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“Yes,” Gabe answers for me. “I’m the older brother.”
“Age?” Liz asks.
“Thirty-six.”
“Married?” she brazenly asks.
The elevator opens and I roll my eyes and enter, while the two of them go to opposite walls but keep talking. “Never married,” Gabe says.
“Why?” Liz asks, as if replaying my conversation with Lauren about Reese. “What’s wrong with you?”
I watch the interaction, which has forgotten me and with each floor turns more and more direct, until finally I can’t take it anymore. I glance at Liz, who is all red-cheeked, and say, “Seriously? You’re flirting with my brother in front of me.”
“I am not,” she says indignantly.
“You’re not?” Gabe asks. “That’s too bad.”
The elevator doors open and I exit the car and just leave them both there. Once I’m at my door, I enter my apartment and leave it open. Kicking off my shoes in the entrance, I really want to just go shower, but I walk to the kitchen instead. After setting my bags on a red leather barstool, I walk to the microwave and stick my coffee inside. By the time it’s out, the two of them are standing on opposite sides of the island looking at me.
“Cat,” Liz begins.
“No,” I say. “I decline the book deal.”
“Why are you declining a book deal?” Gabe asks. “You hit the Times with your last book.”
“How do you even know that?”
“Of course I knew that,” he says.
“You did not,” I accuse.
“I did too,” he insists.
“You did?”
“Yes,” Gabe says. “I’m not the ass you are apparently remembering me to be.”
“You hate that I left my legal career.”
“I’m over it. Your column is damn good, and so was the book. Why are you turning down another deal?”
“Wait,” Liz says, glancing at Gabe. “Did you congratulate her when she hit the Times?”
“No, but—”
“And now we know why you’re single,” she says. “Next time send her flowers and chocolate. And no. I was not flirting with you.” She refocuses on me. “Back to his question. Why?”
“No,” I repeat.
“Why?” Gabe presses.
“Yes,” Liz says. “Why?”
“Dan is an ass,” I say. “He also represents everything I hate about the system. I’m not writing a book with him.”
My cellphone rings, and I’m quick to pull it from my purse in hopes that I can just end this meet-and-greet in the kitchen. I glance at Reese’s number and answer, “Hey.”
“Did you walk home?”
