“You send over the recommendations to Chris?”
“I did.” I bob my head at Ava as she sits across my desk, her light blonde hair resting just above her shoulders, her small frame engulfed by the chair she sits in. It still completely baffles me that this small, soft-spoken, and polite woman is related to Addison Jenkins. Not that there is something bad about any of those traits. Addison is just so…scary.Her personality, while introverted, is so large you can feel it fill a room. But it’s nothing like the way you can physically feel Rosie Garcia enter a room. Or maybe that’s just me. And maybe it’s that I actively search for her. I still haven’t worked out why that is yet.
“I like Liza, she has her head screwed on. She has a great face for the company, she’s easy to match up with colors, shapes, and plaster on every sign because she won’t take away from the branding. She’ll blend.” I nod in agreement.
“She also has a good list of authors, which is good for profile, client trust, and all that.” Ava tips her chin in agreement too.“And Daniel?” I push, and Ava scrunches up her nose, reflecting my feelings for the slimeball.
“I was shadowing him for under five minutes before he attempted to grope me.”
“What?!” I sit up straighter, my fist clenching by my side, but Ava raises her hand to settle me.
“Relax, I handled it. Chris was informed and I pulled him up on it in front of everyone.”
“Good.” I’m thankful that the Jenkins spirit runs through her genetics. “Did you tell Matt?”
“I don’t really want to risk losing the deal over assault charges, plus I have kids at home that like their dad there and not in prison.” A smile breaks across my face, matching the smirk on Ava’s. She isn’t wrong, Matteo De Luca is as hotheaded as they come when it’s his family and friends. But Ava? That is a whole other level.
“Good point,” I agree. “But make sure you let me know if it happens again. I want to have words with Chris directly.” She just arches a brow with a knowing smirk.
“And Rosie?”
“What about her?” The sudden spike in my heart rate is unusual, and for some reason I can’t look Ava in the eye, at least until she starts chuckling.
“Well…she is also in the running for the position, is she not?”
“Oh…” Duh. “Yes. She’s the obvious choice.”
“The obvious choice, huh?” I look back over to Ava and she has a shit-eating grin on her face, settling back into her chair, crossing her arms, and giving methe look.
“Say what you want to say and then get out.” I wave off her glowing smile like she knows something. But she’s wrong because there isn’t even anything to know. Rosie wants our friends-who-fuck situation kept a secret, which I’d be perfectly okay with under normal circumstances. It just leaves me torotate my roster on the nights when we are out with our friends—not that I have yet to dial a single number on said roster, but that’s besides the point. Every time I do something small that tests the waters of maybe not being a secret, or maybe just being acknowledged? I don’t know, it’s like a tiny kick in the guts when she shuts it down. Maybe because it’s Rosie, and she’s different…in some way, to other women. The obvious aside, she affects me in ways no other woman has, and while it’s completely frustrating and Ishouldbe working as hard as Rosie is to ignore it, there is a tiny, little, small part of me that maybe doesn’t want to ignore it.
Then every time she shuts me down, that little voice comes back in my head and straightens me out.
Not enough.
Not worth it.
“You smitten, Smith?” Ava’s accusation brings me back from my thoughts and I clear my throat.
“Please. She’s a beautiful woman, I’d have to be blind not to see that.” I click open my email and start to scroll, opening Spotify and readying my playlist. “But I also know her outside of the client, so I know she would be the perfect fit.” I scroll and scroll and scroll aimlessly through my emails.
“Uh-huh. And that’s why you can’t make eye contact with me?”
I run a frustrated hand down my face, making a dramatic roll of my neck before reluctantly turning in Ava’s direction. She leans forward, resting her arms on my desk and narrowing her eyes at me.
“Ahhh!” She sits up straight, pointing at me with a booming smile, and I fall back into my chair. “I knew it! You have a cruuuuush,” she sing-songs through a laugh that has her arms wrapping around her stomach as she falls back into her chair. I just sit there like a chump, waiting for her to get over it.
“That’ll do it, De Little. One more word from you and I’ll tell Matt about Daniel’s bullshit.”
She shuts up at her college nickname. “Ugh, you’re no fun.” She stomps out of my office and closes the door behind her. Just as it clicks shut, I press the space bar on my computer and the song cued up fills my office; “Go Fuck Yourself”by Two Feet.
I am closing out another late night in the office with my general ad hoc for my personal affairs, ending the call to my accountant and pouring myself a whiskey from the bar trolley in the corner of the office. I could wait until I get home to drink from my more expensive collection, but I am dead on my feet. I make my way over to the floor-to-ceiling window, flicking the light switch to dim as I go and then letting the lights of the city illuminate the space.
I raise the whiskey and drink, letting it coat its way down my throat, a warm and familiar burn, then pull out my phone.
Littered with messages; Estelle, Summer, Bouncy Brunette, Pops, Girl with Pink Hai—wait,Pops?
I open the message thread from my dad and briefly skim it, ignoring the immediate reaction. My palms sweat and I can feel the frown pulling down my brow.
