“You sure you’ll be okay?” she quizzed Owen while he was eating breakfast before she left Friday morning.

“Geez, Rachel. I’m fifteen, not five. I’m going to the football game, just like always. I won’t miss you not being here.”

She held her little black dress in a garment bag. A small makeup kit was shoved in her purse. “I won’t be too late.”

“Take your time. It isn’t like you ever do this kind of thing.”

“Okay.” She picked up the boots she would wear out, and filled the back seat of her car with everything she needed.

It was a typical Friday at work, with people peeling away early to get a jump on the weekend.

Gerald told Rachel and Julie to leave early once he got wind of their evening plans. By five fifteen Rachel was standing in Julie’s apartment down in the Meatpacking District, pulling her little black dress over her head.

“I heard the apartments in New York were small, but holy cow,” Rachel told her friend.

“If I went bigger, I’d need a roommate. Been there, done that, lost my computer and my stash of cash when she moved out.”

“Really?”

“Before Tricia, there were four of us in a two-bedroom flat, a big loft that we partitioned off to give us our private space. Damon kept bringing his boyfriend over, and listening to the two of them go at it every night killed it for me. So I live in a glorified closet with a kitchen I never really cook in.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.”

Rachel adjusted her dress, glanced at her profile in the mirror mounted to the back of the bathroom door. “I honestly don’t remember the last time I dressed to go out.”

Julie tucked her head around the corner and looked at her. “If I had your boobs, I’d rock that dress every day.”

She looked down, wasn’t unhappy with her cleavage. “They’re not that big.”

Julie moved to stand beside her, stuck out her chest. “This is what it’s like to be hit with the Korean gene.”

“Maybe a push-up bra?” Rachel suggested.

“This is a push-up bra.”

Oops . . . “How about a boyfriend that will buy you a pair?”

They both laughed. “Someday.”

Rachel tucked beside her in the bathroom to fix her hair. She’d given it little thought after winter set in. Wearing a beanie or muffs over her ears had become the norm, which meant teasing her hair to some kind of perfection never happened.

Julie groaned and took the pale pink lipstick out of Rachel’s hand. “Tonight is a red night.”

“It is?”

“Yep, here.” From a never-ending drawer of makeup, Julie unearthed a shade of red Rachel wouldn’t have thought to buy. She had to admit, once it was on, it worked.

By six they were headed out the door. “It’s early for the nightclubs, but we can hit happy hour, grab some food, and then find some live music.”

“All within walking distance?”

“We have dozens of options in a few blocks.” Julie tucked her arm around Rachel’s. “You’re gonna love this city.”

The first bar they walked into was just outside Julie’s building and across the street. Happy hour was in full Friday night swing, and everyone in the place knew Julie by name. Rachel wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Julie introduced her to half a dozen people before they ordered.

Like many places in Manhattan, the bar was a tight spot with a dozen tables lining the walls around the space. Finding a place to sit wasn’t an option, even at their early hour.

“How come we haven’t seen you here before?” The bartender had dyed Christmas red hair and a tank top that exposed more flesh than a bikini on the beach in California.

“I live outside the city,” Rachel said.

“She’s been here four months, and this is her first night out.”

The bartender offered wide-eyed disbelief. “Welcome to the crazy.”

Rachel sipped her vodka soda. “Thanks, I think.” She scanned the bar, not sure what she was searching for.

“See anything you like?” Julie asked her.

Rachel looked again, decided there wasn’t anyone of the male variety that tickled an itch. “Everyone looks perfect.”

“Everyone in this town is a wannabe actor or model. You have the whole musician crowd, and they all look perfect, too.”

It was one of the things Rachel had noticed before the weather went bad. The women had amazing legs, probably because of the amount of walking everyone did in the city. And the men were beautiful. They dressed as if they were one chance meeting away from finding the perfect agent or gig. While she didn’t consider herself unworthy, Rachel didn’t believe she measured up to a New Yorker her same age.

“I’m not worthy,” Rachel teased.

“See why I said ‘little black dress’?”

“Jules!”

Julie turned around and beamed. “Mimi.”

Mimi had to be six feet tall, but maybe that was the four-inch heels she balanced herself on. Bone thin, with high cheekbones and perfectly black hair. She was stunning.

“Mimi, this is my friend Rachel. Rachel, this is Mimi.”

Rachel stuck her hand out, felt a little awkward when Mimi’s handshake resembled that of a child. “I’m guessing you’re a model.”

That had the woman beaming. “Why, thank you.”

“Sit.” Julie patted the barstool next to them.

“I can’t for long, I’m meeting Monique.”

Julie’s smile dropped. “I thought you two broke it off.”

“She’s an addiction, what can I say?”

Julie nudged Rachel. “I could never hang with Mimi if she wasn’t into girls. I’d never get laid.”

The three of them laughed.

For the duration of one drink, the three of them chatted about the men and women walking into the bar. Monique showed up, and the men who were eyeing Mimi abruptly stopped when the bombshell slid her arm around her girlfriend’s waist before welcoming her with a kiss.

Rachel and Julie waved them off, settled their bill, and worked their way to a cozy and very filled restaurant a block away.

Once they ordered, Julie brought up work. “You know they are grooming you for management.”

“I hope so.”

“Which means you’ll be my boss. I have to admit, that is gonna suck a little.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been here for three years.”

Rachel opted for water since she would be driving later that night. Julie was on her third drink since they’d left her apartment.

“So why not apply for management?”

“I need to finish my degree first.”

“Are you taking classes?” Rachel didn’t think so, they’d never spoken of it.

“I’ve thought about it. I don’t know. Not sure I want the pressure. It will give me wrinkles.”

It wasn’t a secret that part of the reason Rachel took the job with Fairchild Charters was because they were looking for leadership in marketing. So far everything was pointing that way.

“So what’s happening between you and Jason?”

The question came from nowhere.

Rachel hesitated. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh . . . you do remember the part where you told me the guy you helped that was stranded on the side of the road was killer good-looking.”