Put a Ring On It Read Free Page A

for hours. She took two steps toward the conference room but couldn’t force herself to reach for the doorknob. The very thought of bar graphs and small talk made her physically ill. The sensation of hives gave way to cold sweat and nausea. There was only one thing to do, and she’d never done it before. Not at work, not in college, not even in high school. But the time had finally arrived.
    Brighton forced out a raspy cough as she prepared to play hooky for the first time in her life. When the meeting adjourned for a five-minute break, she rejoined Claudia at the conference table.
    â€œWhere did you go?” Claudia demanded. “You missed a whole fifteen minutes on equity-based guaranteed policies. It was riveting, I tell you. You pay for the whole seat but you’ll only need the edge.”
    â€œI’m not feeling well.” Brighton covered her mouth with her elbow and faked a sniffle.
    â€œHere.” Francine pulled a travel-size packet of tissues out of her red leather messenger bag. “You okay?”
    â€œYeah.” Brighton schooled her expression into what she hoped was a believable grimace of pain. “Just a sore throat. And I’m feeling a bit feverish.” She thought wan, pallid thoughts and hoped her complexion would follow suit. “I think I better go home. I don’t want to get anyone else sick.”
    Francine looked worried. “Maybe you should go see a doctor. There’s an urgent care two blocks away.”
    A pang of guilt shot through Brighton as she collected her pen and paperwork. “I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down for a little while.”
    Claudia pressed the back of her hand to Brighton’s forehead.
    Brighton flinched.
    â€œYou do feel pretty warm,” Claudia said.
    â€œI’m not surprised.” Francine clicked her tongue. “With the hours you’ve been working, plus all the wedding planning, you need to slow down. Stress affects your immune system, you know.”
    At the mention of wedding planning, Brighton started coughing again.
    â€œGo home.” Francine backed away from the germ zone. “Take it easy and get better.”
    â€œI have an amazing recipe for chicken soup,” Claudia said. “I’ll e-mail it to you and Colin can make it for you tonight.”
    â€œHe can’t. He’s”—
not speaking to me at the moment
—“studying all weekend. Prepping for the bar exam.”
    Claudia’s eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. “Again?”
    This time, Brighton didn’t have to fake her distress. “Third time’s a charm, right?” She desperately wanted to tell Claudia the truth, to ask for advice and reassurance, but telling the truth would make everything real. She’d have to admit her doubts and fears. She’d have to admit that her life plans were on the verge of falling apart.
    So she stopped talking and made her exit in a dramatic display of hacking and wheezing that sent her colleagues scurrying for hand sanitizer. As she waited for the elevator, she glanced at her reflection in the polished brass doors: low-heeled patent pumps, subdued black blazer and skirt, modest cream silk blouse, and an akoya pearl necklace with matching earrings. She looked like the sensible businesswoman she was. Bland and boring and always predictable.
    The elevator doors opened and she joined a trio of somber-faced executives hunched over their cell phones, tapping away at urgent e-mails.
    And then she realized she couldn’t drive herself home. Colin had taken her to work this morning. Right before he picked a fight and demanded the engagement ring back.
    Outside, the heavy gray clouds threatened rain at any moment. Brighton stepped to the curb, lifted her ringless hand to hail a cab, and tried to decide what to do. She would go home, of course, but then what? Wait by the phone for Colin to come to his senses? Call him and beg forgiveness for whatever