Some Like It Hotter. Isabel Sharpe

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СКАЧАТЬ snorted. “Yeah, figure how much time you’ll need realistically, then add half an hour for delays and waiting and crowds and—”

      “At least I get to go somewhere.” At home her commute was down the hill and around a corner. Not a lot of sights to take in. “I want to meet your staff, make sure they’re ready to have me take over for a month.”

      “They’ll be thrilled. I’ve been such a bitch lately.”

      “You?” Eva scoffed. “Never!”

      “Uh-huh. You take care, twin.”

      “You, too.” Eva hung up the phone, bursting with excitement. Traffic and street noise reached her window. Civilization actually happened here—this was real life! She couldn’t wait to get started. But first, deep breaths, a little meditation to get the nerves under control, calm her down so she didn’t appear too frazzled when she met her crew at NYEspresso.

      She sat cross-legged on the scuffed hardwood floor and closed her eyes, loosened her consciousness from her surroundings, swaying slightly to keep herself off balance, clearing her mind, trying to connect to the wise voice deep inside her that never failed to—

      The apartment door burst open, making her jump. Must be Chris’s roommate, new since Eva had last visited. Natalie worked near NYEspresso and had mentioned to Chris one day that she needed a roommate. According to Chris, Natalie was either trying to get into bed with a guy or getting kicked out of bed by a guy in one of the most misguided searches for love Chris had ever seen, but she was good-hearted—once she got to know you.

      Eva was totally curious to meet her.

      “Yeah? Well, screw you, Edward.” Heels clunked furiously down the hallway. “Yeah? You really think that? Dream on, buddy, and guess what, you suck in bed.”

      Uh. That was not a person connected to her wise inner voice.

      “No, let me tell you, you son-of-a— Oh. Hi.” She stopped outside Eva’s doorway, nearly six feet of stunning brunette, who probably weighed less than Eva, all of five-four. “I’ll call you back, Edward. No? Well, fine. I won’t. Ever. Up yours.”

      “Hi.” Eva was having a hard time not giggling. Not that no one ever got pissed in Carmia, but that tirade seemed so New York to her.

      “You’re Chris’s sister.” Natalie looked Eva over curiously, taking in the turquoise ballet flats and tiered floral skirt, up to her colorful layers of loose-fitting tops, multiple ear piercings and assortment of butterfly clips in her hair. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re her total opposite.”

      “Close to it.” Eva sat as tall as possible, looking Natalie over right back, from her black ankle boots over crimson leggings and black microskirt under a stylish wrapped coat with big leather fastenings, then to top it off, a wide-brimmed black hat. The epitome of fashion chic. She and Chris must turn every head in New York when they went out together.

      “You meditating or something?”

      “Yes.” Eva smiled. “It keeps me centered and calm. You might want to—”

      “Uh-huh.” Natalie didn’t smile back. “My stuff in the refrigerator is marked, and I need the bathroom from five to six a.m. every morning.”

      “Not a problem.” Eva bunched her mouth to keep from smirking. Nice to meet you, too. “So you work for an interior design place?”

      “Oh. Yeah.” She said it as if it was the most boring job in the world. “I guess.”

      “How’s that?”

      “It’s okay.” She glanced at her watch, obviously anxious to move on.

      Perversely, this made Eva want to keep her talking. “How long have you lived in New York?”

      “Forever.”

      “Your parents, too? What did they do here?”

      Her demeanor thawed a tiny bit. “Mom was a Broadway chorister. Dad is a music professor at Juilliard.”

      “Wow! Cool family. Are you musical?”

      Natalie leaned against the doorjamb, though her body stayed stiff. “I played clarinet for a bunch of years and took dance lessons. Had a few parts in school plays and musicals, nothing big. I still love going to shows. I probably saw all of them growing up.”

      “That’s great.” Eva studied her new roommate, wondering how much further she could pry. “So I’m sorry about the awkward conversation with Edward.”

      “He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks.” Natalie shoved away from the door. “I gotta go get ready. I have a date.”

      “Oh.” Eva frowned in confusion. “Not with Edward...”

      Natalie gave her a withering stare. “As. If.”

      “Ah. Well, okay, then.” Eva waved cheerfully. “Have fun with whoever.”

      Natalie stalked off.

      Eva was pretty sure they’d never be best friends.

      And it was a little hard to continue her meditation with her new not-best-friend crashing and muttering around the apartment, but Eva did the best she could. At least when she stood again, she felt more centered, less scattered, though still eager to get to NYEspresso.

      Just under an hour later, Eva was standing outside her sister’s shop on Tenth Avenue and West Forty-Third Street in the up-and-coming neighborhood of Hudson Yards. Yes, she’d misjudged how long it took to get there, but the store didn’t close for an hour yet, and what a smorgasbord of faces and auras and interactions to keep her entertained during the walk and subway rides!

      Around her was a population in suits, jeans and office casual, mostly denim and black, practically everyone in dark shades, and her in her wild flowery skirt and magenta hoodie. Not that anyone gave her a second glance. You could get away with pretty much any look in this town.

      She pushed open the front door and was immediately hit by her favorite smell in the world—second only to the aroma of roasting beans—freshly brewed coffee.

      NYEspresso was different than she remembered, though it had been over a year since she’d visited. Chris had obviously put her own stamp on the place after buying it from the previous owners with the money she and Eva had come into at age twenty-five from wealthy grandparents on their mom’s side. The space was sparer than it had been, more efficiently organized, with snappy clear plastic seats and bright white oval tables with chrome supports. The counter was also bright white, a long, sharp rectangle with ordering and cashier service at the far end and pastry behind a glass case closer to the entrance. The walls had been painted deep red and left bare except for white glass sconces surrounded by black iron cages that looked like chain mail.

      Chic. Edgy. Not the most relaxing space. But this wasn’t Carmia, this was Manhattan.

      Eva approached the counter with a smile, held out her hand to the barista on duty, a handsome kid with three eyebrow rings and a necklace tattoo, whom she vaguely remembered had a weird nickname. “Hey, there. I’m Eva. Chris’s sister.”

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