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She frowns.
“Lift your glass a little higher,” I say.
She does.
“Here’s to you getting your reputation back!”
“Without you, I would’ve never been able to clear my name. Thank you, Bryce.”
“The publicity firm I hired was worth every last penny.”
“Even the media outlets who doubted my innocence and wrote slanted articles of my supposed involvement with Crooked Brad ended up writing a retraction article, exonerating me of all the sins they had accused me of.”
“You were a victim, and now the world knows about it. No one will ever doubt you again.”
“If I bump into anyone I know from my real estate agent days, I can walk past them with my head held high. I no longer have to carry the shame of being plagued with the nasty syndrome of guilt by association.” She pinches her lips together. “I’m still incensed the money Brad stole is still locked up in his Russian wife’s bank account. It pisses me off she gets to keep money that’s not only tainted, but doesn’t belong to her.”
“One thing the PR campaign was able to achieve was shine the spotlight on her,” I say. “Her face and name are now public. The world knows she’s been enjoying the money her dead husband left her. For the rest of her life, she’ll have to look over her shoulder. Even in Russia. And even after the money runs out, which at this rate, she’ll burn through it pretty quickly.”
“It’s a small consolation,” she says.
“¡Basta! El pendejo de Brad y su puta esposa rusa no valen la pena.” I’m pretty sure I butchered that sentence.
Translation: Enough! Asshole Brad and his whore of a Russian wife aren’t worth it!
“Pretty good,” she says.
“Sunday dinner with your family doubles as a Spanish language class.”
“And you’re a great student.”
I wink. “Let’s move down the list of things to cheer.”
“There’s more?”
“Don’t look so exasperated.”
She sits straighter in her seat and lifts her glass. “I’m ready.”
“Here’s to you becoming a boss lady. Again!”
“You mean, here’s to me partnering up with a person who has a helluva better moral compass than Brad Hyler?”
“Live and learn,” I say.
“Live and learn,” she echoes.
“You and Cassie are going to take on the DIY décor world by storm.”
She brushes a lock of her dark brown hair behind her ear.
She came to my place fresh from the salon. She’s back to her roots. She surprised me with the change.
Staring at me from under her lashes, she pulls her lower lip between her teeth.
Uncertainty radiates off her.
“You got this,” I add.
