"Anya—"
"I'm making a point here—"
"You just ran a red light."
"It was yellow when I started the intersection. Legally ambiguous at worst." She downshifted, and the engine roared. "Anyway. My point. Men like Kieran and my i***t brother, they get to have their fast cars and their dangerous hobbies and everyone calls them bold. Ambitious. Risk-takers. But if a woman does the same thing? She's reckless. Emotional. Having a midlife crisis."
"You're twenty-six."
"A quarter-life crisis, then. My point stands." She glanced over at me, and something in her expression softened. "You okay? Not going to throw up in my car?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar. But I appreciate the effort."
The Aviary occupied the top three floors of a building in Tribeca that didn't look like anything from the outside. No sign
