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slowly, trying to dull the roar of blood in her ears. She cannot believe she was so busy getting over Brendan’s betrayal that she didn’t think of this smaller, yet equally significant act of disloyalty at the hand of her closest friend. “So, what? Do you all go out together?” She narrows her eyes. Michelle won’t be able to lie to her. She’s terrible at it.
    Michelle drops her hands to her lap. “Uh, well, we’ve been out to dinner a few times and to some parties, I guess.”
    “You guess?” Claire shoots back. “Exactly when did you meet her?” For a moment Claire’s mind flashes back to a day, years ago at her mother’s work, when her mother had placed ten-year-old Claire at the end of a large table as she interviewed one of her clients to prepare him for court. Claire watched, enthralled as her mother launched questions, one after the other, until the poor guy was dizzied and exhausted. Her mother had wanted the answers, though. Claire isn’t sure she does. But, driven by her hurt, she doesn’t know how not to ask them either.
    “I don’t know.” Michelle shrugs, helpless now. “A while back?”
    “So you are just, what, hanging out with her now?” Claire looks out the window as anger and embarrassment build a great red wall around her. Tears threaten, pricking the back of her eyes. She cannot look at Kerry or at Kate, who she knows are watching carefully, probably equally alarmed and excited by this hint of drama. “And you didn’t think you should tell me?”
    Michelle doesn’t respond straightaway. She looks terrified as if she might be about to cry too.
    “Hey, Claire, come on, quit making her feel bad.” Kate leans forward. “What is she supposed to do? She’s—”
    “Stay out of it.” Claire growls at her.
    Kate slides back in her seat as though she’s been stretched out on a sling and shot into the chair. She obediently shuts her mouth.
    Claire turns back to Michelle. Whether she likes it or not, Kate’s defence has somehow enticed her to pull the reigns. She musters the last shreds of her Pearson dignity and pushes her chair back. “You know what? Do whatever you want.” She says it quietly as she pulls money out of her pocket. She points at her so-called friend. “Just know that I would never, ever do that to you without telling you. You should have told me.” She blinks fiercely at the embarrassing slick of tears. She puts her money gently on the table and strides out of the café without another word.
    And no one calls after her either.
    When she makes it out the door and onto the street, she doesn’t stop walking. She numbly pushes through the crush of people trying to get back to work, not caring who she knocks or who knocks her. She bites down on her lip and wills away the tears—tears that have sprung as much from humiliation as from hurt. She will not give in to them.
    She feels like a complete idiot. And she hates to feel like an idiot. And she really, really hates to look like an idiot. Not only has Michelle broken the girl code, but she also gave the other two a new reason to look down their cerebrally challenged noses at her.
    Great . She flinches as a suit bumps her in the side as he charges down the street. Now, not only do they think she’s a loser for waiting on people and for not really knowing what she wants to do with her life, but they also feel sorry for her because her ex-boyfriend is a giant asshole and her supposed best friend doesn’t care enough to show a little loyalty. And that is something she cannot bear.

CHAPTER 7
    Exhausted, Claire and Nina march along the damp street, faces not yet entirely clear of last night’s makeup. A shared umbrella partially protects them from the relentless drifting rain. The sky is a sodden mass today. It sags around their ears like a ceiling of endless grey over the city. It’s not too cold, but it is miserable enough to match their moods.
    Claire could really use a few more hours of sleep. And she