Read Online Over You by Emma McLaughlin, Nicola Kraus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emma McLaughlin, Nicola Kraus
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Tillman? Me!”
“You what ?” Zach and Max spin to her as she jogs down, apple cheeked with her achievement.
“At lunch.” She fills them in as she tosses her bag down. “I cold-called him saying I was from Hounds and Yachts magazine—”
“That’s a thing?” Max interrupts.
“It sounded like a thing.” Phoebe shrugs off her coat. Zach and Max give an acknowledging head tilt.
“And he just talked to you?” Zach’s incredulous.
“I used my cockney accent. The publicist hasn’t released the NYU angle because they’re, quote, waiting on that. The family’s trying to present his image as youthful, but not young. Anyway, he’s doing the five-year accelerated combined BA and MBA at Stern and living off campus. He had a long-haired dachshund named Huggins as a kid, and he’s won three regattas and placed in seven.”
“I should have gone to lunch with that publicist.” Zach crosses his arms. “I could have penciled in stubble.”
“He’s going to Stern?” Max drops onto her chair. “We’re going to be in the same business classes together? What next, he’s moving in with my mom?”
“Living off campus.” Phoebe checks her notes. “West Village loft.”
“Why isn’t he going to Harvard?!” Max implores the room.
“How should we know?!” Zach throws his hands up in exasperation. “You want to be a client, Max, but clients give us a full backstory . You’re not telling us a freaking thing!”
Max looks from Phoebe’s surprised expression to Zach’s frustrated one and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes. He was a senior. I was a junior. He loved everything about me until suddenly he didn’t. We were together five months almost to the day. I was ousted by a girl so boring it boggles the mind. I left school. Moved here. Started this business. You’re up to speed.” She does not share how he shivered the first time their shirts were off beneath his scratchy wool blanket.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” Zach asks, forcing Max back to the present as Phoebe powers up her computer. “You left me ten voice mails last night. You were—”
“Thrown.” Max swipes her flat palm definitively through the air. “I was thrown. We were missing pivotal information, which we now have,” Max rushes. “I’m not about to start wandering the West Village in a nightie and mumbling to strangers about what could’ve been, Zach. I just need a little booster. Just like we did for Trish Silverberg when her ex tried to take over the film club! Remember, he’s entitled not to love me, but he’s not entitled to mess with my happy place.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Zach says as he turns on his computer.
“So where are we with everyone?” As they commence their updates, Max’s eyes drift to her photo of Cate Blanchett as Queen Elizabeth. She thinks there is something noble about putting aside her own crap and diving headlong into this persona of “fineness.”
As the week wears on, Max tapes up a picture of Chancellor Merkel next to Cate to remind herself that great leaders put on brave faces for their populaces. How would a war work if platoon commanders started sobbing—and they must be totally tempted—the minute they heard gunfire? Be the change you want to see in the world—even if you’re now questioning if that change is possible, you know, for everyone.
On Saturday afternoon, Max is trying to feel inspirational as she waits for Bridget in the understated armor of her Lululemon jacket, standing clear of the tourists sightseeing before the Halloween Parade. In contrast to their boisterous enthusiasm, Bridget is easy to spot. She walks over to Max in a gray sweater and leggings a half pace slower than the crowd.
“Hi,” she says as if the syllable takes enormous effort.
“Okay, put some floppy ears on you, and you could go as Eeyore.”
The corners of Bridget’s mouth don’t quite turn all the way up, but they look like they’re considering it. “Taylor and
“You what ?” Zach and Max spin to her as she jogs down, apple cheeked with her achievement.
“At lunch.” She fills them in as she tosses her bag down. “I cold-called him saying I was from Hounds and Yachts magazine—”
“That’s a thing?” Max interrupts.
“It sounded like a thing.” Phoebe shrugs off her coat. Zach and Max give an acknowledging head tilt.
“And he just talked to you?” Zach’s incredulous.
“I used my cockney accent. The publicist hasn’t released the NYU angle because they’re, quote, waiting on that. The family’s trying to present his image as youthful, but not young. Anyway, he’s doing the five-year accelerated combined BA and MBA at Stern and living off campus. He had a long-haired dachshund named Huggins as a kid, and he’s won three regattas and placed in seven.”
“I should have gone to lunch with that publicist.” Zach crosses his arms. “I could have penciled in stubble.”
“He’s going to Stern?” Max drops onto her chair. “We’re going to be in the same business classes together? What next, he’s moving in with my mom?”
“Living off campus.” Phoebe checks her notes. “West Village loft.”
“Why isn’t he going to Harvard?!” Max implores the room.
“How should we know?!” Zach throws his hands up in exasperation. “You want to be a client, Max, but clients give us a full backstory . You’re not telling us a freaking thing!”
Max looks from Phoebe’s surprised expression to Zach’s frustrated one and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes. He was a senior. I was a junior. He loved everything about me until suddenly he didn’t. We were together five months almost to the day. I was ousted by a girl so boring it boggles the mind. I left school. Moved here. Started this business. You’re up to speed.” She does not share how he shivered the first time their shirts were off beneath his scratchy wool blanket.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” Zach asks, forcing Max back to the present as Phoebe powers up her computer. “You left me ten voice mails last night. You were—”
“Thrown.” Max swipes her flat palm definitively through the air. “I was thrown. We were missing pivotal information, which we now have,” Max rushes. “I’m not about to start wandering the West Village in a nightie and mumbling to strangers about what could’ve been, Zach. I just need a little booster. Just like we did for Trish Silverberg when her ex tried to take over the film club! Remember, he’s entitled not to love me, but he’s not entitled to mess with my happy place.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Zach says as he turns on his computer.
“So where are we with everyone?” As they commence their updates, Max’s eyes drift to her photo of Cate Blanchett as Queen Elizabeth. She thinks there is something noble about putting aside her own crap and diving headlong into this persona of “fineness.”
As the week wears on, Max tapes up a picture of Chancellor Merkel next to Cate to remind herself that great leaders put on brave faces for their populaces. How would a war work if platoon commanders started sobbing—and they must be totally tempted—the minute they heard gunfire? Be the change you want to see in the world—even if you’re now questioning if that change is possible, you know, for everyone.
On Saturday afternoon, Max is trying to feel inspirational as she waits for Bridget in the understated armor of her Lululemon jacket, standing clear of the tourists sightseeing before the Halloween Parade. In contrast to their boisterous enthusiasm, Bridget is easy to spot. She walks over to Max in a gray sweater and leggings a half pace slower than the crowd.
“Hi,” she says as if the syllable takes enormous effort.
“Okay, put some floppy ears on you, and you could go as Eeyore.”
The corners of Bridget’s mouth don’t quite turn all the way up, but they look like they’re considering it. “Taylor and
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