Page 72 of A Perfect Fit

I clear my throat and do my best to act composed. About what she just said, I have something planned, but I won’t spoil it yet.

Isabelle studies me suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” I quickly say.

Her eyes narrow. “You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Isabelle frowns. “You can’t keep me hanging, especially if it’s about Sparkes Magazine.” She hugs the magazine close to her chest. “How about if you tell me, I’ll buy you an ice cream?”

I tap my chin, considering a counteroffer. “How about I get free coffee at The Daily Brew for a year?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“It’s gonna take more than just a free ice cream to get me to spoil the surprise, Bella.”

Isabelle’s ears perk up, and she sits straighter in her seat. “So, there is a surprise.”

Fuck. I really am bad at keeping this a secret.

“Maybe.”

Before she can respond, the pilot makes an announcement, signaling the cabin crew to prepare for landing, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

“Looks like you’ll have to wait to find out,” I say.

When we arrive at the hotel, the first thing I notice is the architecture. It’s something I sometimes like to do in my head for fun—analyze buildings, both the interior and exterior, and think about what might’ve gone through the architect’s head during the design process.

“The hotel’s nice,” Isabelle says.

“The layout flows really well,” I agree, scanning the high ceilings and lounge seating. “Though I think it’d benefit from taking more advantage of the natural lighting, like by adding skylights.” I grimace. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all analytical.”

Isabelle shakes her head. “No, don’t apologize. You’re into architecture, right?”

“Just a hobby.” I shrug, brushing it off. “Let’s check in.”

We walk up to the reception and collect our respective room cards. On our way to the elevators, there’s a loud, high-pitched voice from behind.

“Jacky? Is that you?!”

It’s Hilary, sauntering toward Isabelle and me with a large Louis Vuitton suitcase. I haven’t seen her at the gym recently, and I forget she’s also attending tonight’s event.

She beams when she stops in front of us and eyes me up and down, letting out a giggle. “You look good in that suit. You looked good in a suit last time, too.”

Beside me, Isabelle’s lips press into a tight line.

“Hi, Hilary,” I say.

She turns to Isabelle. “Is this your girlfriend?”

I don’t think I told Hilary I had a girlfriend when we spoke at The Daily Brew—only that there was someone I was seeing.

Nonetheless, a, “Yes,” tumbles out of my mouth.