Like a Boss - Annabelle Costa Page 0,6

you know, a joke.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I see…”

The old Luke, for all his flaws, would have laughed. The new Luke doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor. But I guess I can’t blame him. Whatever happened to him must have been pretty bad. It’s turned him into an entirely different person. And not one that I think I like very much.

Chapter 4

At five o’clock, I give up on trying to get any work done and head home. Even though I work in the financial district of Boston, I rented an apartment outside of the city proper so I could have a little more space. I already work in an office the size of a closet, so I refuse to live in one as well. I picked a spacious one-bedroom apartment in Brookline, an urban suburb of Boston that’s just a twenty-five-minute Green Line trip away from work.

I own a car that I only use a few times a month, on the rare occasions I want to go somewhere outside the city. It’s nice not having to deal with traffic, but on days like today, in the dead of the summer, when the T is packed to the brim and I have to stand for the entire ride next to a perspiring overweight businessman who hasn’t heard of deodorant, I miss driving a car to work.

While I’m standing on the T, I look on my phone for more information about Luke Thayer. There’s plenty about him on the internet, but I can’t say any of it is nice. Well, most people admit he’s an incredible businessman and very smart, but heartless. That’s the word people keep using over and over again. Heartless.

It’s after six when I finally get home. I try to be extra quiet as I head down the hallway to get to my apartment. My eighty-something neighbor, Sadie Katz, has taken an extra-special interest in my social life since I moved here. No matter how quiet I am, even if I duck my head down as I walk past her peephole, she always notices when I come home. There must be an invisible tripwire near her door.

Sure enough, the second I pass Sadie’s door, I hear her three locks popping open. I consider making a break for it, but that would be rude. Besides, she’s sweet, if a little annoying.

“Ellie!” she cries out when she sees me, her tiny wrinkled face breaking out in a smile. Her hair is a big white puff surrounding her head, although it’s not as big as my hair used to be.

“Hi, Sadie,” I say, fumbling in my pocket for my keys.

“Any exciting plans for tonight?” Sadie asks.

I shrug, “Just dinner.”

“Dinner with a suitor?” she asks excitedly, clasping her hands together.

Sadie always calls men “suitors” and occasionally “beaus” even though I’m pretty sure nobody has referred to dates that way in the last fifty years. She thinks I should have a minimum of six suitors, so I could have a date every night of the week (and one night to wash my hair).

“No, just dinner by myself,” I tell Sadie.

Her face falls. While it’s sweet Sadie wants me to have a boyfriend (or suitor, whatever), it’s also irritating. I’m the youngest of three girls, and my parents already have seven grandchildren, so they are relatively unconcerned with my decision to remain single for the duration. It’s a great situation, which I blew by moving next door to Sadie.

“I just can’t understand it, Ellie,” Sadie says. “You have such a pretty face. The boys should be banging down your door!” She examines me critically. “It must be your hips.”

“My hips?”

Sadie nods. “They’re too skinny. You don’t have birthing hips. It makes men think you won’t be able to have many children.”

I am almost positive that is not the reason I don’t get many dates. But she’s right that I could afford to put on a few pounds—I always assumed when I hit thirty, I’d get a more curvaceous bod, but somehow I’m still all bony. I always wear belts because my butt and my hips aren’t substantial enough to hold up my pants.

“You need to eat more,” Sadie decides. She holds up a finger. “One minute!”

She dashes back into her apartment, and I’m sorely tempted to disappear inside mine, even though I realize that would be rude. When she returns a minute later, she’s holding a huge Tupperware bowl filled with…

“Pot roast!” Sadie declares, thrusting it into my arms.