Part 42 | H E R • S T A R T

Stopping at my desk, Hanna regarded me warily. “Uh-oh, your

eyelid’s twitching. What’s wrong? Did someone mistake you for the model on the Syphilis Awareness billboard again?”

I narrowed my eyes at my friend and coworker. “No. And I don’t look anything like her.” We’d had this conversation already. But Hanna liked to poke at me in that way that only one of your closest friends would.

“You have the same pale blue eyes and high cheekbones. Her hair isn’t exactly the same platinum blonde shade as yours, but it’s close.”

People always assumed my hair color came straight out of a bottle. In truth, I’d inherited it from my half-Swedish grandmother.

“But she doesn’t have your blunt bangs or Jessica Alba-mouth,” Hanna went on because, yeah, she was a pain in my ass when bored.

“Can we not talk about the model who looks nothing like me, please?”

“Of course.”

“Great. If you’ve come to speak to Dane, he’s not yet back from his lunch meeting, but he shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I came to check on