If the Sun Never Sets - Ana Huang Page 0,36
line with them. It was a Sunday, but Farrah swore half the deals in the city took place during “casual” weekend meetings.
“It was good.” Sammy’s shoulders remained stiff, but his grudging tone indicated he was well on his way to forgiving Farrah for the ambush. “We signed the deal.”
“That’s great!” Farrah almost knocked over her coffee in her excitement. “Sammy’s opening a pop-up bakery at Convention,” Farrah explained to Olivia. Convention was a trendy Soho storefront known for its revolving calendar of pop-ups. Every four months, it transformed into a new restaurant, bakery, or cafe headed by a Michelin-starred chef or food celebrity. The variety and star power made Convention catnip to Manhattan’s fickle culinary elite. “New York’s finally getting a Crumble & Bake! For four months, at least.”
“Great.” Olivia downed her mimosa in one long swallow. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Sammy said.
Their coldness hardened into invisible icicles that hung between them like swords waiting to drop.
The waiter brought out their food. They dug in, once again lapsing into silence.
“Where are you staying in New York?” Farrah was determined to get the conversation back on track, no matter how difficult her friends were being.
“Williamsburg. My sister’s friend has a house there, and he agreed to let me rent a room at a discounted price.” Sammy cut into his eggs Benedict. “The pop-up doesn’t open until next month, but I have to get everything ready.”
“Why is everyone opening branches in New York?” Olivia sipped her second glass of freshly poured orange juice and champagne. “First Blake, now you.”
“Well, New York’s a pretty big market,” Sammy deadpanned.
Farrah choked back a laugh.
Olivia ignored his answer and addressed Farrah. “Speaking of Blake, how’s the design project going?”
The mirth disappeared. “Fine.”
As far as the project went, Farrah couldn’t have asked for a smoother rollout. She’d rented a storage space to house the furniture shipments trickling in—as well as the chest they’d bought in Syracuse—until the contractors finished the wall tiling and floors. As long as there were no delays or mishaps, she should finish the apartment in time for the Mode de Vie shoot.
Her relationship with Blake, if you could call it that, was another matter. After she gave him her ultimatum in the B&B, he’d walked out of the room without another word. She didn’t know where he went, but she’d pretended to sleep when she heard the door creak open past midnight.
The next morning, they’d checked out and driven back to the city. Blake dropped her off, and that was that. Neither said a word during the four-hour drive, and Farrah hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
Her gut twisted. Had she been too harsh on him? Thinking back, her words had been a little cold, but she wasn’t the one who’d lied and cheated. She had no reason to give him another chance.
Farrah gnawed on her lower lip until she drew blood.
“Have you seen him since Syracuse?” Olivia asked.
“No.” Farrah stuffed a piece of French toast in her mouth, so she didn’t have to provide a longer answer. Olivia knew Blake and Farrah had stayed in the same room in Syracuse; she didn’t know about them nearly having sex, or about Blake’s confession. Out of all the things Farrah had expected him to say, asking for a second chance had not been on the list. She’d thought he wanted a wild night of sex. Maybe a casual fling. Not a sequel to their doomed relationship.
Farrah forced herself to swallow. The toast tasted bitter.
“Good. The project will be over soon, and you won’t have to see him again.” Olivia flicked her gaze toward Sammy. “He’s bad news.”
“No, he’s not,” Sammy countered. “He’s made mistakes, but he’s a good guy.”
That was Sammy—loyal to a fault. To all sides.
“Please.” Olivia snorted. “He lied and cheated. Not my definition of a ‘good guy.’”
“He didn’t—I mean, he did, but you don’t know the whole story.” Sammy appeared to regret his outburst the instant the words left his mouth.
Farrah and Olivia snapped their heads in his direction.
“What do you mean, whole story?” Curiosity lit up Olivia’s dark eyes. “What do you know that we don’t?”
“Nothing. That just slipped out.” The color of Sammy’s face matched that of Farrah’s dragon fruit smoothie.
“Bullshit. I know a cover-up when I see one.” When Sammy didn’t budge, Olivia switched tactics from vinegar to honey. “Come on, you’re among friends,” she cajoled. Apparently, the thrill of a good secret was enough to make her put aside her animosity toward her ex.
All the while, Farrah’s heart