In Her Shoes by Jennifer Weiner Read Free Book Online Page A

wishing desperately that she had coffee. "This is getting ridiculous," she murmured to herself, as Dommel once again dispensed with the afternoon's advertised topic ("Effective Depositions," Rose remembered) in favor of a video of Tony Hawk highlights. "Psst," said Simon, out of the corner of his mouth, as Dommel tore into a cringing first-year. ("YOU! DO YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN SOAR?") Rose glanced at him. "Psst? Did you actually just say 'psst'? Are we in a detective novel?" Simon raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated sneaky manner and opened a brown paper bag. Rose's nose twitched at the scent of coffee. Her mouth watered. "Want some?" lie whispered. She hesitated, looked around, considered the breaches of etiquette involved in sipping someone else's coffee, then decided that if she didn't get some caffeine, she'd be a jittery, worthless mess for the rest of the day. She ducked her head and gulped. "Thanks," she whispered. He nodded, just as Don Dommel's white-hot gaze fell upon him. "YOU!" roared Dommel. "WHAT'S YOUR DREAM?" "To be six foot ten," Simon answered without hesitation. A ripple of laughter started in the back of the room. "And to play for the
     
In Her Shoes 39
     
Sixers." The laughter swelled. Don Dommel stood on the stage looking bewildered, as if his audience of loyal associates had suddenly turned into donkeys. "Maybe not as a center. I'd be happy to play guard," Simon continued. "But if that's not going to happen ..." He paused, and looked up at Don Dommel. "I'd settle for being a good lawyer." Rose giggled. Don Dommel opened his mouth, then shut it, then lurched across the stage. "THAT!" he finally announced, "THAT is the SPIRIT I'm looking for. I want EACH and EVERY ONE OF YOU to go BACK and THINK about that kind of WINNING ATTITUDE!" Dommel concluded. Rose had pulled her jersey off over her suit jacket and wadded it into her purse before his mouth was shut. "Here," Simon said, offering her his cup of coffee. "I've got more in my office, if you want this one." "Oh, thanks," Rose said, taking the cup, still scanning the sea of departing bodies for Jim's. She caught up with him by the receptionist's desk. "What in God's name was that about?" she asked. "Why don't you come into my office, and we can discuss it," he said, for the benefit of anyone within earshot, smiling a wicked smile, for her benefit alone. He closed the door and whirled her into his arms. "Umm, do I detect dark roast?" he asked, kissing her. "Don't rat me out," said Rose, kissing him back. "Never," he growled, lifting her hips (Oh, God, thought Rose, don't let him hurt himself!) and settling her on his desk. "Your secrets," he said, kissing her neck, "are safe," and now his lips were sliding down her cleavage and his hands were busy with her buttons, "with me."
     
FOUR
     
At eleven o'clock the following Monday morning, Maggie Feller opened her eyes and stretched her arms over her head. Rose was gone. Maggie walked to the bathroom, where she drank thirty-two ounces of water and continued with her in-depth examination of her habitat, starting with the medicine cabinet, where the shelves were so well-stocked it seemed as if her sister expected a dire medical emergency to befall Philadelphia, and that she alone would be called upon to play Florence Nightingale to the city's entire population. There were bottles of painkillers, boxes of antacids, a jumbo-sized jug of Pepto-Bismol, a family-sized box of Band-Aid bandages, and a Red Cross—approved first-aid Sit. There was Midol and Advil and Nuprin, NyQuil and DayQuil, cough syrup and cold tablets and tampons. Here was a girl who made good use of the coupons at CVS, Maggie thought, as she sorted through Ace bandages and multivitamins, calcium tablets and dental floss, rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, prescription-strength benzoyl peroxide and four unopened toothbrushes. Where was the eyeliner? Where were the blush and the concealer that her sister so desperately needed? Maggie hadn't