Chapter 1 - The Car Everyone Laughed At
The first thing people noticed about Hannah Reed every morning wasn't her work.
It wasn't the fact that she could walk into a failing client meeting and somehow leave with everyone smiling.
It wasn't that managers trusted her with projects worth millions.
It wasn't even that, after nearly four years at Brightwell Systems, she had become the person half the office quietly called whenever something went wrong.
They noticed her car.
And they laughed.
The silver sedan rolled into the employee parking lot a few minutes before eight on Thursday morning, making the same faint mechanical rattle it had been making for the last two winters.
Hannah parked in her usual spot.
She switched off the engine.
Silence.
“Still alive,” she whispered.
She smiled and patted the steering wheel.
The car was fifteen years old.
There was a long scratch across the passenger door, the radio knob worked only when turned at exactly the right angle, and the engine sounded particularly unhappy whenever Philadelphia got cold.
Hannah loved it anyway.
She had barely opened the door when she heard heels clicking against the pavement.
“Look who survived another commute.”
Hannah didn't need to turn around.
Sloane Mercer.
Hannah climbed out and found Sloane standing beside a glossy black SUV with Tiffany Brooks and Kara Bishop.
All three women looked as though they had stepped out of an advertisement.
Perfect hair.
Expensive handbags.
Shoes Hannah suspected cost more than her monthly grocery budget.
Sloane tapped a manicured finger against Hannah's faded roof.
“Seriously, Hannah. At this point, I think the humane thing would be to put it down.”
Tiffany laughed.
Kara tried hiding her smile behind her hand.
Hannah locked the door.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I'm serious,” Sloane said. “You're a senior analyst. People see you arrive in this thing.”
“People?”
“Clients.”
“Our clients park underground.”
“That isn't the point.”
Hannah stopped.
“What is the point?”
Sloane gave her the patient smile of someone explaining something obvious to a child.
“Presentation.”
Hannah looked toward Sloane's immaculate SUV.
“Does yours make spreadsheets faster?”
Tiffany burst out laughing before realizing she wasn't supposed to.
Sloane's smile tightened.
Hannah walked toward the building.
She could have explained.
She could have told them that the old sedan wasn't a sign that she couldn't afford anything better.
She could have explained why she had ignored the dealership advertisements that arrived in her mailbox.
She could have told them that someone had offered to buy her practically any vehicle she wanted.
But then she would have needed to explain who that someone was.
And Hannah had spent nearly two years making sure Brightwell knew her as Hannah Reed.
Not as somebody's girlfriend.
Not as somebody's future wife.
Just Hannah.
She had bought the sedan three months after graduating from college.
Nobody had handed her the keys.
She had worked evenings in a bookstore while completing an internship and saved almost every spare dollar.
The afternoon she finally signed the paperwork, she sat behind the wheel and cried.
The car hadn't been impressive even then.
But it had been hers.
That mattered.
Especially to a woman who had grown up watching her mother calculate grocery bills at the kitchen table.
Especially to someone who understood the difference between having something and earning it.
The elevator doors opened.
Hannah stepped inside.
Sloane followed.
“So,” Sloane said casually, “are you coming tonight?”
“To what?”
“Drinks.”
“I can't.”
“Of course.”
Hannah glanced over.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Sloane smiled at her reflection.
“I'm meeting someone.”
That part was true.
“Anyone interesting?”
Hannah smiled.
“Very.”
Sloane laughed softly.
“You've been saying that for months, but nobody has ever seen this mystery man.”
Hannah looked at the elevator numbers.
“That might be because my personal life is personal.”
“Or because he doesn't exist.”
The doors opened.
Hannah stepped out without answering.
Her phone vibrated.
EVAN: Dinner at seven?
Her irritation vanished immediately.
HANNAH: If this presentation doesn't kill me first.
Three dots appeared.
EVAN: Want me to rescue you?
Hannah smiled.
HANNAH: Absolutely not.
EVAN: Harsh.
HANNAH: I know what your version of “rescue” looks like.
There was a longer pause.
Then:
EVAN: You say that like it's a bad thing.
Hannah shook her head.
If only he knew.
Actually, Evan knew perfectly well.
That was the problem.
By noon, Hannah had forgotten about Sloane.
Brightwell was preparing a proposal for its largest potential contract of the year, and an error had appeared in the projections less than three hours before the executive review.
Hannah found it.
Then another.
Then a third.
At 5:42 p.m., she finally shut her laptop.
Her phone showed five missed calls from Evan.
She called immediately.
“You alive?” he answered.
“Barely.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Seven?”
“Give me twenty minutes to get home.”
A pause.
“Hannah.”
She knew that tone.
“What?”
“Didn't you say your car made that sound again this morning?”
“It always makes sounds.”
“That's not reassuring.”
“Evan.”
“Hannah.”
She smiled.
“I'll be fine.”
“Call me when you leave.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I heard that.”
She ended the call laughing.
Twenty minutes later, Hannah was standing in the parking lot staring under the open hood of her sedan.
“Come on.”
She tried the ignition.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
She rested her forehead against the steering wheel.
Of course.
A voice came from behind her.
“Please tell me this isn't happening.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
Sloane.
She stepped back out.
Sloane, Tiffany, and Kara were walking toward their vehicles.
Sloane stared at the open hood.
“You're actually stranded?”
“Looks that way.”
“You need roadside assistance?”
“I've got someone coming.”
Sloane exchanged a glance with Tiffany.
“The mystery boyfriend?”
“Fiancé.”
Silence.
Even Hannah realized too late what she'd said.
Sloane blinked.
“Fiancé?”
Hannah looked down at the delicate ring she usually wore on a chain beneath her blouse while working.
Too late now.
“Yes.”
“You're engaged?”
“Yes.”
“To the guy nobody has ever met?”
“Yes, Sloane.”
“What does he do?”
Hannah shut the hood.
“He works.”
Tiffany laughed.
Sloane didn't.
“What kind of work?”
“My ride is coming. Have a good evening.”
Hannah's phone rang.
Evan.
She answered.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“Still at Brightwell.”
“Car?”
“Dead.”
A pause.
“I told you.”
“Please don't enjoy this.”
“I'm trying very hard.”
“I can hear you smiling.”
“I'll come get you.”
“Just come yourself.”
Another pause.
That should have warned her.
“Evan?”
“Of course.”
“You promise?”
“I promise I'll come get you.”
The call ended.
Hannah looked suspiciously at the phone.
Twenty minutes later, she heard an engine.
Then another.
People began turning toward the entrance.
A sleek luxury car rolled through the security gate.
Then came another.
Then another exotic car.
Two enormous black SUVs followed.
Behind them came a low silver supercar.
Employees stopped walking.
Phones came out.
Sloane lowered hers.
Tiffany forgot what she had been saying.
Kara stared at the gate.
“What the hell is happening?”
Hannah knew.
She stood beside the faded sedan and closed her eyes.
“Oh, Evan.”
A final black SUV rolled into the parking lot.
It stopped.
The driver's door opened.
A tall man in a dark navy suit stepped onto the pavement.
He adjusted his jacket.
Removed his sunglasses.
And looked directly at Hannah.
Sloane turned toward her.
Then back toward him.
Then toward the ring Hannah had unconsciously pulled from beneath her blouse.
“Hannah...”
Hannah swallowed.
“Yes?”
Sloane's face had gone pale.
“Who exactly are you marrying?”
Hannah watched Evan begin walking toward her.
And suddenly she realized something.
May you like
Sloane recognized him.
But Hannah had no idea why.
