Paige Torn Read Online Free Page B

that?”
    â€œ How to Be a Bride. ”
    â€œOkay, whatever. Second, you’re really going to make me wear heels to your wedding?”
    â€œYep!” she says, cheerfully.
    I sigh. Loudly and into the phone this time. Layla is a reasonable five foot four. She can wear heels around anyone and still be shorter than the average male. She has no idea how awkward it is to tower over men.
    And Peter is not what I would call tall. Actually, he’s not what any person would call tall. Quiet, yes. Withdrawn, yes. Tall, no.
    It looks like I’ll be praying for a tall best man.
    I pull back into the adoption agency’s parking lot as Layla chatters happily about possible venues for her parents’ anniversary party. “I think we should look into something exotic, like a yacht or something.”
    I think Layla sometimes forgets that we live in landlocked Dallas.
    I don’t mention it, though. “Mmm, listen, I’m back at work, so I’ve got to go. I’ll text when I’m on my way tonight.”
    â€œOkay. Hope you get a few kids adopted.”
    She hangs up and I push the button on my phone, shaking my head. I’ve been working here for a year, and Layla still has no idea how the adoption process works. In her mind, women set babies and children right outside the door, and then I have to take care of them until we finally find a nice couple to adopt them.
    That isn’t exactly how it works.
    She even told me one time how envious she is that I have a job that lets me work with children.
    If by children she means their legal papers, then yes, I work with children.
    Layla is one of those people who, if I didn’t love her as much as I do, I would have stopped being friends with years ago.
    I walk back inside, give Mark his hamburger, tater tots, and Diet Coke, and settle back at my desk with my chicken sandwich and cherry limeade. Since I’ve spent my allotted thirty minutes driving, waiting in line at Sonic, and driving again, I will now have to work while I eat lunch.
    I work on tax reports in between phone calls from prospective adoptive parents wanting to know everything there is to know about the adoption process. From the very beginning of working here, I’ve always had a special spot in my heart for these people who walk through our door wanting nothing more than to love on a baby. Mostly because they come in looking like little lost puppies and leave months later absolutely and fantastically overjoyed.
    Mark says my compassion comes through in my voice, and that’s why my phone conversations with them last over an hour. I think he’d be frustrated except for the fact that 90 percent of the people who call end up coming in and using our agency.
    â€œAnd tomorrow is Friday!” Candace sings as she comes down the hallway at five o’clock, wearing a coat that she doesn’t need. Candace is from Vermont and likes to believe that winters should be cold.
    I rub my head. I just hung up the phone after an hour-long conversation, not with an adoptive mom but with a copier repair technician. Our copier has been on the fritz for almost a week, and the company who sold it to us still hasn’t sent someone out to fix it. I’ve tried fixing it six times, and all I ever get is a headache and ink stains on my favorite shirt.
    â€œDid you check the power cord?” the repairman asked me. “Are you sure it’s plugged in?”
    I hate when people just assume you’re incapable.
    â€œYay for Friday,” I say to Candace, turning off the computer monitor and grabbing my jacket and purse. I follow her out, wave good-bye in the parking lot, and then drive quickly to my apartment to grab my black heels before heading over to Layla’s.
    Layla lives in, seriously, some of the creepier apartments on this side of town. Her apartment is all the way in the back, so you have to park and walk about five minutes on a dark, winding sidewalk before