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I thought I hid my lifestyle from my parents, but I never hid it from the girls. They knew what I did on the weekends and that my last serious relationship was Tommy, who was casual at best.
Oh god.
What if my closest friends, my ride-or-dies, thought there was nothing more to me than a drunken whore who didn’t have her life figured out? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if that was what reflected through their eyes when they looked at me.
“Please, for the love of fuck, don’t ask how that makes me feel,” I pleaded, my voice quivering as I shoved another bite of the flaky crust laced with espresso beans between my lips.
“I would never,” she said, putting a hand on her chest like she’s taken offense. “Truthfully, hon, it made me curious why your parents would think that. It’s not like you screw random guys in your office, right?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re like their ideal employee, yes?”
“I thought I was,” I whispered, picking at a ragged cuticle on my pinkie. I pinched it between my finger and thumb and pulled, hissing as it ripped and a tiny bead of blood appeared.
“What does that mean? And what does it have to do with the stupid article?” Olivia said, passing me a napkin and watching as I pressed it to my pinkie, blotting the spot and putting off answering the question until she leaned back to rub her belly.
“I mmm mmm,” I mumbled, shrugging around the last forkful of the crust before switching out the plates for the cinnamon roll and pulling it apart.
“Okay. Let’s think about this rationally, Adie. You have the highest sales of all three locations.”
I nodded.
“You put in the longest hours?”
I ignored her and continued to focus on the icing-covered roll.
“But you lead the sales meetings?”
I lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted answer and focused on the mother sitting behind Olivia, furiously wiping the chocolate off the toddler’s hands and face.
“Okay, but you train the new employees? Research new demographics for advertising? Assist with recruiting new talent? Book conferences and workshops? Handle commissions? And of course—”
“Enough. Olivia, stop. I don’t do all that,” I said, pushing away the half-eaten cinnamon roll to grab the fruit.
“Oh. Well, that’s not a problem. All we have to do is list what you do and don’t do, then cross-reference everything. I’ll come up with a color-coded spreadsheet tonight. Edward got me these new dot markers and tab organizers. I can draw it all up for you, and we can figure out what days of the week you have extra time. Studies show the best hours for productivity are...”
Olivia ticked off each finger, tapping them against her chin as she spoke, listing how she planned to help me maximize my day.
Fuck. How did I get so lucky?
I hated to burst her organized, color-coded heart, but I didn’t do any of those things. I couldn’t deal with saying it out loud and seeing her sympathy when she realized what a complete failure I was—the numbers were worthless when the actions didn’t back them up.
A realization set in, and I slumped in the seat, pushing the fruit away with disgust and crossing my arms over my chest. I stared at my lap, covered in crust crumbs and flakes of icing, struggling to understand what my parents had figured out who knew how long ago.
“…okay?”
“Hmm?” I said, not looking up from my lap and choosing to count the seconds until the butter from the crumbs would soak in and ruin my skirt. If my outfit had a stain, I’d have no choice but to go home and regroup.
What was the matter with me? Did my laziness know no bounds?
“Oh my gosh, Addison. You’re crying. Surely my organization skills aren’t that scary. Edward jokes that he can use sticky notes as foreplay, but what’s the harm in making sure things are always neat?” Olivia stood and pulled her chair beside me, resting her head on my shoulder and threading a hand through mine. “Is this about the guy? The article? You know you can tell me anything, right? Or nothing. Whatever you need. Even if it’s just another latte and antacid.”
“How did I get so freaking lucky to have you in my life?” I sniffed, wiping away a stray tear before it left makeup tracks on my face.
“The four of us are damn lucky to have each other. I have scones and croissants filled with raspberry compote and topped with vanilla icing in the oven. There’ll be a box waiting for you when you finish sharing.”
“The, um, spreadsheet you offered to help me make… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
