Read Online Cosmopolitan Girls by Charlotte Burley - Free Book Online

on an open wound. Robert turned his back to me, facing outside, and continued his rant.
    â€œYou’ve been off your game for over a week now. If I have to step in and do your job, then you don’t need that nice big check I’m paying you each week,” Robert growled.
    What I really needed was some water, but I was afraid to get up for fear both legs would give way.
    â€œIs it something in your personal life? Do you need time off?” he drilled, though I felt a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
    â€œRobert, I’ll get it together,” I said, trying my best to get my words out.
    â€œThen you better dig in and do just that. It’s about focus!”
    After that I swear I didn’t hear a word he was saying. I think he was preaching one of his favorites. Sermon #202 about the goals of the company and the responsibilities of its executives. My brain felt like it would implode at any minute. I really needed some air.
    Robert stopped ranting, looked down, and suddenly noticed my state. “Lindsay are you all right?” His slightly weathered face zoomed toward mine. “Can you hear me?” Robert said, shaking me. “Somebody bring her some water,” he barked.
    I snapped out of it. The last thing I wanted was for the paramedics to come. “I’m okay,” I said, squinting.
    Robert placed the glass of water gently in my hands. I couldn’t gulp fast enough. I cleared the lump lodged in my throat.
    â€œI swear I’m fine. I think I’m just coming down with the flu, and need to go home.”
    Robert softly patted my shoulders and helped me up.
    â€œI don’t want you driving. Take a car service and call me if you need anything.”
    I made my way into the ladies’ room and ran my fingers through my hair again, shaking the morning out. I rinsed water over my face, pursed my lips, and frowned. Two vertical lines cut between my thinly arched eyebrows. I tied my hair in a high bun, and collected myself for the last time.

Chapter 12
    The Village

    I was twenty minutes late meeting Kyle on Sixth Avenue in front of Pizzeria Uno—what’s come to be our regular meeting spot since Kyle started helping with my wedding errands. He thinks I don’t know why he chose this location. A few blocks south are the basketball courts, and in the summertime on most days you’ll find Gotham’s best selection of men there. Kyle is always on time and since his subway exit is right across from the courts, he can sneak all the eye candy he desires. I’m sure that’s why he always gets here extra early.
    I was speed-walking up the block. Kyle gave me an exaggerated glare.
    â€œI’m so sorry I’m late, Kyle,” I said apologetically.
    â€œSave it, I’m PMSing, Miss Honey, and we’ve got way too much to do, so let’s move it,” Kyle said, switching off up Eighth Street, dragging me along.
    â€œRemind me again, Bridezilla, exactly what are we looking for today?” Kyle asked, checking out the male flavor walking about.
    â€œGifts for my bridesmaids. I want them to be one of a kind, something you can only find in New York.”
    â€œSounds like a job for the flea market on Fourth Street,” Kyle declared.
    The flea market was an open lot full of vendors that sold just about everything from T-shirts, CDs, and antiques to jewelry and bongs. You name it, they’ve got it. The best part about the market is that most of the vendors make their own merchandise. And—one of the beauties of New York—the price is always negotiable!
    â€œCharlie, you’re going to love me. I think I’ve found what you’re looking for,” Kyle said, holding up a handmade black beaded ring with a ruby-colored center.
    â€œLook at how elaborate the detail is,” I said, putting it on.
    â€œLook at the others.” Kyle pointed. “They’re similar but no one ring’s exactly like the