Page 43 of Meant to be Mine

The morning dragged. Every task I picked up, I set back down half finished. The wrap-up report from the event sat open on my laptop with three lines typed into it. Work was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to see Kensey. She made working so much better. I thought about calling her. I could say I was checking in, but it was also pretty clear she didn’t want to deal with me this morning.

The sharp click of Edith’s heels on the hardwood outside my office door were not enough warning. Two quick knocks, and then she was already pushing it open before I’d said a word. Classic Edith.

“The invoices from last night need your signature,” she said, approaching my desk with a folder. “The club sent over the final bill. It’s in line with what we budgeted, so no surprises there.”

I reached for the folder without looking up. “Fine.”

She didn’t move away from the desk. I signed the first invoice. Then the second.

“The post-event numbers are strong,” she said. “The editor from the magazine posted three photos this morning and tagged the store in all of them.”

“Good.” I signed the third invoice and pushed the folder back toward her.

She was watching me with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“What?” I said.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“You just signed off on a vendor invoice without reading it.”

“Are you saying I can’t trust you with what you put in front of me?” I asked, ready for a fight if she wanted one.

“You never trust the numbers without reading them.” She tilted her head. “The event went off without a hitch. You should be in here celebrating. Instead you look like you swallowed a lemon.”

I leaned back in my chair, surprised by her concern. “I’m fine, Edith. It’s some personal stuff. It doesn’t involve the store.”

“When your personal life bleeds over into how you’re operating, it does involve the store.” She wasn’t being rude, but it was more than I wanted to deal with. “You’re distracted. You’re short. So, it involved me too, quite frankly.”

“I appreciate the concern,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Genuinely. But I’ve got it handled.”

Edith gave me a look that said she didn’t entirely believe me but she was choosing not to press further. She picked up the folder, walked to the door, and left.

I texted Hollis and Micah to see if they were available to get a drink. I didn’t want to go back home to the scene of the crime and stew about things. Hollis picked the bar. It was a low-key place two blocks from his place in Santa Monica, with good bourbon, low lighting, and no one who was going to recognize us and want a photo.

I got there first and ordered. Micah arrived a few minutes later, with Hollis right behind, still in his workout clothes. He’d obviously been running.

“You look terrible,” Micah said, dropping into the chair across from me.

“Fuck you, too.” I nodded at Hollis. “Speaking of terrible, you could have showered first. You stink.”

“I’m sweaty but I don’t stink,” he said. “Clean living. You should try it. Now let’s get a drink.”

Micah laughed. “Clean living includes booze? I might have judged your heath obsession too harshly.”

“It’s not an obsession,” Hollis said. “I’m building a new wellness company. Sales are doing well and I’m looking to scale up soon.”

A round of drinks was delivered. I sipped my beer. Micah had a bourbon and Hollis had a vodka tonic.

“I think I’m ready to direct my own movie,” Micah said, looking into his bourbon.

“Tell Dad,” Hollis said. “He’d line something up for you.”

Our father, Max Blackwell, ran Blackwell Studios here in LA, a real powerhouse in the industry. Despite that, most of us wanted nothing to do with show business. Micah was the only one, and he had been doing art direction and set design for the past decade or so. He had an eye for it, much like Cleo and our cousins had an eye for fashion.

“I’ve never worked for Blackwell Studios and I never will,” Micah said. “People already call me a nepo baby, which is not completely untrue. I don’t want to actually use Dad to pull strings for me. Anything I do, I want to work for it. Otherwise, why bother?”