To See You Read Online Free PDF Page A

Larissa. There was a staff meeting later this week, and I was expected to have a full report.
    I clicked into my spam folder; I checked it once a day. I’d learned my lesson the hard way when Brooke Burke was trying to get a hold of me and her message went to spam. For some unknown reason, I decided to check the folder and there it was, luckily only a day after she sent it. That feature went wild; every woman over thirty who wanted to look like Burke clicked on it.
    Of course, there wasn’t much tonight. I tossed a bunch of sale e-mails from J. Crew, Athleta, and Amazon into the trash folder until only one was left.
     
    FROM: [email protected]
    TO: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: Apology
     
    Dear Charleston –
    Before you wonder, yes, I stalked you and found you, but only to say I’m sorry. I swear! Although there aren’t too many fitness editors named Charleston around, so you’re a pretty easy target.
    Peggy over at BubblePOP was kind enough to give me your e-mail (I sort of lied and said I had a big Hollywood pitch and then offered movie passes to Katie’s film).
    Well, I’m rambling like I did on the plane, and I by no means meant to offend you when I said “Merry Mary” or admitted to being lucky. I also would have much rather spent the flight chatting with you than looking at Katie.
    I guess it was for the best because you had a lot to catch up on. Again, I’m sorry about your grandma. And my actions.
    I had a good time in New York, but I kept thinking it would have been better if you were able to connect for a drink. I held back in writing until I left.
    Look me up if you ever get to LA.
    Good luck in all you do—
    Wow, an editor. You should be proud, but don’t sacrifice what you really want.
     
    —Lay(ton) Griffin
     
    Holy shit! What the heck is this?
    I slapped Lucy closed and turned out my light, curled under my down comforter (perfectly purple, more lavender actually), and closed my eyes.
    “Lay” had written to me after I’d been such a bitch, and I’d slammed my laptop closed without so much as a reply. What was with him? We sat next to each other on a plane, his forehead shiny and his thigh touching mine, and not in a sexual way.
    Fuckity-fuck. Why did I have to go and give him my name? Now he’s freaking finding me and acting all nice when I don’t deserve it.
    I sat up, clicked the light back on, and grabbed my remote. No way was I going to sleep now. I turned on my TV that sits on top of my antique white chiffonier and scrolled through the movies. How to Win a Guy in a Month came on the screen.
    Double what the fuck? Katie was everywhere I turned.
    Of course, I fluffed my lilac pillows and settled in to watch. After all, this was my specialty . . . losing a guy. If I could even get a guy, other than Layton, clearly a big Star Wars fan . . .
    Dark Side Music? Ha. Please.
    I’m a twenty-eight-year-old editor in the Big Apple with everything going for me. I’m a catch, right?
    Then why did this stranger make my spine tingle and my heart warm?
    I didn’t know him from the next guy, and he wasn’t close to my type. Yet his eyes made me want to ditch my stilettos and jump in, feet first.

 
    W hen my alarm went off, I rolled out of bed and checked my phone for the temperature outside. After pulling on my favorite burgundy lululemon leggings and a Nike fleece jersey, I quickly put on socks and shoes, grabbed my headphones, and ran out the door. On the elevator to the lobby, I hit the button for my grunge playlist and secured my phone in my armband. As soon as the doors opened, I jogged to the front door and out into the chilly early spring weather.
    I lived in an old warehouse in the Meatpacking District that had been converted into condos, and I’d been there since the revitalization started. It wasn’t the Village but it was loud and vibrant, the place to live if you were young and on the up-and-up. I loved it. My condo was close to the High Line, and