You're Not the One (9781101558959) Read Online Free Page A

of my pocket. I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m a teeny bit scared of my big sister.
    I click the little yellow envelope on the screen.
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    Five more minutes then you’re dead.
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    Make that a lot scared.
    â€œYou’re late.”
    As I plop myself down next to her on the barstool, she doesn’t even look up from her BlackBerry. A sharp crease is etched down the middle of her forehead, like the ones down the front of her trouser legs.
    Kate always wears trousers. In fact, I think the only time I’ve ever not seen her wearing them was on her wedding day, five years ago. And that was only because Mum got all upset when she found out she was going to be wearing a trouser suit (“But it’s from Donna Karan,” my sister protested) and said the neighbors would think her daughter is a lesbian. Which seems a bit ridiculous, considering she was marrying Jeff.
    â€œI know, I’m sorry,” I apologize briskly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You know me—I’m useless with directions.”
    â€œAnd timekeeping,” she reminds, hitting Send with her thumb, then turning to me.
    She looks pale, despite the fact that it’s sunny and seventy-five degrees outside. Kate rarely gets outside. During the week she’s always at her desk in her air-conditioned office, and at weekends—
    Well, she’s usually at her desk then too.
    â€œGuilty as charged.” I nod, pulling a remorseful expression. “What do I get? Two years? Five?”
    She smiles, despite herself. “Well, this isn’t my legal field of expertise, but let’s see.... No prior convictions? Mitigating circumstances?” She drums her fingers on the bar. “You’d probably get away with a warning and a good-behavior bond.”
    â€œThat’s it?” I’m laughing now.
    â€œPlus a fine,” she adds, raising an eyebrow.
    â€œA fine?” I frown. “How much?”
    â€œHmm . . .” She taps the tip of her nose with her forefinger, like she always does when she’s thinking. “Three drinks. At ten dollars a drink. I reckon thirty bucks should do it.” My sister smiles at me slyly. “Plus tip, of course.”
    She’s nothing if not a tough negotiator. Now I know how she wins those multimillion-dollar cases.
    â€œHang on—three drinks?”
    â€œYou, me, and Robyn,” she explains.
    â€œOh, she’s here?” I say in surprise, looking around for her.
    â€œShe went to the bathroom.” Kate gestures to the back of the bar, where at that moment I see a tall girl with wild, curly hair and wearing a tie-dyed caftan appear from the ladies’. Her face splits into a huge grin as she spots me.
    â€œ Honnnneeeeyyyy ,” she shrieks, waving manically as she rushes over, seemingly unaware of the people she’s knocking into as she makes a beeline for me. She’s like the human form of a heat-seeking missile.
    I watch in amusement. A slightly different welcome from my sister’s, then.
    Throwing her arms out, she envelops me in a haze of patchouli oil and a jingle-jangle of silver bracelets, which are stacked up her freckled forearms like Slinkys.
    Anyone watching Robyn greet me would think we were lifelong friends, but we met only a week ago, when I answered her ad for a roommate. I move in this weekend. After a few weeks of my sister’s house rules—“1) Usage of electric toothbrush not permitted after 10 p.m.” Apparently it wakes her up, as she likes to be in bed by nine thirty so she can get up at five a.m. to go to the gym. Yup, that’s right. Five in the morning —I knew it was time to move out and get my own space.
    Well, maybe “space” is something of a misnomer. “Broom cupboard” would be a more accurate description. New York might be exciting, but it comes with a hefty price tag and on my salary I can only afford a tiny room in a fourth-story walk-up on