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“She has a point,” Caroline agreed.
“You want real fear?” Mel continued. “Real fear is when you live in a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with three kids. Real fear is when you realize The Triple Threat has been way too quiet for way too long, but they’re nowhere to be found. So you have to go looking for them. You have to creep around your own house, ear cocked, listening for the slightest noise because you just know they’re in there somewhere, waiting, watching, possibly plotting your demise. And then, finally, you hear a noise in the quiet. It’s usually behind a closed door. You stop and listen but breathing and the pitter-patter of six tiny feet are the only sounds. You know they’re in there, but you have no idea what you’re going to find when you open the door. All you can do is make the sign of the cross, wince, and crack open the door just enough to peek inside and assess the damage. Sometimes it’s nothing. Sometimes the sight makes you weep. So, yeah. This—” She motioned to where Blue, their boss, just left. “—not so frightening. Beyoncé could come in here riding on a camel next to Donald Trump, clutching a Bible during the apocalypse, and it wouldn’t startle me.”
Marti blinked. “You’re terrifying.”
“The kids.” Mel pointed at her. “The kids are terrifying.”
“I’m never getting married or—”
“We know,” Mel and Caroline said in unison.
As if to punctuate her words, Blue popped out of her office. “Huddle. Now!”
Crap. Marti grabbed her clipboard, notebook, and searched for a pencil. Being the last one to the huddle meant Blue would put you on the spot, and you didn’t want that kind of attention from Blue. She had this way of clicking her three-inch acrylic nails as she stared you down and your brain turned to mush.
Really, Marti was just short of jealous where Blue was concerned. She was beautiful, smart, and a genius. She built PopNewz from the ground up. She had single-handedly spearheaded the digital magazine revolution while maintaining their print magazine. The company was her life. It had become so much more than popular entertainment news, fashion, and editorials in recent years. They were the place for entertainment and breaking news and an icon in New York. But Blue was tough as nails and owed her success to hard work and determination.
Marti’s hands moved frantically over her desk, snatching a pencil and notepad before she straightened and followed alongside Caroline, Mel, and the others milling into the conference room. It was their first huddle since Blue returned from her month-long trip to Paris—or as they called it, their month of unsupervised bliss. But all good things came to an end.
The fluorescents buzzed as someone flicked them on, and everyone spilled into the room. A headache bloomed in the back of Marti’s skull as she shuffled inside.
Everyone sat around the conference table, leaving the plush club chair vacant—Blue’s undesignated-designated chair. No one dared touch it. Except that time when the new intern sat there. Everyone tried to warn her, including Marti, but she wouldn’t listen. The PopNewz staff had sat with bated breath for five minutes, waiting for Blue to come in and pounce. They weren’t disappointed. Needless to say that intern didn’t last more than five minutes and left in a haze of tears.
The women settled into their seats around Marti, clutching cups of coffee, magazine clippings, notes, and various items they thought they might need for the meeting. Several people sat reports in the empty space their ruthless leader would soon occupy. Everyone waited with bated breath, unsure what Blue would have to say following her absence. After all, it had been a while since they had a staff meeting. It almost felt too long, like they had all somehow forgotten what these collaborative brainstorming sessions were like, and the only time since Blue’s return Marti had spoken to her was Friday morning via text when she briefly and coldly informed her she needed to get a boyfriend and “spice things up.”
When Blue entered, the surrounding discussions fizzled and died. As she made her way to the helm of the table, Marti felt something different in the air, a charge in the atmosphere she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But there was a definite glow, a twinkle in Blue’s eye that hadn’t been there before. She almost looked . . . happy or relaxed or . . . something.
Maybe Marti needed to book herself a four-week vacay to Paris. As if Blue wasn’t already impeccable, France had been good to her.
Blue’s hips swayed as she came to a stop in front of her chair, clearing her throat and lowering herself down. She crossed her legs and steepled her hands out in front of her while everyone in the room gave her their undivided attention.
“So, I have an announcement. And it’s huge.” She grinned, very unlike her when it came down to business. Then, with a flourish of her arm, she waved her hand around like it was on fire, her eyes wild, producing a collective gasp.
Marti flinched and covered her head like she was in a fallo
ut shelter, expecting fire to come shooting from Blue’s flailing hand. But when she peered around the room, instead of moving away from Blue, everyone seemed to be gravitating toward her. They huddled around her, straining to see through the mass. Caroline stood and cooed at her side. A horde of other women stared in awe.
Marti shifted in her seat, catching a glimpse of two women touching Blue’s arm in reverence, their eyes glittering like sparklers.
Marti frowned. Did she miss something?
Wait a minute . . .
She strained to see over the bobbing heads, trying to get a better look. She knew those expressions. She’d seen them before a thousand times. Usually in the break room when it was someone’s birthday and they brought in cake or donuts. Did Blue have a croissant on her arm? A chocolate crueler?
Marti lifted her chin as the growing crowd of women continued to hover. And then she saw it. A ring the size of a gumball.
Rolling her eyes, Marti flopped back into her seat, exhaling a steady stream of air from her lungs like a deflating balloon. Blue didn’t have a bagel bracelet or chocolate covered anything. She was engaged. Big freaking deal.
Why did women act all googly eyed when someone they knew put an anvil around their finger? If you asked Marti, it should produce the opposite reaction. Nothing like a life of self-imposed imprisonment.
She glanced over at Mel, who wore a bored expression. Any minute, she’d start snoring. See! Now, there’s a woman who knew how to react.
Marti gave Mel an imaginary fist-bump in single-female solidarity, then crossed her arms over her chest as if to ward off the bad juju of coupledom, and waited for the congratulations to subside. The women clucked like hens, asking a million questions about the ring and how he popped the question while Marti wondered if she could abscond to the bathroom. Maybe she could find some paint to watch dry. Or a pot of water she could stare at while she waited for it to boil.
When the room finally calmed down and everyone scurried back to their seats, Blue smiled and perched her ringed hand over her crossed knee for all to see. As if aliens on Mars couldn’t see it from outer space. It practically blinded Marti. At this rate, she’d need a pair of sunglasses to shield her corneas from the glare.
Blue smiled. “I met someone.”
