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‘Smiling again. Who was last night’s celebratory lay?’
‘Sometimes you cross the line, Sarah, you know that?’
‘Please. I’m Sarah. I define the line.’
I look down to hide my smirk. She’s clearly been binge-watchingSuitsagain. ‘How many times have we had the discussion about you blurring the line between boss and friend?’
She starts counting on her fingers. When she’s used them all up, she shrugs. ‘Nope, sorry, too many to count.’
The woman drives me mad, but she’s the feistiest woman I know, and I like that. I like that she challenges me. It’s part of the reason we’re such good friends. I just don’t need to tell her that.
‘I’ve dealt with your post-court filings. You’ve got a ten-thirty with Carlton Best. And Preston Hamilton asked if you can move your three o’clock to four.’
‘Can I?’
She tsks. ‘Already done. Remember, I have a half day today with full pay.’
I lift my head sharply from where I’m typing my password. ‘Did I authorize that?’
She smiles and turns on her heel to leave my office, purposely swaying her hips as she moves. ‘You sure did. You said I should consider it part of my birthday gift.’
I stand up straight. ‘Is that right? What else did I get you?’
She reaches her desk and holds up a scarlet leather handbag. ‘This limited-edition Dior.’
‘I’m a hell of a boss.’
She sits and spins in her chair to face her computer screen. ‘The best.’
I should sit. I should start trawling through my inbox. But I don’t. With one hand on the waistband of my gray, tailored pants, I rub my other hand over my day-old stubble – yep, it’s definitely a non-court day. Then my fingers find my lips. The lingering taste of coffee reminds me just how good that cake was with my morning blend. And I get the most ridiculous, impulsive idea I’ve had in a while.
I pull a piece of paper from the top drawer of my desk and grin to myself as I write.
Blondie,
Thanks for the desserts and the hours I will now need to put in at the gym. For your information, I’m STILL not a dessert man. As they were on the house (kind of), I think you deserve some constructive feedback, so here goes:
In third place, with a score of 5/10, we have Opera with a Twist. In second place, scoring 5.75/10, Red Silk.
The winner of mediocre desserts (read: glorified cupcakes), is:
Violet Passion. 6/10.
See you around, Cupcake. Drew x
‘Sarah, I’m going out. I’ll be back before my ten-thirty.’
* * *
I walk through the glass door of Edmond’s restaurant. Part of me was hoping it wouldn’t be open because on the short walk here, I started to wonder what on earth I am doing. Why I’m sending notes like a kid. And doing it in person. Impulsive is not who I am. Instinctive, yes. Impulsive, no way.
Edmond is sitting at a table with Beatrice, the restaurant manager, documents and coffee laid out in front of them. He looks up first. ‘Drew, how are you?’ His French accent has softened over the years.
‘Edmond. Beatrice. I’m good, I’m good. I, ah…’ Suddenly feel like a total idiot. ‘You have a new girl working for you.’ And I don’t even know her name. ‘Patisserie.’
They exchange looks, then Beatrice responds. ‘Do you mean Becky?’
‘Is she blonde with…’ – a body I want to roll around the sheets with? – ‘ah, blue eyes?’ Quick thinking, Drew. Nice.
