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Olivia nodded but didn’t interrupt, only lifting her head to look at me and pushing one of the strawberry puffs closer. “You don’t have a spreadsheet big enough because I don’t do anything extra. I do the bare minimum, and they saw right through it, calling me on my shit.”
“Damn.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“But I don’t understand. You’re always talking about research, you have the highest sales, and no one can freaking stage a house and work a room like you. You’re badass.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not the half of it,” I said with a groan, laying my head on the table, barely missing the dessert.
“Okay. Well, first get your head off the table before you contaminate my pastries. I’ll handle the group text and arrange dinner to devise a plan for whatever you decide. I’m game for anything but Mexican. I can’t do salsa right now. Give me a two-minute version of the last twenty-four hours because I was serious about having croissants and turnovers in the oven.”
I sat up and grunted, or made some sort of unsettling noise that had Olivia scooting her chair back to her side of the table.
“Alrighty, the un-sugar-coated version…” I took a deep breath and a fork-full of the strawberry cream puff crust before launching into my tirade.
“I went to a party last night and was questioning my life choices, basically comparing myself to people because I’m shallow and arrange throw pillows for a living. Then a guy with the most beautiful gray eyes I’ve ever seen turned me down because he thought I was drunk. I’ve never seen eyes this shade before.” I paused for another mouthful, chewing quickly before I lost my nerve.
“Today, I expected my mom to turn the business over to me. Instead, she showed me the article in the society pages of that guy and me practically groping each other and told me she knew I came into work hungover, did a half-ass job, and they wouldn’t wait for me to get my shit together.”
I waited for Olivia to tell me what shitty decisions I’d made or tic off different ways to improve myself, but she didn’t, only sat silently, nodding while focusing on a spot on the wall behind me. Half-expecting to see someone standing over my shoulder, I turned around to come face to face with a giant black-and-white photo of a muffin.
“Got it. We’ll regroup at dinner. Try to focus on making it through the rest of the day, and I’ll text everyone shortly. Would you like another latte?”
“What? Yes, decaf, please. And that’s it?” I asked, watching her collect the empty bagel plate and coffee cup.
“Of course, far be it from me or anyone else to judge you. And I should dock you a croissant for thinking I would, but I won’t because I love you. Stay here as long as you need to, and I’ll be back shortly.” She braced a hand on her lower back and winced. “Oh Geezus, sitting down was nice. Don’t tell Edward, but he might be right about me reducing my hours after Halloween.”
She waved her hand then stopped and cocked her hip to the side. “What’s all the research you do if it’s not work related?”
Damn.
“Oh. I write, um, fanfiction. Sometimes drabble, but most of the time it’s a lot longer.”
“What’s fanfiction?” she asked, rubbing a spot above her bellybutton.
“It’s where you take a book or movie Universe someone else created and put your own spin on it, then put it out there for everyone to read under an anonymous name. Here, I’ll give you an example. Name a character from the HP Universe.”
“Harry.”
“Well, what if he was sorted into Slytherin?”
“But he wasn’t.”
“Right, but what if he was?”
“Ohhh,” she said as understanding crossed her features. “And what Universe do you write about?”
“It’s, umm…” I trailed off, and Olivia shook her head, making her way toward the counter and leaving me feeling like an asshole for not answering her question.
Another latte appeared as I picked apart the flaky crust of the second strawberry cream puff, barely noticing the steady stream of people walking in and out of the cafe and the bell jingling above the door. I took a sip, enjoying the new flavor as time passed slowly or quickly. It had to be one of the two.
I hadn’t kept track until a shadow crept over my table. Thinking about the buttery goodness of another croissant Olivia said she’d bring over, I glanced up with a smile, only to be met with a stonewalled expression and mirrored designer sunglasses.
Who wore sunglasses inside? One guess. Simon Kelly.
The playboy, bad-boy, and all the other boy names I didn’t know because I hadn’t bothered to read that stupid article, blocked my sunlight and stared at me. Again, he wore all black except the pop of color from another stupid pocket square. This time, he chose emerald green to match the rim of his sunglasses. I glanced at the floor, expecting to see matching green socks. Or worse, green tassels on his shoes, but I only saw his ankles peeking out from under his cuffed pants and expensive black loafers.
The sliver of his exposed leg stood out against all the black, making his skin look flawless and porcelain. Most guys who forwent socks with business casual looked stupid and preppy. On Simon, it worked, and it pissed me off. He should look like an idiot man-child one step away from a temper tantrum, not freaking sex-on-a-stick. But seriously, who wore all black and had skin the color of porcelain in the South? Didn’t he get the memo? This wasn’t the set of a Halloween movie.
