The Willing Read Online Free Page B

wasn't very recent; on screen, Holland still had most of his hair and I knew for a fact that last night his hairline had been receding dangerously. Evangeline was nowhere to be seen. I couldn't help think of her in that white suit, lounging in an armchair as she patted her slightly distended belly and pulled strings.
    " Shepherd ," the news anchor went on to say, " who is very private about his personal life, was recently spotted at the London Fashion Week with Latvian actress and runway sensation Tasha Kornushova. What do you think, Larry? A bit of a crush in the air? "
    The weatherman chuckled lamely. " Maybe even wedding bells ."
    I sunk the rest of the way under the foamy waters, until I could neither hear nor see Oliver-fucking-Shepherd anymore. The speculations about his private life were gross enough, but they were made even worse because I knew what kind of a man he was. The news anchor could sigh and moon over his pretty face; I'd seen the real Oliver Shepherd—twice.
    The hours crawled along until five PM mercifully rolled around, and I saw Carrie waving at me from the other side of a busy street. I had summoned her to a new address, one she'd never been to before. Confusion flashed into her eyes as she pecked my cheeks with kisses. There were no restaurants around, no cafés. Only a brownstone with a red door slotted neatly between two story townhouses. A flurry of leaves whipped around us.
    "So?" I asked, trying to contain my glee. "What do you think?"
    Carrie glanced around. "The chestnut trees are really nice this time of year?"
    "I bought an apartment!" So much for containing anything, I thought. I was too full up with excitement not to share the happy news. It was also true that a small part of me wanted to get Carrie's approval first, before I went and literally prostituted myself for a job. I wanted someone to tell me my first real estate buy would be worth the shattered pride.
    "Oh wow," Carrie grinned. "Congratulations!" She gave me a hug before she punched me, lightly, on the shoulder. "That's for not telling me. Are we going upstairs? I want to see everything. When are you moving in?" If she'd looked a little weary before, then the surprise had transfigured her completely. Either that or she was putting on a brave face for my sake.
    I decided I'd believe the former. It took us a good five minutes before I finally got the apartment door open; there was an elevator in the building, but Carrie insisted we take the stairs all the way to the third floor. She called it invigorating. I was more of the opinion that hiking was best reserved for outdoorsy folks—of whom I wasn't one. It was with some pleasure that I heard Carrie take a deep breath as she stepped over the threshold. "Does it smell bad or something?" I quipped, feigning witlessness. I earned another playful jab just for that, but Carrie wasn't looking my way anymore, so she mostly hit thin air.
    The view had got me, too, the first time I'd visited. Now I couldn't help think of yesterday's Presidential Suite and the city lights glimmering at my feet. Still, I tried to sound cheerful. "Isn't it awesome?" On the subject of the move, I remained silent for the moment and hoped she didn't notice.
    Carrie whistled. "I'm sensing a sleepover in my near future."
    "Won't Duncan feel lonely?" I quipped, setting my purse and the small paper bag with our lunch on the kitchen counter. It was all open plan here, no more walls to break up the space, no more feeling cooped up in a tin can.
    "He can have a boys' night. They'll marathon Project Runway or something..." Carrie opened the bay window, letting in a stream of humid air. I shivered, though not just with the cold gales seeping into the apartment.
    "Carrie?"
    "Hmm?"
    "How is he?" I could tiptoe around the subject all afternoon, but it didn't change the fact that Carrie's husband had relapsed and was probably in pain right now. I often wondered how Carrie managed to go through the days knowing it would