Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,9
away from its demise.
Chapter Three
THURSDAY, AUGUST 8
I didn’t even know places like this existed,” Audrey said, glancing around in awe.
“What, hardware stores?” Naomi Powell asked, holding one of the metal objects she’d accumulated from her tour of the store up to Audrey’s ear, as though assessing the bolt for earring potential. Knowing Naomi, she probably was assessing it for earring potential. Naomi wasn’t a jewelry designer, per say, but as founder of Maxcessory, a subscription accessory service, she was always on the lookout for the next big thing.
“Are they all like this?” Audrey asked, looking adorably out of place in her lace dress and platform sandals. “Actually, I think this is a relatively small version of a hardware store,” Claire said as she picked up yet another swatch of paint colors and added it to her stack. “Home Depots are even more massive anywhere outside of Manhattan.”
Both her friends gave her a curious look at her expertise, and Claire shrugged. “I took an Uber out to a Jersey hardware store when I first started thinking about the renovation.”
“Jersey,” Audrey mused, as though it were a foreign country and not just a few miles to the west.
“Real talk,” Naomi said, looking at Audrey. “When was the last time you left Manhattan?”
“Last month,” Audrey retorted, clearly proud to shake up Naomi’s assumption that the Upper East Side princess never left her own neighborhood.
“Really?” Claire glanced over in surprise.
Not that Claire herself could claim to be any more adventurous most days. She’d been born and raised in the Connecticut suburbs, but the city had gotten under her skin in a permanent kind of way almost immediately. She couldn’t imagine calling anywhere other than Manhattan home.
But Audrey Tate didn’t just live in Manhattan, she was Manhattan. A society princess through and through. Not only that, she’d literally made a career out of it. Audrey was an “influencer,” which Claire fully admitted to never having heard of before meeting Audrey. For that matter, she still wasn’t entirely sure she got it, but as far as she could tell, companies paid the gorgeous, charismatic Audrey to feature their handbags, shoes, beauty products, sports bras, anything, on her blog and Instagram.
“I did, too, leave Manhattan,” Audrey insisted, her tone smug. “I was in the Hamptons for two weeks last month.”
Naomi snorted. “Doesn’t count.”
“It does, too!” Audrey protested. “Claire?”
“No, dear.” Claire patted her arm, then she put the swatches in her bag. “Not really.”
Audrey frowned stubbornly. “Naomi asked if I’d left Manhattan. I have.”
“Fine, we’ll give you that one on a technicality,” Naomi said, scooping up the assortment of metal bits and bobs in two hands. “Who wants to help me put these back in their right spots?”
Audrey squinted at the assortment of stuff. “I couldn’t tell you what a single one of those things is.”
Claire just shrugged. She’d learned her way around the home improvement store in recent months, but her expertise was mostly limited to tile samples and paint swatches.
“All right, Plan B,” Naomi said, scanning the store until she found who she was looking for. Fixing a bright smile on her face, Naomi strode purposefully toward an employee. Claire recognized the fifty-something guy. He was crusty, irritable, and condescending, especially to women.
But not all women, apparently.
Claire watched in bemusement as Naomi not only coaxed a smile from the man, but a full-on laugh. Claire felt an unexpected jolt of envy at how effortlessly dynamic her friend was. She bet Naomi didn’t get generic birthday cards. She bet Naomi didn’t default to beige everything.
Claire watched as the Home Depot guy blushed. Blushed!
“How does she do that?” Claire mused.
Audrey glanced up from her phone. “How does who do what?”
Claire nodded toward Naomi. “I’ve been in this store at least a dozen times, and I haven’t so much as gotten a civil word from that man. He’s known Naomi all of thirty seconds and is practically eating out of her hand, even though she’s just handed him an hour’s worth of work in putting all that crap away.”
“She’s got a gift,” Audrey said distractedly.
“Yes, but what is the gift?” Claire pressed.
Her friend finally registered that Claire was actually asking, and it wasn’t just a rhetorical question. “Well.” Audrey glanced over at Naomi and then back. “It’s her confidence, I suppose. That’s like, eighty percent of the art of flirting.”
“Flirting,” Claire repeated, testing the word out. She hadn’t voiced or given much thought to the concept of flirting in . . . years. And not just because she’d been