Page 2 of Flawless Foundations
I chuckle at the thought of a 28-year-old Emmy King reverting into a three-year-old. Maybe Jake could help get her in the car. My eyebrows lift. "Oh! I've got it. Bring Jake. His presence will take the heat off us just enough to make things bearable. We can pre-game in the car beforehand. I'll stock the vodka you like."
She chews on her lip in thought.
"You like the idea, admit it," I offer.
"While I really do love my boyfriend, I could get on board with using him for the good of our sanity. Plus, it would piss Kitty off."
"At least send her a note the morning of that you are bringing a plus one, or her head will explode, and the poor guy won't get to eat." I laugh at the thought of the mayhem that will ensue if we show up with an uninvited guest.
"All right. You've convinced me. Now I just have to sell Jake on it." She nears 425 Madison because I hear the doorman Thomas greet her.
"You could just pay him." And the scowl on her face is why I was made to be a brother. It's priceless.
"I… just... whatever." And she ends the call.
I place my phone on the desk with a smile on my face. I really do enjoy my relationship with Emmy. We've always gotten along, only being two years older than her, we've had a decent relationship our whole lives, but now that I'm living across the hall from her, we've gotten closer. I spend a lot more time with her and Jake. Even though I didn't like him at first, he's a cool dude, and he makes my sister happy. If she's happy, I'm happy.
Life has been a bit crazy lately. Ever since I broke off my engagement to Darcy, things have been rocky between my father and me. The plan was always to take over at King Cosmetics when he retired, but his disappointment in me has been a big sore spot. The engagement was not my decision, it was, let's call it more of a business arrangement, which honestly, I didn't mind. I've always had one goal, and that was King Cosmetics. I don't admit this lightly, but my whole life, when my father said, "Jump," I asked, "How high?" and then jumped higher. Emmy's the black sheep because she refused to jump at all. After a hard talk with her and a long look at my life, I decided that marrying someone that I wasn't in love with—someone who clearly was a perpetual cheater—just wasn't a smart decision for me personally.
So needless to say, I've been working my ass off to get back into my father's good graces, without having to get hitched to prove I still deserve this company.
Chapter 2
Becca
Oh, you've got to be freaking kidding me.
I look down at my feet and with more force than what should be necessary, I tug my foot off the ground. On the bottom of my brand-new Nike is a bright pink wad of freshly chewed and disregarded gum.
I don't bother hiding my growl as I try and fail to scrape it off over the rough sidewalk. Who thinks it's okay to spit out their gum in the middle of a freaking sidewalk? A prick, that's who. I'm already running late for work, now I'll have to walk the last two blocks with freaking gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Fortunately, I won't have to endure the odd feeling for the next six hours because I'll have to change into heels once I clock in. Which, in my opinion, is shit, I'm behind a bar all night, no one will see my shoes, so why can't I be comfortable?
I grumble my annoyance for the whole situation. Clearly, I'm not in a good mood. The gum just pushing me a little more over the edge. Normally, I'm a pretty happy person, but as I get closer to my destination, my mood starts to shift. With every other step sticking to the ground, I realize that this grumpy state of mind is becoming more of a common occurrence when it comes time to head to work.
Five years ago, after graduating from Columbia with a double major in Mathematics and Chemistry, I decided to get a job as a bartender. Yeah, a bartender. I'd learned to bartend in my spare time- yes, I had spare time- and had always loved mixing drinks. Not having a clue what I wanted to do with my newly acquired debt-free degrees, I got a job at an upscale cocktail lounge I liked to frequent with my bestie.
Needless to say, the parental units were not happy but were ultimately relieved that my "act of rebellion" didn't even come close to rivaling said bestie. Emmy King had been my best friend for more than a decade, so it wasn't surprising to me when she walked away from the millions in her trust fund shortly after she graduated college. My parents are what you call "new money." My father worked his ass off for his first million. When he sold his first computer program, my mother continued to work. So even though I have a very padded bank account, they still expect me to work. And bartending checks off that expectation. Fortunately for me, unlike Emmy, that's pretty much my parents’ only expectation. Well that and marry someone with a strong work ethic, their own wealth, and a sense of family responsibility. But they aren't hounding me about checking that off my list yet. I'm nearing the 3-0, so it's only a matter of time. No, poor Emmy, she’s got the opposite of me in the parental department. Her father was born into money, and therefore so was Emmy. But unlike many silver-spooned brats, she didn't want the life that came with all that money. She didn't want to check off the extensive list of expectations that accompanied a multi-million-dollar trust fund.
Yeah... the bitch be crazy if you ask me. But I still love her, and I admire her for what she did. It wasn't easy, but she flourished, and she's rocking her best life. I've always been supportive and helped when I can, but she didn't need much. Really, all I've done besides being a constant shoulder when she needs it is insisted on her rooming with me in my fourteenth floor two-bedroom in the swanky 425 Madison Ave high-rise apartment. It's more than thirty floors of pure luxury and there's no way I was going to live it up in style while my best friend lived in a tiny, rat-infested flat in Queens. Okay, there weren't any rats, but it was not a good situation, and I got her out of there faster than you could say, "I challenge you to a Skee-Ball tournament." Which, ironically, I would never actually say to her because she's a damn good Skee-Baller.
Thoughts of my bestie and her love affair with Skee-Ball start to diminish as I near Blush but decide to buy myself some time. I remember that I haven't seen Emmy for more than twenty minutes in several days. Between her spending time with her hot maintenance man Jake, and my stupid work schedule, we haven't had much Bex and Emmy time.
I pull out my phone and shoot her a text.
Me:we need a girl's night. SOON.
Within seconds she replies.
Emmy:Preach it sista. You tell me when and where and I'll be there.
Me:
Emmy:what's the occasion?
Me:I miss my bestie.
Emmy:I miss you too. Jake is needy.
Me:You love it.
