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"I'm not worried."
I've been thinking about that too. I'm a control freak. There's no denying that. But there's another part of me. One that wants teammates. That wants to let people in.
That wants someone to lean on.
"You need help with something. It's not my finances," I say.
She shakes her head. "I have this idea. We could take thirty minutes, try to find the best collection of stuff to decorate Inked Hearts properly."
"And your room?"
"That after."
"You gonna tell me?"
"If you agree to help."
I shake my head.
"Then let's go." She pushes herself to her feet. Offers her hand to shake. "Thirty minutes. We'll meet downstairs. See who gets the best stuff."
Fuck, the brightness in her eyes.
There's no way I can deny that.
This is a good idea.
Something fun.
To fill both our heads.
I nod. "You're on."
We shake. Set our timers. Go for it.
I give her a head start.
All right, I watch the way her dress falls over her ass as she walks away.
Same difference.
Thirty minutes later, I'm downstairs with a cart full of cheap decorations. White Christmas lights. Simple black frames. Rectangular black pillows. Planters full of cacti.
Eighteen-year-old Brendon would fucking kill me.
I'm yuppie scum.
And there's Kaylee with a full cart. Pink string lights. Heart pillows. Same planters full of cacti. One of those mass-produced paintings of the ocean.
She holds it up. "I just wanted to see your face."
"And?"
"Perfection." She sets it aside. "The corporations have us, huh?"
"Pretty sure I'm doomed."
"If you buy stuff at Ikea to decorate your small business, is that corporate or not?"
