15 Nicole
Nicole
Nicole barely slept, trying to catch up on the amount of work she normally would have done over the weekend, her phone by her side in case Ellen texted with some new information.
But the phone was silent all night. Ellen had said to lie low, act normal, so that’s what Nicole does.
She washes up, pins on her wig, and picks out one of her nicer suits, the one that makes her ass look great—professionally, of course—then goes into the office at six, like normal.
There’s plenty of work to do, research for the senior associates and partners, case dockets to update, argument notations to check, coffee to get.
She looks at her phone as she waits in line: nothing from Ellen, and nothing from her boys either.
She guesses it’s because they’re having that big sleepover.
Maybe she should have stayed over, too. It would have been fun.
Like college again. She opens the group chat, not sure what to type as the line moves forward.
Good morning ? How did everyone sleep ? It all feels weirdly motherly.
She’s not their mom, even if she does sometimes feel like the one responsible one.
Then she remembers Ollie’s date. That’s something.
NICOLE
How’d the date go, Ollie?
IAN
He’s still out walking the dogs, so I think it’s going well.
Or she’s killed him.
Nicole snorts a laugh. But Ian isn’t wrong. Who is this girl?
NICOLE
I want the deets!
Oh god, that sounds terrible. She grimaces at herself. But better than outright asking if the girl is suspicious. She shakes her head. She hates the idea that she’s distrustful of everyone now. Just let Ollie have his fun date.
“Something bad in the text?”
Nicole looks up. She’s at the front of the line. Sam.
“I just texted something that didn’t sound like me.”
“What?”
Nicole sighs. “A friend went on a date with a girl I don’t know anything about. I said I wanted the deets.”
Sam throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like you.”
Nicole raises an eyebrow. “You know that from the way I order coffee?”
“Yes. Just like I can tell you’re here just for you because you have your relaxed expression, not the one where you’re repeating orders in your head.
And I happen to know your order is a large black with a shot of espresso, a pump of cinnamon, and hazelnut milk.
” She holds up a cup, already filled, for Nicole.
Nicole is impressed but tries not to show it as she takes the cup. Instead she just smiles and sips, paying. “So what should I have said?” she asks. “How do I ask my friend to tell me if this girl is actually worth his time and not just…hot and slick?”
Sam leans on the counter. “I think just let your friend trust his instincts. All romance is a risk. Better to dive in than stand on the sidelines, right?” Her lipstick is a deep burgundy today, and when she smiles, there’s a flash of white teeth.
Nicole leans forward, sipping her coffee again.
It tastes perfect. Sam stares at her, and Nicole opens her mouth slightly.
“Excuse me, are you done?” the man behind her in line asks.
Nicole blushes furiously, turning away from Sam and nodding at the man in line.
“Yeah, sorry,” she mumbles, stepping to the side.
“See you later,” she throws at Sam, suddenly needing to get out of there.
She forgot there was anyone else in the shop.
She forgot it was a shop. And that’s just mortifying.
She needs to stop coming back here. But the coffee is the best in the area.
She sighs, smelling the cinnamon in her coffee as she takes the elevator back up to the office, looking at the rest of the texts—Ollie is going to ask her out again.
Good. Nicole is glad things can seem normal amid everything.
Normal would be nice, right about now. She sits back down at her desk, sipping her coffee and wondering if Sam tastes like coffee.
Wondering what her order is. She’s probably one of those people who order an espresso with a slice of lemon.
Or maybe she’s a tea drinker. Nicole frowns, realizing she doesn’t seem to know Sam as well as she knows Nicole.
But that’s by choice, Nicole tells herself.
She shouldn’t be thinking about this at all.
She should be thinking about work. Or the fact that there might be a large man with an odd tattoo trying to kill her friends.
She sits down at her desk and opens her email; Don managed to send her three emails with various research requests while she was gone, and she’s cc’d on dozens more. She knew she should have asked if he wanted anything before she went out. She gets to work. She wanted normal—well, she’s getting it.
“Come on, we’re doing lunch.”
Nicole looks up a few hours later, startled. It’s after noon now, and Ellen is there, in sunglasses and a bright red trench coat over a black suit.
“Oh,” Nicole says, not sure what’s happening. “All right, let me just ask Don—”
“Don,” Ellen shouts down the hall into his office. Don pops his head out. Ellen never comes down here. “I’m taking Nicole for the day.” It’s not a question. She looks at Nicole through the sunglasses for a moment, then turns and walks, leaving Nicole to scramble to get her coat and bag and follow.
“Something smells like cinnamon,” Ellen says in the elevator. “That you?”
“My coffee.”
“Spicy and bitter. Fun.”
Nicole pauses but then just asks it: “Did you find something out?”
“Yes. But let’s discuss over lunch. Fewer ears.”
“Okay.” Nicole feels worried now. And also, she realizes, excited.
Shady meetings to exchange information away from spies at the office?
That’s pretty good stuff. Not at all what she thought she wanted, but now that it’s here, her body tingles, like her wig and suit could fly off at any moment and something else could emerge. Something more like her.
But she doesn’t say any of that. It would be unprofessional. The suit stays on.
“How was the fundraiser?” she tries instead.
The elevator doors open, and they walk out into the building lobby.
“Oh, it was awful,” Ellen says, smirking.
“I mean, the cause was very good and all. Environmental conservation.” She squints, trying to remember.
“Plants, I think, not animals. Pretty sure. But the guy was just…ugh.” They’re outside now, Ellen walking quickly enough that it feels like she’s generating a wind as Nicole tries to keep up.
“I didn’t have high hopes for him, but sometimes you just say yes because you never know, right?
Well, I was wrong. I knew he was a dud. Should have trusted my instincts. ”
Nicole laughs, a little shocked at the honesty. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. The food was all right, at least. Usually these Goody Two Shoes events have some sort of garden salad and then fish, but it was a pretty decent steak.” Ellen cocks her head. “It definitely wasn’t a fundraiser for animals.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Still,” she says, stopping at the glass door to one of the dark expensive restaurants in the neighborhood, a block and a half from the office, “this place is better.”
The hostess nods at them as they come in and doesn’t even say anything, just starts walking.
Ellen follows, and Nicole follows both of them, like the caboose in a train.
She passes by this place all the time but has never come in.
Low lights, a long bar, dark wood, black leather.
This is an old-school expensive restaurant, not one of the modern ones that are all light and white walls. It smells like decades of scotch.
The hostess takes them through a pair of curtains in the back to a small private room with a round table, one dim lamp hanging over it, a black leather bench circling it, so tight that when sitting, you can lean back on the walls.
The hostess lays down two menus and walks out without saying anything.
“The steak is good,” Ellen says, sliding off her coat and sitting down. “You eat meat?”
“Uh.” Nicole pauses, the question unexpectedly stymieing her when it comes from Ellen. Something about the way she asks it, like she’s asking something else. She swallows. “Yes.”
“And they make a great Manhattan, too. I assume you drink?” She raises her eyes at Nicole, who is still standing. She quickly takes off her coat and sits down opposite Ellen.
“Not usually while I’m working.”
Ellen snorts. “You told your friends not to call the cops when they saw a murder. You really going to tell me you’re a rule follower?”
“Well, when it comes to work, I don’t want to—”
“Relax. I checked you out of the office. You’re not due back till tomorrow.”
Nicole smirks. “So I’m a library book.”
“Something like that. So what’s your drink?”
“Martini,” Nicole says. She doesn’t really have a drink, but she’s always wanted to drink more martinis. “Vodka. With a twist.”
Ellen smiles. “Okay, not bad.” She takes off her sunglasses and hands Nicole a menu. Nicole looks it over. Everything is meat.
“So can we talk about what you found out yet?”
“First I need you to promise never to text about that tattoo again.”
“Oh,” Nicole says, swallowing. “All right.”
“That man is dangerous. Former special ops turned freelancer. His name is Arthur Nuys.”
Nicole laughs.
“Something funny?”
“The guy with the heart-eyes tattoo is named Art Nuys? It’s like Doctor Seuss.”
Ellen shrugs. “I’m guessing it was some sort of joke with his squad that turned into a dare to get the tattoo. That’s how a lot of those guys end up with funny ink. Even mine was on a dare.”
She pauses, the silence filled with the invitation to ask what and where her tattoo is.
Nicole has experienced this pause before.
It’s always a come-on. She’s not sure what’s happening.
She remembers Ellen’s smooth back. No ink there.
She wonders where it could be and looks Ellen up and down in the dim light: Chest? Legs?