Love and Miss Communication Read Online Free PDF Page A

toward the empty seat next to him.
    “Hi there,” he said. “I’m Luke Glasscock. Paul’s cousin. Second cousin, actually. And you are?”
    “Evie Rosen, Paul’s friend. And Marco’s too. I went to college with Paul and law school with Marco. I actually introduced them.”
    “Smart and pretty. I like that,” he said. “Well done on the setup.”
    “Well thank you. So is your whole family here?”
    “Just some cousins. My parents are in Cincinnati, but I moved to New York a few years ago for work.”
    “Oh yeah? What do you do?”
    “Investment banking. At Deutsche Bank. Don’t hold it against me.”
    “Cool. I’m a lawyer at Baker Smith. We represent DB actually.”
    “I know that. So can I get you a drink? I figure we better get shit-faced if we’re going to hit the dance floor later?”
    Shit-faced? What was this, a DKE formal? She thought again of Jack. He never would have used such a doltish frat-house phrase. He would say “Care to dance?” and lead her by the hand to the dance floor where he would put to use the ballroom dancing lessons from his London schoolboy days. But he was pompous and self-obsessed and didn’t believe in marriage, so it didn’t matter. She returned Jack to the sealed compartment of her brain, the lockbox that also held the painful memories of losing her father, and refocused her eyes on Luke. “Chin chin,” she responded, and they clinked glasses.
    “Sure. I’ll have what you’re having,” she said, gesturing toward his watered-down amber drink. Since when did she drink Scotch?
    “I noticed you when you came in—I was hoping we could get a chance to talk.”
    “Oh yeah? Well, here I am. Always happy to talk.”
    The piercing sound of a fork clinking on a glass signaled it was time for toasts. Evie watched Paul and Marco make their way to the platform where the DJ was set up.
    “Thank you all for coming,” Marco began. “As my six hundred and twelve Twitter followers already know, Paul and I exchanged our vows yesterday at City Hall in front of a mail-order bride and a pair of ex-cons.” The crowd emitted knowing chuckles.
    Marco launched into a cheesy but moving speech about the progress of their relationship, and Evie, already familiar with the details of their courtship, tuned him out while she studied Luke. It wasn’t until she heard her own name that she snapped back to the present.
    Paul had apparently grabbed the microphone away from Marco while she was daydreaming. Evie could tell Paul was tipsy from the way he was shuffling like a child on the verge of an accident.
    “—Evie Rosen for setting us up. We’re so glad she took time away from her BlackBerry to join us this evening. Evie, stand up and take a bow. She’s the foxy brunette in the corner over there.” From the DJ booth, a spotlight made its way over to her.
    “That’s you,” Luke whispered, touching her gently on the elbow.
    Evie smiled graciously and prayed for the moment to end. The harsh light stayed with her, and she squinted her eyes reflexively.
    “Stand up, Evie.”
    She panicked. Her phone had shifted to a precarious position in her underwear, and she feared it would drop out if she rose. Wouldn’t that make Paul’s BlackBerry dig poignant?
    She clenched her muscles as tightly as she could, attemptingwhat her former Pilates teacher called a “Kegel,” and stood up cautiously.
    “She’s single, by the way.” Paul winked at her from the stage. For some reason, the announcement that she was single elicited cheers from the crowd. Idiots, Evie thought. She didn’t dare look at Luke.
    “Come up here, Evie,” Marco said. “Let’s get a picture with our matchmaker.”
    Evie clutched her wineglass for dear life and awkwardly attempted to walk across the dance floor without separating her legs too much. The spotlight maintained its steadfast position on her. It was no use. She felt the BlackBerry slide down her leg and somehow heard the crash in her head before the phone hit