Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,112

Now Juliet would know where her daughter was and that Mom was with one of her favorite people.

A burst of laughter came from a group in the corner—Emma London, who was Riley the babysitter’s mom, Jamilah Finlay, whom Juliet knew from the Stoningham Women’s Association, and Beth, who worked as the manager at Harvest, where she and Oliver ate from time to time. This reminded her that they hadn’t gone on a date in ages. The women were all younger than she was—more like Arwen’s age. Evelyn from her book club was here, as well as Lucia and Emiko, all women Juliet knew and liked. The folks from Oliver’s work.

A lot of people she knew, but not a lot who were close friends. This was the toll of having a career that took her all over the world, of trying to be there for the girls at least ninety percent of the time, of having a marriage that wasn’t lying neglected in some ditch of her life.

She didn’t have friends. Not really. Not like the closeness Mom and Caro had.

Juliet suddenly felt like crying.

“Hey.” It was Sadie. “How’s it going?”

“Shitty. I hate parties.”

“You hide it very well, then. The house looks gorgeous, and everyone seems to be having a great time.”

“How are you?” Juliet asked. “Is Alexander here?”

“Ah, no. We broke up.”

Juliet blinked. “Oh! Are you . . . are you okay?”

“You were right. He’s an asshole. Feel good about yourself? Oh, hey, person with the tray, stop right there.” Sadie grabbed three shrimp wrapped in bacon and popped one in her mouth, then looked back at Juliet. “You look stressed.”

“Thanks. What do I say to that?”

“I don’t know! I’m your sister. I’m supposed to worry about you. Everything okay?”

“Yes. Are you, though? You and Doofus were serious, weren’t you?”

“I thought so. His two other girlfriends might disagree.”

Juliet’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that entitled little penis scum. Shit. Did you—” She lowered her voice. “Did you get checked by a doctor?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, thank God. I also found his other girlfriends on Facebook and told them. They seemed really nice. One was really broken up.”

“Let me know if you want a building to fall on him.”

Sadie grinned. “You’re okay, Jules, you know that?” She looked around, eating the other shrimp. “Anyone I know here other than Mom and Caro?”

“Probably not. Come on, let me introduce you to some folks.” She led her sister to the younger women of Stoningham and introduced them. Sadie mentioned to Emma London that she’d almost taken an internship with her grandmother’s company one summer, and before Juliet knew it, Sadie was one of the gang, laughing, asking personal questions without restraint, getting answers. No doubt she’d be having them over for margaritas before the week was done, because that’s how things always worked for Sadie.

Juliet went up the (not-anywhere-near-the-nineties) staircase to the rooftop, a feature so impressive that even the late great tastemaker Genevieve London had admired it. She took a deep breath and tried to shed the anxiety building in her.

But no.

“Juliet,” came a voice, and it was Dave Kingston. And shit, Edward Decker was there, too. Both partners from DJK. Edward rarely spoke, and while he nodded during her yearly review and approved her raises, Juliet never knew exactly where she stood with him.

“So glad you could make it,” she lied, air-kissing them as Arwen had air-kissed her. “Are you having a nice time?”

“Very nice,” Dave said. “Listen, Juliet.” Her heart curled in on itself. “We’re a team at DJK, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course!”

“So this . . . chain of command thing. It’s not necessary, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Arwen mentioned you ‘put her in her place,’” Edward said, using air quotes and looking ridiculous doing it.

Shit. If Edward spoke, it was dire. “I did what, exactly?”

“Said you made it clear you outranked her in front of her . . . partner.”

“Uh . . . no. Her friend asked if I was an architect, and I . . . I just explained that I was both a project manager and—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “Titles are so misleading, anyway, don’t you think? We like to color outside the lines at DJK, and we’re a meritocracy. The optics aren’t great if you’re . . . well. You know.”

“No, Dave, I don’t,” she said, starch in her voice. “Arwen does work for me. I have eleven years more experience than she does, and it would be irresponsible for us not to