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“Ugh, this massage feels so good,” I said, groaning.
“So, when do you start this job?” she asked.
“Tomorrow. And I’m not looking forward to it. I’ll have to play as nice as I can while letting him implement whatever idiotic ideas he has,” I said.
“Well, you said it yourself. Get in there, make an impression, and then do what you feel you have to do. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get in there, realize you’re some sort of weird power couple, and things will blossom like you didn’t expect.”
“Whatever. I’ll feel better when I get there tomorrow and verify it hasn’t burned down yet,” I said.
“No faith. You have no faith in him whatsoever,” she said, giggling.
“Shhh, massage time,” I whispered.
After our pampering, we let our nails dry while we sipped our wine. I talked with her about the book I found at my father’s house and how it seemed to be some sort of muse for him. I talked to her about all the dimensions and diagrams that were scattered throughout its pages, and she asked me a question that I thought was very interesting.
“Why do you think that book was his muse?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I assume that’s what it is. If my father was just having ideas left and right, surely he would’ve just put them in a notebook. But, they’re all in the margins of that book,” I said.
“What’s the book called?” she asked.
“The FDA And Worldwide Quality System Requirements Guidebook for Medical Devices.”
“How absolutely thrilling,” Daisy said mockingly.
“The only thing I can think is that he was wanting to keep himself updated on basic information as he was creating products. He wrote them in the book so he could keep his ideas on the same page as the guidelines he was abiding by,” I said.
“Sounds fair enough. I was hoping for something more exotic, though.”
“You always do, Daisy. It’s why you date exotic men,” I said
, smirking.
“Speaking of men we date, how’s the dickwad?”
“Daisy,” I said, sighing.
“Everyone hates Greyson, Stella. Why are you still dating him?” she asked.
“Because he’s a good man. Yes, he’s a pompous ass at times, but look at who you’re talking to.”
“You deserve better,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you more than he has during your time of grieving.”
“Not true. I saw him a couple days ago for lunch,” I said.
“Uh huh. And how did that go?” she asked.
“Just fine,” I lied.
“Alright. Well, he’s still an asshole you need to dump. You deserve love and romance and passion. Not some pompous, arrogant man-child who has to always assert his intelligence just to stroke his own ego,” she said.
“Don’t worry, he strokes my ego, too,” I said, grinning.
“Ew, no thanks. So, what will you wear for your first day of work tomorrow?”
“Probably just a pair of my black high-waisted pants and one of my new work blouses I plan on buying while we’re out. Nothing special,” I said, shrugging.
“Not looking to impress any of your dad’s employees?” she asked.
