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“Meh,” Julia took a seat at our breakfast bar. “We’ve had worse.”
I snorted in suppressed laughter. Sometimes it blew my mind that two-day old coffee was something that I considered a luxury. Small things like that were a reminder of how much my life had changed. A year ago, I would have had a servant bring me out any type of coffee I wanted. I also would have been sitting ramrod straight in a chair trying my best to be seen and not heard.
“Annie?” Julia’s questioning tone cut through my thoughts. “You okay?”
I shook my head slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well.”
Julia’s eyes immediately turned, examining me. Sometimes I forgot how Julia and I had met.
“I’m fine,” I told her. I pulled my robe closer around me trying to shield myself from her questioning eyes. Julia and I had met when I stumbled into the doctor’s office where she worked part time as a receptionist, shot in the shoulder and nearly dying from hypothermia. I’d been bruised and beaten from months under my ex-boyfriend’s control, and Julia had saved my life.
She also hadn’t asked me any questions. We’d been best friends ever since.
“You don’t look fine,” she said. “You look like shit.”
I sighed and slid a cup of coffee over to her. I didn’t want to talk about my past with Julia. For the most part, I didn’t think about the person I once was—Anastasia Ivanov. That girl died in a ditch when the man she’d once loved shot her and didn’t even care enough to make sure that he’d finished her off.
Now, I was Annie Andrews. Just a normal twenty-five-year-old in the big city. “I’m just stressed,” I said. “This new job is pretty intense.”
Julia’s eyes lit up at the mention of my new job, and I released an internal sigh of relief. I knew that one day all my lies would come to a head, and Julia would find out the truth. But that day wasn’t going to be today.
Julia leaned across the bar. “Have you met Ezra Wright yet?” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, and I rolled mine.
“I’m a temp. I’m not really taking lunch with the young district attorney in the city.” Ezra Wright had been across every newspaper since he’d gone after Marco Blanchi for murder. Even thought he’d been unsuccessful in getting a conviction, his balls at going after one of Manhattan’s largest and richest crime families made him a household name. His all-American looks didn’t hurt.
“He’s hot as hell,” Julia said with a sigh. “I’d fuck him if given half a chance.”
I snorted so hard that coffee came through my nose. “Julia!” I berated her between breaths as I coughed. “What the hell.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You are such a prude sometimes.”
I threw a dish rag at her. She dodged it with a laugh. “And you have a boyfriend.” Julia was the antithesis of me. I was so blonde that my hair was nearly white. I’d cut it into a short bob a few months ago. A final middle finger to my father who’d never allowed me to cut my hair. I’d tried to dye it red, but the color wouldn’t take.
Julia was a brunette. Her hair was waist long and wavy.
She was also fiery and independent where I could be meek and mild mannered. It was a testament to the different ways we’d been raised. Julia was the product of a single mother who’d raised her alone in the Bronx. I had been a pampered princess raised to please a man, which meant never being too loud, too brash, or too opinionated.
I’d been taught to be sexy, but never talk about or enjoy the act. Julia loved talking about sex.
“I don’t think Mark would care,” Julia said. “He’s progressive.”
I snorted. Mark, Julia’s boyfriend, was a graduate student at NYU, and while he liked to espouse liberalism, I couldn’t imagine he’d be okay with Julia screwing Ezra Wright. “Besides,” she said. “Just because I can’t screw him doesn’t mean you can’t.”
This made me laugh. “Sure,” I shook my head slightly, as if I were agreeing with her. “I’m certain that Ezra Wright is just looking to shack up with city hall’s latest temp. Do you think my scuffed-up Payless pumps are going to make him hot?”
I was being sarcastic, but there was a note of irritation in my voice. I didn’t like talking about men. It had taken me six months to be around Mark without my skin crawling. I didn’t trust me. Not a single one of them.
Trusting a man had nearly ended my life.
Julia shook her head sardonically. “You are like, supermodel gorgeous,” she told me. “I’ve watched men walk into doors looking at you. I’m pretty sure that Ezra Wright would be more than happy to take you for a ride.”
I sighed. I knew that Julia meant well. Anyone else would just laugh at her teasing, but for me, talking about men and sex, made the bile rise in my throat and my skin itch in discomfort.
“You should get going.” I lifted my voice so that Julia could see the time. “You are going to be late.”
Her eyes widened almost comically as she downed her coffee in one gulp. “Shit,” she muttered, slamming her empty cup down on the counter. “I cannot be late. We are dancing for parts in the final performance.” Julia grabbed her ballet bag by the door and started slipping on her clogs.
I shook my head. “Aren’t your feet going to be cold?” I asked.
