Liv and I used to be kind of close a couple of years ago, but she and Marley were after the same guy for a while and it got tense. Since I ended up on Team Marley, obviously, Liv sort of keeps me at arm’s length. She’s friendly, but I’m not exactly holding out hope for making a cameo on her show.

“No cameras,” Marley says, craning her neck to get a better look.

Just as I’m about to turn and check out the situation for myself, the hostess finds us to tell us our table’s ready.

“Perfect,” Marley says, dropping a few bills for the bartender. “I asked for a seat by the window, so we’ll walk right by Liv’s table and can say hi. Got to bury the hatchet sometime, right?”

Marley and I follow the hostess, and I’m still scanning for Liv’s red hair, trying to spot her for myself.

“Oh. My. Gawd,” Marley hisses, grabbing my arm with her free hand. “You’ll never guess who she’s having dinner with!”

“I take it by the scandalized tone that it’s not her husband,” I say, still scanning the crowd while also trying not to look too celebrity-stalkerish.

“Um, try the most famous divorce attorney in the city,” Marley says.

My mouth drops open. “No. They can’t be getting divorced. They’re so happy!”

“Obviously not,” Marley murmurs.

I’m still hoping Marley’s wrong when another thought hits.

“Wait. Wait,” I whisper urgently. “How do you know who the most famous divorce lawyer in New York is? Who is it?” I start scrutinizing the tables more closely.

“Um, because I read TMZ like a proper citizen of this city. And because he’s practically as famous as the celebrities themselves.”

No. No. I know the name before Marley has a chance to respond.

Sitting across from the gorgeous Liv Dotson is one Andrew Mulroney, Esquire.

Georgie

TUESDAY EVENING

Now, it’s not the first time I’ve seen Andrew outside of our early morning meet-ups.

In addition to that first disastrous move-in day, our paths have crossed a handful of times coming and going in the evenings, him getting home after a long day, me just heading for a night out.

You know, me blowing him a kiss, him pretending I don’t exist. That sort of thing.

But it is the first time I’ve seen him outside of our apartment building, and seeing him out in the wild like this is . . . strange.

Gone are this morning’s workout clothes; in their place is a dark blue suit and striped tie.

Marley doesn’t seem to notice that I’m a lot more interested in the divorce lawyer than I am in the maybe-divorcée herself.

Probably because . . . well, I kind of sort of haven’t told my best friend about the thing Andrew and I have. I’ve been telling myself it’s because it’s not a big enough deal to warrant mentioning, but the truth is, I don’t know how to explain it.

I don’t know how to say out loud that there’s this guy who doesn’t like me and that it bothers me. A lot.

And now a blissfully unaware Marley is shifting her megawatt smile toward Liv, obviously hoping the other woman will forget they were both once engaged in a semi-epic game of the boy is mine and spill some gossip.

“Liv. Darling! How are you?” Marley gushes.

Liv looks up, her dark blue eyes widening slightly in surprise, and maybe panic, but she recovers and stands to greet us.

The three of us girls do that air-kissing thing we learned to do about the same time we learned to walk, and I purposely don’t look at Andrew, savoring the anticipation of the moment our eyes meet.

Marley is laying it on thick, gushing over Liv’s outfit, and my bestie has a point, because Liv looks stunning in cream suede pants and a chocolate-colored sweater that hugs her impressive curves.

There’s an awkward moment of silence where Liv should make introductions but instead stays silent. I’m about to take pity on her and throw myself under the proverbial bus that is Andrew Mulroney’s glare, but he’s a step ahead of me.

He’s already standing, having gotten to his feet when we approached the table, and smooths his tie with his left hand as he extends his right toward Marley. “Good evening. I’m Mr. Mulroney.”

For a split second his gaze flicks sideways and collides with mine. I feel my stomach do an annoying little flutter of awareness that it hasn’t done since, like . . . the eighth grade.

The moment’s broken when Marley steps forward, holding out a hand in greeting as she introduces herself.

“Marley Hamlen,” she says with a wide grin. “And this is my friend Georgie Watkins.”

This time when he turns his attention toward me, I’m prepared for it, and I hold my breath for a brief second in anticipation of the second our eyes meet.

I’m . . . let down.

Whatever was there a moment ago, he’s shut it down, and now there’s nothing in his gaze as his palm meets mine. Not annoyance, not surprise, not even recognition.

“Ms. Watkins,” he says in a bland tone. “Nice to meet you. How do you ladies know Ms. Dotson?”

My teeth click shut sharply.

Is it just me, or does he seem to linger when he looks at Liv?

Meanwhile, he’s acting like he doesn’t even know me.

Liv has recovered from her social faux pas and is explaining to Andrew about how she, Marley, and I have mutual friends. Marley and I wait a little expectantly for her to explain how she knows Andrew, but she skips that part.

Two minutes ago I was devastated to think that Liv was hiring a divorce attorney, but now I’m distracted by an even worse suspicion—that she might be dating a divorce attorney.

My best-friend radar is telling me that Marley is practically bursting at the silent confirmation that Liv is very likely hiring a high-powered divorce attorney.

In any other situation, I’d be right there with her, deliciously scandalized by the scoop unfolding in front of our eyes.

Instead, the fact that I’m getting the inside track on breaking-news gossip (I have a firm policy against spreading gossip, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it) barely registers.

I’m too busy fuming that my early morning nemesis won’t even acknowledge that we’ve met.

As though he’s embarrassed.

Of what, knowing me? Ha. I’m Georgie Watkins of the cinnamon-sugar hair, and he’s . . . well, okay, fine.