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"What? Are you sure?" she asks timidly, taking the vase from my hand.
"I'm sure. Otherwise, I'll chuck the bouquet in the trash." I shrug my shoulder, thinking that's where Troy belongs.
Candace issues a sweet smile and walks away, and I take a seat at my desk. As soon as I turn on my computer, my cell phone rings. After pulling it from my purse, I look at the screen, surprised to see it's my sister, Laurel.
"Good morning, sis. Why are you up so early?" I say enthusiastically, although I already dread the call.
"I have a modeling job at a college this morning. It's for one of their art classes."
"Nude modeling?" I ask, knowing my sister all too well.
"Of course. I love the expression and freedom of the art form, not to mention the fun and excitement I have when one of the male students visibly reacts when I remove my robe. It's adorable when the guy's little winky rises to the occasion, and he desperately tries to hide it."
"That's far too much information and way too gross."
"Oh, lighten up. It's part of nature. Besides, it usually signals the guy is shy and single, and I get a good screw out of it when I hit him up after class."
"Eww, that's sick." My mouth contorts as if I've got something foul on my tongue.
"For a twenty-nine-year-old, you act like an old lady. Try walking on the wild side for once. You might find out you like it," she laughs.
I shake my head, glad Laurel can't see the disgusted look that I'm sure is plastered on my face. Seven years younger than me, she's almost the spitting image of our mother. Tall, blond, and slender, she uses her appearance like a Venus fly trap, luring her victims and eating them alive. Well, sort of like that. She treats the men unfortunate enough to get caught in her snare as a decadent dessert—appreciated and savored until she's had her fill—then she pushes the plate, or them, to the side. I'm more like my father, at least that's what it seems from the little I remember about him. Not quite as tall as my sister, I have thick dark hair and green eyes like him, and I have his reserved personality. I'm known to get verbal and aggressive when my buttons get pushed the wrong way, though. That part must come from my mother.
"So what's up with the phone call that can't wait until tonight?" I ask, sure there's some catch attached to her surprise call.
"Since I was up, I figured I'd get a hold of you about Friday. I want to make reservations for Mom's birthday dinner at that steakhouse she likes. I need to confirm that you and Troy are still going."
"Oh, I forgot about that. I've had a few things on my plate lately. It'll only be me. You can scratch Troy."
"Hmm, another prior engagement or some other excuse this time?"
Damn, Laurel. She's going to make me say it, say that Troy and I split up. Then she'll throw out her "I told you so" comment. There's no way around it. I can suffer through it now or deal with her later. I pull on my ear and then let the words fly.
"We split up."
"No shit," she says a little too excitedly. "I told you so. You should have listened to me when I told you Troy wasn't relationship material and that you'd be better off taking him for a good ride and then dumping him. So what was it? He didn't have time for you again? His friends still more important?"
"He cheated on me," I say flatly, the emotion sucked out of me.
"That bastard! Who was she?"
"Lacey." I tug on my ear again.
"Lacey, as in your best friend?" The rising pitch in her voice has me cringing.
"Yes."
"Jesus, sis. That's rough. I guess her friendship was as fake as her personality," says the woman who's all into self-gratification and using people to her advantage.
"Hey, I need to get off the phone. I've got a meeting to go to. How about we continue our conversation later so I can tell you how betrayed and hurt I feel, and you can tell me again how I should have listened to you?"
"Sounds good to me. I'll call you later," Laurel says, unfazed by my comment.
I shake my head and hang up the phone, our conversation going as expected. Grabbing a notepad and pen, I head to the conference room.
"Nice of you to join us," Drake Quibbley says somewhat snidely as I enter the room and take my seat. An assistant editor like myself, he's not only a peer but another weasel—his personality and demeanor being on the same level as Troy's.
I give him a fake smile and nod at the faces around the table. "I believe I'm right on time."
