Page 25 of Danny

Being disciplined.

Being professional.

Being the version of myself that doesn't sit at table four like a lovesick —

My phone buzzes.

A text. Unknown number. Except it isn't unknown — I'd memorized it from her file, because apparently that's the kind of man I am now.

Chapter 20. He goes to the concert. She's there. He can't stop staring at her across the room. Sound familiar?

I read it three times.

She's texting me. Anna is texting me, from somewhere in this building, probably behind the bar or in the service corridor, on her phone during a shift, which is against the rules I wrote, and I don't care. I don't care even slightly.

I don't stare.

Three dots.

I hope you stare, because I sure as hell do.

She’s. Flirting. With. Me.

I'm smiling. I'm sitting alone in my office at 9 p.m. smiling at my phone like a teenager, and if Jagger could see me right now he'd die of satisfaction.

How did you get my number?

Evie.

Evie doesn't have my number.

Evie has everyone's number. Evie has the Pope's number. Evie is the most connected woman in Manhattan and she used her powers for my benefit because she likes me better than she likes you.

Everyone likes you better than they like me.

A pause. Longer than the others. Then:

That's not true. I like you exactly the right amount.

I stare at the screen. Read it again. I like you exactly the right amount. My heart squeezes a little.

I probably like her more too. I don’t tell her that yet.

The Gala is Saturday.

I know. I'm on event coordination. Lola gave me a dress budget.

Wear green.

Why green?

Because green is the color of the booths where I first saw you. Because emerald is in the palette I chose for this building, and you're part of this building now, and I want you to match. Because I'm a man who's losing his mind and apparently has opinions about dress colors now.

It's a good color

That's not a reason.

It's the only one you're getting.