Chapter 1

         Sydney Ann Blake felt the strength draining from her body.  It seemed that the soft click of the door closing had been a signal.  The tension that had kept her shoulders straight enough to pass muster with a five-star general skipped like a shiver down her spine.  With a sigh and a half-hearted but fully self-deprecating snort, she simply let her head drop forward onto the highly polished surface of her desk.  The muffled thump of forehead meeting oak was followed by a quiet curse of pain as Syd tried to turn her head to the side, only to find her untamable brown hair had tangled itself determinedly around the cord of the phone.  Unable to summon the will to care overmuch, she simply wriggled about until she had managed to lay her cheek upon the cool wood without having her hair torn out by the roots.
         How could this happen?  Variations of this phrase, each as impossible to answer as the next, circled endlessly in Sydney’s mind.  She briefly considered banging her head on the desk, bucking for a little oblivion, but had to admit that it probably wouldn’t solve much of anything.  Even if she managed to knock herself out, she’s still be exactly what she was now when she came to.  A 28-year-old real estate agent with more business savvy than relationship acumen, who was in the awkward position of canceling a wedding four days—she shifted her eyes to the delicate gold clock a few inches from her face—three hours, and twelve minutes before it was to take place.  Better to laugh than to cry, Sydney thought, trying to work up a tiny shred of humor but instead she watched as a single tear splashed onto the glossy desktop. 
         Her phone rang, her computer shrilled out its default warning, letting her know that she had received inter-office email.  Sporadic sounds from outside her office filtered through the door, subdued by the plush gray carpet lining the hallway.  To Sydney, it was all meaningless noise, static and unimportant.  The world outside her door might be going on, business as usual, but here inside her carefully decorated sanctum, the world was coming apart at the white tulle seams.  Several more tears dripped from her blue eyes, puddling into tiny reflecting pools.
         However, Sydney was not one to dwell on the negative, especially if the negative was making her uncomfortable.  She realized suddenly that her nose was becoming irritatingly stuffy on one side, her face was sticking to the desk, and her hair was starting to pull again.  She found all of this annoying enough to make her draw in a deep breath and prepare to sit up.  But, before she could lever herself up, the door to her office swung open, making her cringe and wish heartily that she had taken time to lock the door before falling apart.  Horrified at the idea of being caught with mascara running in diagonal drips down her face, Syd did what she imagined anyone would do in her place.  She ducked her head under her desk, feeling several hairs part company with her scalp, and tried to brazen it out.
         “I seem to have lost—my contact.  Here in the floor somewhere. I’m just trying to find it.”  As she spoke, words tumbling one on top of the next in her haste to explain why she appeared to be staring at her own crotch, she tried to sneak a peek through the three inch gap between her desk and the navy carpet she’d chosen to compliment her preference for dark wood.  She absolutely adored shoes, and spent so much time admiring other people’s footwear, she figured she’d be able to peg the person at the door without having to look any higher.  Unfortunately, no matter how miserable she was, gravity still worked, and she fell right out of her chair—but not before she glimpsed a highly-glossed pair of Berluti loafers.  The male answer to Minolo Blahnik.  Only one man in the office was so unapologetically chic that he would spend the equivalent of four months rent on shoes.  George Hastings.  Her best friend, bitching partner, and permanent island of sanity.  The only person on earth that she was prepared to see at the moment.  As she crawled out from under the desk, preparing to launch herself into his arms, the first strains of the wedding march filled her office, a backdrop to George’s excited voice.
         “Listen, Syd!  I made this your ringtone this morning.  How fabulous am I?” 
         “Make it stop.  Please, George, make it stop.”  Sydney nearly moaned the request and dropped her head into her desk chair, butt ingloriously thrust into the air.
         “What?  Syd?” She heard his steps drawing closer.  “Sydney Ann…why are you on the floor with your ass pointing due North?  Wait—did you say you’re looking for your contact?  You don’t wear contacts, honey.”  As he squatted down beside her, the divine fabric of his tailored trousers making a soft whisper of sound, Sydney looked up at him.
         George studied her face for a moment, and with a long sigh said, “Well, you don’t look good, Syd.”
         “So, you’re saying that being left an inch and a half from the altar is not my best look?”
         “You—wait—what do you mean ‘left an inch and a half from the altar?’”
         “I would have thought that was pretty damn self-explanatory.”  With a grunt, Sydney climbed to her feet, only to flump back down in her chair.  “For clarification purposes, I’ll elaborate.  Hank decided that getting married this weekend wasn’t really going to fit in with his plans.  So, he determined that the best way to remedy the situation was just to call the whole thing off.”  George was fairly sure that he heard a whispered “bastard.”
         “Called it off?  Did he not think that this was something that should have been done sometime in the last eight months when you were planning the thing?  Or that perhaps this would put a bit of a strain on the relationship?”  George stepped in front of Sydney, bracing a slim hip against her desk.
         “Well, I don’t think he’s all that concerned with how it will affect the relationship, actually.  And to be fair, canceling the wedding was really the next natural step after he started bouncing on his new secretary.”  Just repeating Hank’s confession, though with a bit more flair, left a foul taste in Sydney’s mouth.  Apparently, abject betrayal tasted a lot like bile.
         “He’s sleeping with Jane?  Little mousy Jane?  The one with the addiction to simpering and being agreeable to the point of a recent head trauma that has destroyed the ability to form one’s own opinion?”  George’s expression was caught somewhere between shock and pure confusion.  “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand him?”
         “How could I misunderstand that?”  Sydney demanded.
         “Okay, okay.  But, Jane?”
         “George, are you sure that this is the part of my crisis that a good best friend would be focusing on right now?”  As she spoke, Sydney leaned forward, nudging George’s leg out of her way.  She opened a side drawer in her desk and pulled out a small mirror, facial wipes, and the ornately enameled compact of powder she always kept there. 
         “Right.  Sorry.  But, I still don’t understand this.  How could any man go from someone like you to someone like her?”  This wasn’t merely best friend platitude.  George really couldn’t comprehend how one individual could harbor such opposite tastes. 
         “Apparently—and I’m quoting here—she understands him.”  Sydney saw her own pale eyes rolling in the mirror.
         “My ass.  He’s confusing understanding for complete lack of backbone and personality.  I. Could. Vomit!”  And in his perfectly endearing theatrical way, George actually mimed a pretty realistic gag.
         All vestiges of the self-pity that she would deny until the day she died had been removed, but inside Sydney was a mass of throbbing nerves.  “Maybe—maybe it’s partly my fault.  Maybe I am just too independent, too opinionated.  I—“
         “I’m sorry” George interrupted, “Apparently I’ve wandered into the wrong reality…I was actually trying to locate the Sydney who would not blame herself for the failings of some pitiful, I-drive-a-ridiculously-powerful-sports-car-you-do-the-math, pseudo-man.  Could you point me in her direction?  ‘Cause you…you I’m not so crazy about.”  He actually turned around as though expecting to see the tear in the time-space continuum that had landed him in this alternate universe.
         “Ha.  Ha.  Point taken.  Still, I must have done something wrong or you and I wouldn’t be spending the next four days running around town trying to undo and un-order everything we’ve spent the last eight months doing and…well…ordering.”  Even the thought of doing this made Sydney rue her decision to climb out from under her desk.
         “Or—just hear me out—maybe we don’t cancel anything.”  Sydney immediately recognized the glint in his eyes.
         “George, no!  I can’t pretend that everything is fine.  Hank and I agreed that since time is so short, we would meet at the church on Saturday so we could explain the situation to any guests that can’t be reached beforehand. That is the mature and responsible thing to do, and—“
         “Okay, so what I heard was blah, blah, blah, something about being responsible.  Was Hank being responsible when he started having an affair with the most boring creature on the entire planet?  Was he being responsible when he hurt one of the most amazing women in the world?  Was he being responsible when he insisted on pre-paying for everything related to this wedding with his corporate card so as to avoid any financing fees?  No.  No.  Yes.  Now let’s watch as the one responsible thing he did comes back to bite him on his cheating ass, shall we?”  With supreme nonchalance George picked up a single sheet of paper from Sydney’s desk.  “Now what, my dear, are we going to do about this?”
         Sydney’s entire body flushed and then just as quickly seemed to freeze from the inside out.  “Oh no, George.  I didn’t even think about that!”
         “Well, you’re going to have to think about it.  And soon.”
         “I never dreamed when I asked you to represent us as buyers on the Lancaster estate that this could happen.  The sellers can ruin your career if we pull out now.  But how can I possibly afford that place by myself?”  Sydney realized that she was feeling worse at this moment than when Hank had casually discarded the three years they’d spent together, but didn’t take time to examine the thought.  “I could probably swing the mortgage payments, but only because we were intending to make such a huge down payment.  Now…” She trailed off miserably.
         “Well, darling, I might have a few ideas on that matter, but first—“ he stopped quickly, hearing a soft knock on the door behind him, and moved away from the desk to stand beside Sydney’s chair.
         “Come in,” Syd called out pleasantly.  George, even after years of close friendship, was still enthralled watching the complete change come over Sydney.  Her face, open and vulnerable only a moment before, was now composed and polite.
         “Good afternoon, Mr. Hastings.  Miss Blake?  There is a package downstairs that was just delivered for you.  It was signed for at the front desk.  Would you like for me to have it sent up, or will you be picking it up on your way out this evening?”  Sydney’s faithful assistant, Mary, stood just inside the door, her hand resting lightly on the knob, a sweet smile on her pixie face. 
         A vague feeling of unease washed over Sydney, but having had her fill of emotional reactions for one day, she shook it off.  “I’m leaving in just a few moments, so I’ll just grab it myself.  Thanks so much.” 
         “You’re welcome.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”  At twenty-two, Mary was fresh and eager to please.  She was so competent that Sydney had often wondered why she had settled for being an assistant when she seemed completely capable of doing anything she wanted.  However, Sydney didn’t tend to meddle in her associates’ lives; live and let live, she believed.
         “No, thanks.  In fact, why don’t you go ahead and leave a bit early today.” 
         “Thank you, Miss Blake.  Have a wonderful evening.  Oh!  I suppose I won’t be seeing you until Monday.  I hope you have a beautiful wedding.  I’m so sorry I won’t be able to attend because of the prior commitment I mentioned, but I really appreciate the invitation.”
         Sydney opened her mouth to speak, prepared to issue the first of several humiliating explanations, but before she had uttered a sound George lightly pinched her arm.  With an instinct born of their long friendship, Sydney opted to simply answer, “Thank you, Mary.  I’ll see you soon.”
         With a nod Mary turned to leave the office, puzzled by the odd expression that had crossed Sydney’s face for a moment.  However, Mary was certainly not one to pry into the life of a woman she considered a role model; a role model who was friendly but always slightly untouchable.  She gathered her things and started toward the elevator, dismissing her curiosity as something that would never be satisfied.
         In the office Mary had recently left, Sydney was turning to George with an impatient huff.  “What was that?”
         “I just don’t think you should tell anyone, yet.  It would greatly detract from my master plan.”  He started toward the door.
         “What master plan, George?  And where are you going!?”
         “More to the point, Sydney, are you coming?” 
         Sydney was tempted to say no.  She was struggling with twin feelings of annoyance and curiosity.  It was the arrogant and challenging way that George cocked a single dark eyebrow that decided the matter for her.  She jerked her jade green pea coat off the back of her chair, pulled her matching purse from a bottom drawer and stomped over to stand beside George.  “Well?”  she demanded.
         “Now, darling Syd, we begin to begin, as they say.” 
         “Who the hell says that, George, and what exactly is it supposed to mean?”  She nearly stomped her foot in irritation at his purposeful evasions of simple, concrete detail. 
         “We shall see what we shall see.”
         “Do you have an irritating quote of the day desk calendar?  And, may I incinerate it?” 
         “How about, ‘shut up and come along like a good girl’?”  Planting a loud, smacking kiss on the lips that were currently snarling at him, George grabbed Sydney’s hand and pulled her from the room.  Laughing a little at her sputtered threats, which encompassed everything from severe bodily damage to cutting up his treasured collection of Italian silk ties, he led the way to the elevator.  He jammed the down button and waited while the car, which had just taken Mary downstairs, zoomed back to the fourth floor.  Purposely looking out the bank of wide windows that overlooked a beautifully manicured lawn, thickly carpeted with rich Kentucky bluegrass, George adopted a look of supreme nonchalance and wondered aloud, “The grass really does look blue in the twilight, doesn’t it?”
         “Have you recently started some sort of drug therapy that has rendered you completely annoying?  Or am I just having a bad day?”  Tapping her carefully manicured nails against the large gold buckle on her purse, Sydney glared at George’s handsomely sculpted profile, surprised and a little hurt by his apparent disinterest in her feelings.
         “Hey Syd?”  George said softly, still looking out the widow so that the late afternoon sun reflected in his heather gray eyes.
         “What George,” Sydney snapped peevishly.
         “I love you.”  He finally turned to her, his eyes revealing the depth of his emotions; Syd suddenly realized that he wasn’t being flippant about what was going on in her life; he was simply being George—her best friend—and he had something in his head that he was sure would make her feel better.  And damned if it probably wouldn’t.
         Seeing that she wasn’t angry anymore, and sensing that she was going to trust him on this as she had on everything else, he winked at her.
         “Just tell me what we’re going to do.”  Syd wasn’t quite ready to let go of her inherent need to know exactly what was going on.  “Are we going to get drunk?  Curse men?  Something that will make me feel better?”
         “Just stick with me, kid.”
         Abandoning herself to George’s enthusiasm, Sydney stepped into the elevator as the polished silver doors whispered open.  As the doors slid together, Sydney checked her hair in the small elevator mirror and her reservations at the door.  Come what would, it had to be better than letting the bastard win.
         “At least let me stop by the receptionist’s desk.  Though I still don’t know what could have been delivered for me.”
         “I do.”  This enigmatic remark seemed timed to perfection as the doors opened onto the red and gold opulence of the lobby of Howard Real Estate, and George moved forward with purposeful strides, leaving Sydney little choice but to follow him.