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Brian Walker? Brian was one of my top team members. Give that man a task and he had it done with no questions asked. He was a great team lead and friend. It couldn’t have been him, right?
I pulled out my phone and pulled up his contact. It had been months since I’ve spoken to him, would he even have my number still? I shook my head. At this point it didn't matter who did and who didn’t have a part in it. Even though Mrs. Karrs said if my name got cleared I would have a job again, not just data entry, it just didn't matter.
I set my phone down and hit reply, typing out a quick email. . .
He was always driven and would do any task accurately. I never was worried about him or his work ethic. I’m not sure he would even be capable of embezzlement. I even considered him a friend while living in Seattle. Nice, settled, someone I trusted and could confide in if needed. What's the chance this could get appealed and when?
Just as I was about to hit send, my phone buzzed beside me. I flipped it over and saw Ophelia’s name. I didn't even think twice.
“Phe?”
“Clay, 9-1-1.” Her voice was frantic. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It has only been forty minutes since we’d left the studio. What could have been so urgent? “I don't have the fabric for Jamie's dress.”
“It's not at the studio?” I asked, a smile on my lips. My stomach fluttered, knowing that she called me to fret over fabrics. She was stressed, and I was the person that came to her mind.
“No, I knew I was going to do chiffon, but when Madeline gave us maroon as a color, I swear I had some! Madeline's out with Milo. Could you take me to the store? Please, I'm begging you.”
I laughed. “No need to beg.” I closed my laptop and stood, grabbing my Tesla fob and house key. “I'm on my way.”
She sighed in relief. “I need to Google a fabric store and just pray they have chiffon.”
“I'm praying. . .”
And with that, I was out the door, speeding my way—carefully—to Madeline’s house. I parked on the street and almost jumped from the Tesla, stopping myself from skipping to the door when Ophelia opened the door and ran past me to the car.
“Come on!” she shouted, waving her hand toward me as she opened the passenger door. “They close at eight!”
I laughed and slowly walked back around the car. Her eyes were locked on me the entire time. I slid in the seat and looked over at her, giving her a grin. Her brown eyes were wide, and her jaw was slightly dropped.
“Go!”
“Where am I going?”
She waved her phone at me. “I have the address pulled up. Does your fancy Tesla hook up via Bluetooth?”
“She sure does. Show me the way.” The Tesla started with a hum, and the tension in Ophelia’s shoulders drained as we drove down the road.
The last time I was in a fabric store was during a final for Ophelia. She had to make a formal dress and needed to gather all her supplies. I was lost, but thankfully, Ophelia seemed to know exactly where she was going, heading straight to the bolts of thousands of fabrics that sat on the shelves. She ran her hands along all the different shades of maroon, as if she were studying them.
“How many different shades of maroon are there?” I asked, taking in everything in front of me,
“You’d be surprised. Jamie will pull it off, but this is not really my color.” She sighed.
I wanted to sayyou could pull off any color,but I kept my mouth shut. I looked over at her from the corner of my eye, watching as her eyebrows moved with concentration as her fingers felt the fabrics between them. I smirked, loving each and every expression that her face provided.
“I like this one.” She pulled a bolt out. “What do you think?” She held it up so the red hit the chestnut shade of her neck.
I raised my eyebrows and took a deep breath. This woman was beautiful in every way. Nothing could compare to her, and she was asking me what I thought. I exhaled.
“Phe, you can wear anything and still be beautiful.”
She dropped the bolt and glared at me. “That’s socliché.”
“It’s true though. You say Jamie can pull off any color, but in reality, you can. Hell, wear that diarrhea green color down there, and you’d be prettier than Madeline.” I pointed to a fabric near the end of the row. She turned to it and quickly turned her head back to me, her golden hoop earrings hitting her cheek.
“You meanpickle?”
“Thatcolor is calledpickle?” I widened my eyes.
