box with the diary from yesterday.

“My ex-wife used to write in one of those every once in a while. I’d find her writing in it after we argued. Pretty sure all she did was bitch. Isn’t that mostly what people use that for? To vent?”

“Sometimes they’re like that,” Stella said. She straightened the book in its box and put the top back on. “I’ve gotten a few of those. The seller usually posts some screenshots of pages to give you a sample. That helps me rule out a lot, but occasionally you can’t tell from just a short excerpt.”