“Also, you should try to call me Oliver.”

“I will, Ollie,” she says with a wave.

I return to my office, make a few initial calls to the other attorneys involved in Geneva’s business, then shoot her a quick email letting her know I’ve begun the work. I lean back in my office chair made of old tires. I had my doubts when Jane ordered it—finding recycled replacements is another passion of hers—but the chair is not only kinder to cows than leather, it turns out it’s also pleasant on the arse.

As I gaze out the window, I picture the deal coming together, imagining what it could do for this firm. How it could shoot us to another level, raise our profile, allow us to attract bigger clients and pay our staffers even more. It’s an enticing image, being able to provide for those in my employ while sticking it to her ex.

Well, not directly to her ex.

I simply have zero tolerance for bad legal advice.

And zero tolerance for lateness.

I grab my phone, lock up my office, and head out, chatting on the way with Jane about her weekend plans. No surprises—they involve snuggling cats, gardening, and reading the gossip blogs, much like they always do.

“Thank you again for the job, love.” She plants a kiss on my cheek. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be working for that wretched temp agency.”

“What? You didn’t like shuffling papers for bond traders who spent the day shouting into phones when not cursing and punching things?”

“Shockingly, I did not,” she says with a smile.

We say goodbye on the street, and I turn to walk uptown. As I reach the crosswalk, a text pops up.

Logan: Tomorrow night. Paintball. Be ready. I need you operating at 110%.

Oliver: Everything I do is at 110%.

Logan: That’s not what she said.

He rings. I pick up, faking an over-the-top laugh. “Haha. Never heard that from you before.”

“Listen, if you give me low-hanging fruit, I’m going to pluck it. But about paintball—” Logan wastes no time and minces no words. “I’ve got some new strategies to go over. We have to beat those fuckers at Lehman.”

His two speeds: intense and hyperintense. It’s my job to remind him of life’s niceties. “You do know the paintball league events are to raise money for charity, right? Not for obliterating other teams.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s awesome. That’s totally why I do it. But I also have to crush Lehman, and you know why.”

“Fair enough.” I do know he has his reasons. Perfectly valid ones. “But don’t worry. I’m brilliant at paintball, as you know.”

“Humble too.”

“Because humility is the trait you lead with as well?”

He scoffs. “Never. Anyway, I’ll email you and Fitz and the rest of the team the strategy guidelines later. I’m going to the boxing gym now. I’ve got to blow off some steam. Want to join me?”

As I walk up the avenue, I shake my head, though of course he can’t see me. “I know you can risk things like having an eye that looks like a meat pie or a nose that’s out of whack, being an ugly git already, but I can’t take those chances. What with this face and all.” I scrub a hand across my jaw as I stop at Sixtieth Street.

“Right,” he says, the word having about ten syllables. “You don’t want to risk your next appearance on Buzzfeed’s New York’s Most Eligible Bachelors.”

“Of course not. I’m hoping to make it five years in a row.”

“I cannot wait till the day you fall off that list,” he says, and I can hear that he’s practically salivating.

“They say all good things come to an end, but this one seems like it’ll last forever.”

“You’re telling me.”

“In any case, I’m almost at Melt My Heart to meet your sister.”

“Say hi to my twin for me. Also, why don’t you two just⁠—”

A bus rumbles to a stop, the sound drowning out Logan’s words. “Didn’t catch those last few words.”

“Marry her. It’ll be easier.”

“What would be easier? I don’t follow.” My brow furrows. What he said doesn’t compute. There are a million reasons why Summer and I shouldn’t get married. First and foremost, we’re great friends. Second, despite her being quite lovely to look at, I can’t think of her that way. Third, I like having her in my life, not out of it, and since relationships always go belly-up and exes always go rogue, it’s best to keep this one on the level.

“Kidding! I’m kidding,” Logan says. “Just like I was that time I told you to propose when you took her to that asshole’s wedding.” His other line beeps, and he groans.

There’s another reason too. “Let me remind you, your sister is well-known for having the worst taste in men. Just bloody awful, and well, I’m delightful.”

“I beg to differ on your levels of delight. But the devil is calling, so I have to go. It’s my night with Amelia after boxing.”

“Tell Amelia her favorite person will swing by this weekend. We have to catch up on Game of Thrones.”

“You are not showing Game of Thrones to my six-year-old.”

“Sex Education, then? It’s brilliant.”

“Goodbye. The devil waits for no one.” He hangs up to talk to his ex, who is evidence that exes GO wrong.

Tucking the phone away, I head into Melt My Heart to wait for Summer, a woman who fits into a highly specific category among the people in my life. And that is the most important reason we can never be a thing.

Because Summer is a dependable person.

She’s reliable in a world where far too many people aren’t.

And frankly, those are the people you don’t risk losing by messing with a proven formula.

4SUMMER

Things I love about New York City.

1. The people. New York thrives on a Las Vegas-style buffet of humankind. There’s no type of person you won’t find on the menu here, and it’s awesome. I love talking to strangers, talking to friends, talking to anyone.

2. Central Park, and everything else. You can literally never be bored in New York. If you are bored, you’re boring. There’s always something new, exciting, innovative, or even traditional to participate in. I’m all about participation, so this suits me. Museums, parks, sports—there is a league for everything, a class for anything, and a desire to move, move, move. Plus, there’s that huge oasis in the middle of the city, and I could spend all my days there.

3. Specialty shops. This city is the Land of the Niche, with shops for pickles, for mayonnaise, for pencils, for grilled cheese, and for cookies—like my friend Stella’s cookie shop.