Camille’s lips twitched. “Neither were they.”

Emma’s fingers found her temples. She knew there’d be no winning this argument. “Just tell me. Tell me what you want me to do so I can get it over with.”

“A blind date story. Julie told me you’ve never been on one—”

“Because they’re a terrible idea,” Emma muttered.

Camille continued as though Emma hadn’t spoken. “So spin it. Do whatever take on the story you want. ‘My First Blind Date.’ ‘Are Blind Dates a Thing of the Past?’ ‘The Horrors of a Blind Date.’ Do it however you feel moved….Just…give Benedict a chance. At least try, Emma.”

“It doesn’t feel fresh,” Emma said, as a last-ditch effort. “Surely Stiletto has done a million blind date stories over the years.”

“Oh, you know how that goes,” Camille said, standing up as though the conversation was over. “Everything old is new again, et cetera.”

“Camille—” Emma begged, standing so they were eye to eye.

“It’s one date, Emma.” Camille’s voice was impatient now. “A mere two hours out of your life.”

“So this is nonnegotiable?”

Camille nodded once.

Emma ran a tongue over the front of her teeth as she inhaled a long calming breath through her nose.

Fine.

Fine.

Camille was right. A date with a good-looking guy wouldn’t kill her. Worst case, it’d be a disaster and her story would all but write itself.

“All right. Set it up.”

“Already done,” Camille replied, her attention on her phone.

Emma rolled her eyes. “So this entire conversation was just a formality?”

Camille glanced up. “Next Friday at eight. Benedict will text you the location.”

“Can’t wait,” Emma muttered, heading toward the door.

“Oh, Emma,” Camille called, just as Emma had nearly made her escape.

“I’ve all but moved in with Kenny. To his place. And we leave next week for Australia.”

“Um, okay?”

Camille shrugged. “Stay at my place. Until yours is back to normal. If you want.”

Emma jolted a little in surprise. The offer was unexpected and generous. She’d been to Camille’s place once or twice for staff dinner parties, and the apartment was gorgeous. She’d be crazy to say no to a luxury high-rise on the Upper West Side with a view of the park, and just steps from the Stiletto office. Plus, she was guessing the repairs on her apartment would take weeks, if not longer.

And she had a blind date on her calendar. Camille owed her.

“Okay,” Emma said. “I accept. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Camille shrugged as though it was no big deal, but just as Emma turned to go back to her office, she could have sworn she caught a flash of triumph on her boss’s face.

And Emma had the unsettling feeling that she’d just walked into some devious master plan…that her staying in Camille’s apartment had been the endgame all along.

But why?

Chapter 4

“Okay, this definitely counts as an upgrade from your last place,” Grace said as she accepted the mimosa Emma handed her and took in the panoramic view of the city.

“You mean because you don’t need rain boots to be in there?” Emma asked.

“Emma, honey, even before the flood, your apartment was…um…” Julie broke off and looked at the other women for help.

“Smelly? Cold in the winter, hot in the summer? Noisy?” Riley suggested, throwing herself onto Camille’s white living room couch.

“The word you’re looking for is prewar,” Emma said, sitting across from Riley. “It’s romantic.”

“Renovated prewar is romantic,” Grace said. “Otherwise it’s just old—”

“And damp,” Julie chimed in. “And—”

“Okay! I get it!” Emma said, laughing. “My apartment sucked. But it was cheap, and it had a fireplace—”

“That you couldn’t use,” Grace muttered.

Emma glanced around at Camille’s luxurious apartment. She took in the granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, the corner windows with their abundance of natural light and stunning views….

“Yeah, okay,” Emma admitted. “This is better.”

“Excellent. We’re all in agreement then? We’ll hang out at Emma’s for the next three months,” Julie said, standing to fetch more champagne.

“Do you think Camille and Kenny did it on this couch?” Riley mused.

“Eew. Why are you so okay sitting there?” Grace asked.

Riley shrugged. “You guys have all sat on my couch, and Sam and I—”

Emma held up a hand. “No. Don’t finish that sentence. Let’s all live in an happy, ignorant world where nobody does it on couches where their friends sit.”

Julie returned with the champagne bottle and carafe of OJ and began topping everyone off. “So what’s on tap for the rest of the day?” Julie asked. “I thought helping Emma move was going to take longer.”

“I guess that’s one of the perks of all your stuff getting ruined,” Emma said, licking up a trail of champagne running down the outside of her glass. “Not much to move.”

“Do you have any idea when the insurance paperwork will get all worked out?”