Playing Knotty (2 page)

“I'm sorry, Mr. Cooper, but it's beyond our control. Corporate changes.”

Ian did some quick mental math. That would cut in to his profits significantly. “I'm going to have to get back to you, Linh. That's a significant increase.”

Her voice sounded polite and apologetic. “I'm sorry, Mr. Cooper. Can I help you with anything else today?”

“No, that will be all. Thank you.”

Ian checked the clock. He didn't have time to pursue this any further now. Surely he could find another meeting space in the area when he got back from Ohio, and in the meantime, he had a client meeting to attend.

Chapter 2

W
hen two customers
swept in at a quarter to five, Emma recognized one familiar face. Alina Yu was one of the few people Emma knew who looked good in skinny jeans; with her low-cut snug sweater and perfectly coiffed sleek black hair, she was a veritable fashion plate.

“Emma!” She smiled without showing her teeth—which always made Emma feel self-conscious about her naturally wide, toothy grin—and pulled Emma in for a kiss on the cheek. She liked doing that sort of thing.

“Hi.” Emma tried to smile without teeth as well, though it probably looked like a grimace. “Who's your friend?” She extended her hand to the tall woman beside Alina.

“This is Gert.” Alina gestured between them. “Gert, this is my dearest friend, Emma, from Theta Theta Phi.”

Gert was about their age and seemed to have attended the Alina Yu School of Looking Fabulous. She wore a black pencil skirt with a perfectly tailored yellow blouse and jacket, the color striking against her dark skin. Her hair was close-cropped and elegant, the style managing to make her look seductive rather than austere. How was that possible? Although with Emma's curves, she thought, she couldn't look austere even if she wore a full nun's habit.

“It's so nice to meet you, Emma.” Gert smiled broadly, teeth white and perfectly straight. “Alina's told me so much about you. Did you really buy this bookstore all by yourself?”

“Right after getting my MBA. It's been two years now.” While Prologue wasn't a rousing success, she had managed to keep it open, a notable feat when so many small bookstores were closing under the crush of online retailers and bookstore super-giants. Thank goodness the previous owner had the sense to specialize, recognizing the direction of the industry and investing in as many small presses and independent labels as the Big Six Publishers, until Prologue became known as the place to get books you couldn't find anywhere else.

“Emma owns the whole building, actually, including the shop space next door.” Alina looked over at the wall dividing the two stores.

“Oh, the empty one?” Gert looked at the wall as well, as if she could see into the empty space beyond that was costing Emma a ridiculous mortgage each month. “Do you have a new tenant moving in?”

“Not yet, but here's hoping.” Emma's smile felt tight, and she had to struggle to keep from glancing up at the ceiling. The bills were sitting on her kitchen table upstairs, and sometimes it felt like the weight of them would bring the tiled floor down on her head.

Alina seemed unwilling to let it go. “Emma lives upstairs in the cutest apartment.”

“That's certainly convenient.” Gert looked around. “Your little shop is just adorable. And Prologue? That name is precious.”

Was she being condescending or supportive? Emma wasn't sure. She wasn't going to let anyone badmouth her shop, not even a friend of Alina's, but in this case it was probably good to assume best intent. “Thank you.”

“She's going to be up for Best of Boston this year, I know it.” Alina nodded and smiled her lips-only smile again.

“So how do you and Gert know each other?” Emma stayed behind the counter, appreciating the security of a barrier between them. She tugged at the hem of her baggy sweater, but no matter how she moved it, she knew the garment hung off of her curves like a sack.

“Gert and I met at a trade show a few years ago,” Alina said enthusiastically. “Now there's an opening for a graphic designer at the firm, and I had to call Gert. She interviewed this morning for the job, and keep your fingers crossed, but she just might get it!” She crossed both sets of fingers and smiled again.

“We'll see.” Gert crossed her own fingers and returned Alina's smile. “I won't know for a few weeks, I think. They said they had a lot of interviews yet to go.”

“Are you staying in town long, Gert?” Something caught Emma's eye on the counter—oh, damn, her romance novel. She moved it from the front counter to the back, not wanting them to see it, trying to make the gesture as casual as possible.

“I'm driving right back out this afternoon.”

“And I'm going to miss her terribly.” Alina squeezed her friend's hand. “Anyway, Emma, I'm having dinner with Margot tonight at seven. Do you want to come?”

Emma looked at the clock, then considered her evening. She couldn't help feeling a flush of pleasure that she'd been invited, as she felt every time Alina invited her out, but the timing would be tight. “I don't close up until eight.”

“So join us for drinks afterward. We're going to the Tunnel Bar. Text me when you're done.” She turned to Gert. “Oh, Gert, you should get an audiobook for the drive home.”

Gert ended up buying the new Margaret Atwood audiobook before sweeping out with Alina amid hugs and cheek kisses. After they left, Emma stared at the door, her romance novel forgotten, feeling a combination of flattered and anxious about the evening ahead.

T
he Tunnel Bar
was one of the hottest spots in Boston on the weekends, but on a Wednesday night at nine, it was just another bar. Emma stood in the doorway and peered into the dimly lit interior. The bar had retained some of its original character when it was converted from an old train tunnel: the tiled ceiling curved overhead, and the walls beneath were a deep, dark cherrywood. The rest of the bar was pure luxury. Instead of regular tables and booths, high-backed leather and velvet chairs were set up in pods of four around small, sleek round tables. It was atmospheric, rather dark, and it probably would have been smoky if Boston hadn't outlawed smoking in bars years ago. Even though Emma liked the atmospheric ambiance of the Tunnel Bar, the layout made it pretty damn difficult to find anyone.

Finally, she spotted Alina and Margot. Or, rather, she spotted Margot's wild mane of red hair. She headed toward the far end of the room to join them.

“Hi.” Emma stood over the pair and measured her appearance against theirs. Alina had changed into slim black pants and a long, glittery top. Margot wore a low-necked blouse and a pair of dark jeans with some wedge heels, her toes exposed, which was frankly ridiculous with snow still on the ground.

“You made it!” Margot beckoned her to an empty chair across from them. “Alina said you'd be joining us.”

“Just closed up.” Emma was glad she'd changed first, even though her black sweaterdress wasn't anywhere near as beautiful as their clothing. It was also snugger than she'd like it to be, the curves of her stomach probably visible, and no matter what she did with the neckline, she couldn't hide her cleavage. At least she'd managed to tame her wild brown curls into a relatively neat curtain around her shoulders.

“So, tell me more about your weekend with Aaron.” Margot leaned in toward Alina and finished her Cosmopolitan.

Before Alina could elaborate, the waitress appeared to take drink orders. Emma ordered a gin and tonic, and Alina and Margot asked for refills. To judge from the warm smiles—Alina was even showing teeth—they had already finished more than one round before she arrived.

“I don't know how you drink that stuff.” Alina wrinkled her nose when the waitress left.

“What, gin and tonic?” Emma looked down at her hands. “It's bitter. I like that.”

“I like them sweet.” Margot looked mournfully into her empty glass. “Like my men.”

Alina laughed. “No men are sweet. The trick is to get a rich one, so that when they eventually screw you over, you'll at least be better off.” She lifted her empty glass in a toast. “Aaron's a partner in a law firm. Irwin and Martinelli? Or something. I don't know. I know he's the Martinelli.” She leaned forward, showing her earlobes, where a pair of diamond earrings sparkled. “He bought me these. It completely makes up for the fact that he has the tiniest dick I've ever seen.”

Margot burst out in full-throated guffaws that had Emma feeling a bit uncomfortable in her current state of sobriety.

“What about you, Emma?” Alina shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee. “You seeing anyone?”

Oh, damn, the attention was back on her. “No, not in a while. Work's keeping me busy.” It wasn't a total lie; work did keep her busy, but not too busy to date. It was a good excuse, though; it always worked when her mother called to set Emma up with “this nice fat boy I just met who'd be perfect for you.”

“Now, that's a shame. You have such a pretty face.” Margot shook her head. Emma forced a smile, knowing that “you have such a pretty face” was what people said when they didn't feel comfortable complimenting someone's body. “You're so smart, too. And you own your own business. You should be able to get yourself a man. Or at least a fuck. Do you want someone to fuck, Emma? We can find somebody.”

“No, thank you. I'm . . . I'm fine.” Emma looked around the corner of her chair, wishing the waitress would hurry back with the drinks. Margot had always gotten overly direct when drinking, even back in their sorority days.

“Leave the girl alone, Margot. You're making her uncomfortable.” Alina leaned across the table between them and patted Emma's thigh too hard. “It's all right, Emma. But we can find you someone if you want. You should be dating more. It's networking for women, right? You laugh at their jokes, make some social connections, maybe get laid. Win-win. It's not like anyone's expecting love and romance, not in this day and age.” She winked, the wink held a bit too long. Emma squirmed, not liking the direction of their conversation, but was saved by the arrival of their drinks.

“Speaking of networking.” Margot took a long swig of her fresh Cosmo and set the drink down on the table with an unsteady hand. “Are you going to win the Best of Boston this year?”

Emma felt a flush of pride that Margot had remembered. If only their time together would focus solely on her professional accomplishments instead of whom she was—well, wasn't—sleeping with. “I hope so. I was nominated last year but didn't place. Maybe this is my year. The press would be good. I could . . . I could use the press.” What she really needed was a paying tenant next door, but an upswing in sales could make up some of the difference.

Margot took another sip. “Well, I think you should get it this year. Your little shop is so cute.”

Emma knew it was intended as a compliment, but she bristled a bit. She didn't want her shop to be cute. She wanted it to be well stocked, enticing, warm . . . but not cute. Of course, Margot wouldn't appreciate that. Margot was a larger-than-life kind of person. She was almost six feet tall, with giant hair, large mannerisms, and an incredible appetite for alcohol and food, but with the kind of speedy metabolism that would have made Emma want to shank a bitch back in high school. Margot was effortlessly ebullient, and anything less than laser fireworks would always be “cute” to her. Emma took a deep breath and searched for her inner Zen. “Thanks. So, Margot, what's new in your life?”

That was all it took to send Margot off on a tangent about the insufferable bastard for whom she was a personal assistant, and his increasingly ridiculous demands, which sounded to Emma like normal personal assistant tasks like getting his dry cleaning and scheduling his appointments. She kept her mouth closed, though. Margot may have been just a personal assistant, but she was also an influential blogger: Her arts and culture blog had a rabid following. Emma knew that pissing her off could be tantamount to professional suicide. Staying in her good graces kept the connections alive and available. If she'd learned anything from her friendship with Margot and Alina, it was that social clout was invaluable. She also enjoyed spending time with them, brashness and oversharing aside: Alina probably had the most interesting life of anyone she'd met, and Margot was hilarious.

Margot's story began a contest of “my life sucks more than your life,” which was ultimately won by Alina, whose fashion show the following week had been postponed three times and was now about to be postponed again because her top three models were in the hospital with food poisoning. Emma tactfully remained absent from the one-upmanship, though if she had wanted to, she could have won. She could have set down her drink and said, “I've been living on ramen noodles for two weeks, and I'm putting this drink on my credit card because I barely made enough to pay the business bills this month, with none left over for me.” Instead, she sipped her gin and tonic, enjoying the bitterness on her tongue and how it mirrored the bitterness she felt overall.