"— and so it turns out, I'd slept with her sister as well. It's a small world. Both of them ended up with their claws out, fighting over me. It was sort of hot. But then one of them got arrested—"

Thomas needed to remain on his floor. He shouldn't have been allowed to wander.

It was how we ended up with him spinning tales about his weekend for hours on end. It was even worse because Marnie wasn't at work today.

Her chair was vacant, which meant Thomas had somewhere to sit while he bold faced lied about two sisters fighting it out over him.

No disrespect, I just couldn't see that happening.

Jordan appeared beside the cubicle and dropped a stack of papers on my desk.

He pushed back his thick hair and stared down at Thomas who was twisting in Marnie's chair.

She'd be out for blood if she found out someone had sat in her seat and potentially ruined the mould her butt had created. She was proud of it.

"Contract one has a few clauses that need to be altered, the notes are on the post it," Jordan clicked his fingers and stared into the distance while he talked. "Contract two needs to be faxed out. It's waiting on a signature. I also need a couple of meetings scheduled. The client details are in the margin so pen them in and send me the confirmed times."

My pen flew across my note pad as I jotted down his instructions. Jordan tapped the cubicle wall and turned to leave but paused and pointed in the general direction of the exit.

"Can you pop out and get me a coffee as well please? Perhaps a sandwich. Depends if that place on the corner has egg salad and salami."

"Sure," I mumbled and shook my head at Thomas who was fiddling with Marnie's pens and pencils.

I was genuinely concerned for his life. She was going to murder him.

"Thomas," Jordan scowled. "Go downstairs. And stop touching Marnie's stuff. She'll flip a fucking desk and I'm not replacing her when she ends up in jail. She's a good two IC," he paused with thought. "When she's here."

Thomas shrugged and stood up, adjusting his brown leather belt with a smug expression. "She's good in the sack too."

Jordan shot him an evil look, but ignoring Thomas was the most effective method of dealing with him, so he left without a word.

I had to bite my tongue before I said something along the lines of, yeah well she said you were a total let down.

I wasn't in the business of starting drama or throwing Marnie under the bus though. So I settled for a more passive approach.

"I don't think HR want to hear you openly boasting about the female staff like that," I said. "It won't go down well if she files a harassment case."

He scoffed but his pale skin exposed the red patches that covered his neck before he left.

Marnie wouldn't do that. And the things she said were far worse.

But she said them to me. No one else. Her and I were friends. Thomas and I weren't.

So if he was talking about her with an almost stranger, I'd hate to think what else he said to his closer colleagues.

Even if it was 'praise' it sounded degrading.

When I was alone, I gave my attention to the post it notes I'd scrawled out. A list of mundane tasks that had me sighing with boredom as I tapped the mouse and opened Jordan's calendar.

Damn Abby.

If she hadn't made me so brutally aware of how awful this job was, I would never have noticed I was miserable.

How dare she.

After scheduling two of his four meetings, which required about ten minutes of back and forth on the phone because each scheduled meeting didn't suit either himself or the client, I contemplated a large coffee.

I was opening an email to confirm a third meeting when out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone hovering near the cubicle threshold.

"Kiara," I smiled at the petite woman with velvet brown skin and long black hair. "Hey."

Kiara was Marnie's sister. Well, half sister. She was in her thirties and had a different father than Marnie. The two of them were close.

Which surprised me because Kiara was open and smiled a lot and she was a total people person.

Marnie . . . was not.

"Hey Max," she clutched her purse closer to her person and peered at Marnie's desk. "Is she not in?"

"Our boss said she took a personal day. You don't know about that?"

"No," she said, looking put out but still cheerful as usual. "But she wasn't expecting me either. I just wanted to talk to her about some stuff. It can wait. It's not a big deal. Excitement got the best of me. It's actually supposed to be a secret but I have to tell someone. But I shouldn't. I've said too much. Like I said, the excitement got the best of me."

"As it does," I leaned back in the chair and chuckled at her rambling. "Text her perhaps? She must be at home."

"She will be," Kiara dug through her handbag and found her phone. "I hadn't even bothered messaging her because I assumed she'd be here. I wouldn't be surprised if she's hungover in bed."

"Neither would I," I admitted as I leaned forward on the chair and tapped open the emails on my computer screen.

Porkin Perfect - a company that sold pork belly crackling, dried and bagged - needed a new slogan and there were negotiations for the rights to create a new jingle.

That was how Jordan operated. If his clients wanted one thing, he did it, he did it well and then he propositioned for more business. Which meant more cash and more exposure.

He had a sit down with them for Thursday but the confirmation email wasn't a confirmation but rather a request to move the date from Thursday to tomorrow, Tuesday.

I ran a quick instant message through to Jordan after I'd checked his calendar for a free spot. There was one at eleven. Which was when he took lunch.

But he'd stated on more than one occasion that lunch could be had during the meeting if the client was important enough.

When I closed the tab and twisted in the chair, Kiara was slipping her phone into her designer bag.

She had an important job. So I heard. She was a personal assistant for some big designer.

She did a lot of travelling, shopping - and not just for herself - if her boss wanted a new outfit, she picked it up. If her boss wanted a new toilet, Kiara made the arrangements to have it delivered and installed.

If she needed a new boyfriend I wouldn't be surprised if Kiara organised that as well.

She didn't seem to complain though. Marnie said Kiara loved her job. Which was refreshing because Marnie complained about hers whenever she could.

"I'll get going," Kiara tousled her hair and threw it behind her shoulder. "But I'm going to take this as a sign that I was not meant to share my secret with Marnie. So if you don't mind, pretty please don't tell her I was in here? If she knows there's a secret she'll hound me for it and I know that's hard to imagine because she doesn't beg anyone for anything. She doesn't care enough. But I'll cave as soon as she bribes me with the promise of taking on the next obligatory mother daughter date. She knows I can't resist getting out of those—"

"Chill," I said and waved her off. "It's fine. I won't say anything."

I wasn't all that comfortable keeping something from Marnie. Especially when it came to her sister.

But it really wasn't my business either. I thought living apart from Abby and Lucas meant leaving behind triangular sibling drama.

Apparently not.

She thanked me again and took her leave. The rest of the day went on almost the same as usual.

Apart from having Marnie's entertaining commentary from across the desk.

After Kiara left, I'd sent her a quick message to make sure she wasn't suffering from alcohol poisoning or drowning under an enormous mountain of ice cream and chocolate.

She'd replied with 'Alive' and that was that. Which was good enough for me.

Despite having a never ending list of tasks that needed to be complete, my mind couldn't stop overthinking the dating game situation.

I didn't want to make a move on Amalia and end up hurting her if I wasn't emotionally prepared to move on.

Lucas had done that to her once before. She hadn't deserved it then and she didn't deserve it now.

I needed to be one hundred percent certain I could commit to someone new. And I wasn't sure how best to tell.

But I figured there might be one thing to do. It wasn't guaranteed to give me the answer. But it always made me feel better anyway.

New York in September was still warm most afternoons. The leaves were beginning to change colour. Fall was just around the corner and the tourists were dwindling.

The sun illuminated the tops of headstones. Birds chirped from the tree branches and the wind whipped the blades of grass I sat in while I stared at the words

'Kyla Hilden. Beloved daughter, girlfriend and best friend. May she Rest In Peace.'

I'd been sitting here for about fifteen minutes, filling her in on my uneventful life.

There wasn't actually a lot to talk about and the longer the pauses, the more I realised that my situation was more tragic than I wanted to admit.

"I need better stories, huh?" I stared at the bold black words on her gravestone and imagined what it would be like if she could still respond.

She was encouraging to a fault. She'd laugh and tell me the stories I told were side splitting. She'd want more details. She would remember all of them as well. Even the boring ones.

I took a deep breath and felt nervous to confess that I wanted her advice on how to move on.

Because I knew all of her expressions. I knew how her brow quirked and her lip twitched when she felt disappointment. I knew how one side of her mouth raised just a little higher than the other when she laughed. I knew that when she frowned, her brows trembled. It was almost unnoticeable. But I saw it.

I saw everything. Which meant I could see the heart break on her face when I told her I'd met someone I felt something for.

Even if she wasn't there, I could see it.

And even though I knew she wanted me to be happy, my mind still conjured her despair. It was cruel.

"I wish you could tell me again," I murmured. "I just want to hear your voice. Reassure me you won't hate me if I move on."

It was so irrational. It was the sort of thing I couldn't understand about other people. The struggle to start dating again after loss.

They weren't around anymore. It wasn't cheating. So it shouldn't have been so difficult. But now I understood it first hand and it sucked.

"Max?"

I startled, turned around and peered over my shoulder to find Marnie standing behind me in a floor length black dress with short sleeves and her short black hair in a half up, half down mess.

She pushed her glasses up her nose and adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" She leaned to the side and peered at the gravestone before recognition seeped into her expression. "Torturing yourself."

"What are you doing?" I asked as she wandered over and sat down with a quiet grunt.

"I've been writing all day," she tapped her bag. "I needed to sit somewhere inspiring. Help get the creative juices flowing."

"And you chose the cemetery?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that a bit dark?"

"No."

"Should I be concerned about the content of this novel?"

"Maybe."

"Okay then," I shrugged and decided not to ask more questions.

Even if she did give me the answers, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear them.

"You know," she pointed at the gravestone. "I could help you communicate with her. I have a ouija board."

"I'm good," I quickly declined.

It wasn't that I didn't believe her, I just listened to the warnings that stated messing with those boards was dangerous and warned against.

I wasn't in the business of becoming possessed or haunted. "Thanks though."

She shrugged in that disinterested way of hers and we both sat for a minute.

The sounds of the city were distant but audible, the sun was beginning to set and crisp orange beams of light shot through the gaps in the buildings across the Harbor.

"Marnie," I said, picking at a piece of grass. "What are your thoughts on casual sex as a form of grieving and moving on?"

She probably wasn't the best person to ask considering she was sitting in a cemetery for writing inspiration.

But at this point I was collecting data for no other reason than genuine curiosity. I wasn't going to do it - Lucas had the worst advice when it came to me - but I was interested in finding out who would.

She curled her lip up with distaste. "Max, you're probably not used to hearing this but I don't want to have sex with you."

"No—"

"Honestly honey, you're good looking but I need a man who can throw me around a bit. I'm sure those muscles work but I'm a big girl."

I exhaled and ended up snorting with amusement. "Marni—"

"Plus I'd need to wear a paper bag and the two other times that I did that, I almost died of suffocation."

"Marnie," I interrupted. "First, I wasn't propositioning sex. Second, don't be so hard on yourself. You're a beautiful woman with great curves and you do not need to lower your standards because you don't think much of yourself."

She blinked with a flat stare. "That whole sentence sounded like a contradiction."

"Ugh."

I'd never met someone who was bold enough to say whatever was on her mind but still managed to degrade herself so much.

I had a feeling it wasn't even a self esteem thing. It was like she genuinely believed what she said and was merely stating facts. Which was a problem.

"Work was shit by the way," I gave her a nudge and changed the subject. "Thanks for asking."

"You're welcome."

"Thomas was sitting in your chair," I said. "He was touching your stuff."

When I received no response, I turned to see Marnie's lips in a thin, tight line and utter rage in her features.

She was calm and collected though. Sometimes I think that scared me more than if she just flipped out.

"I know where Thomas lives," she said.

I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. There was another pause before she sighed and spoke again. "You should ask her out."

"Who?"

"The girl. Whoever she is. Kyla would have wanted you to be happy."

I gave her a small smile and picked at the grass in front of me. "You didn't know her."

"Yeah, well from how often you talk about her, I kind of feel like I do," she tilted her head from side to side, clicking her neck which creaked and groaned and made me shudder. She needed to see a chiropractor. "She'd want you to be happy, Max. If you've found someone that you feel something for, go for it. You've been alone for a long time. You deserve it."

That might have been the longest, most heartfelt speech she'd ever given me. I knew I was the one who did most of the talking and she responded with sarcasm or grunts or disinterest.

But if Marnie felt strongly enough about the subject to string together that many sentences then I felt the honest need to oblige.

"I should talk to her first," I said but it came out as more of a question. "I should explain I'm feeling something but I'm struggling and it'd be good to take her on a date but if she thinks it's too much of a risk, she doesn't have to. Does that sound alright."

"She doesn't have to, regardless. She can say no for absolutely no reason at all."

"Well, of course," I stammered. Marnie had a talent for making you feel bad for something you weren't even in favour of. Such as forcing girls into dates. That wasn't me at all. Still though, I blushed and stuttered as if she'd called me out for slipping date rape drugs into a friend's cocktail. "But you know what I mean, I shouldn't go into it without explaining that I'm still healing, right?"

"Honesty is the best policy," she murmured, fiddling with the stretcher in her ear lobe.

"I agree," I said with a sharp nod. "I can ask her on a date and explain the truth. She might accept and she might not. I guess I would find out soon.