Regan’s heart skipped a beat when she saw her name pop up. She actually felt it in her chest.
Looks like you were right, typed Paige.Who does that? Seriously, what kind of person does that?
Someone miserable in their own life?That was Maia.So they have to fuck around in other people’s?
Makes sense,Regan typed.But Jesus.She sat there, phone in hand, shaking her head in disbelief.
Well, we got some confirmation.That was Vienna.
Meaning?Maia.
That we weren’t all crazy!Vienna began.She definitely zeroed in on me. We know your bandannas were taken, Maia, and you didn’t lose them. We know Regan didn’t steal Ava’s idea.
Told you.Regan couldn’t resist typing that.
And we know that Becca is the one who did steal Regan’s idea.
Told you.That was Ava, and Regan grimaced as she read the words. Because, shit. She owed Ava a serious apology. She opened a private text between the two of them as the group text continued to ping with messages. Her thumbs hovered over the buttons, then she started to type. Stopped. Started again. Stopped.
“Shit.”
Everything she typed seemed trite. Lame. Not good enough.
With a sigh, she clicked back to the group.
If I didn’t need the money, I’d tell her to take her check and shove it up her narcissistic ass.That was Maia, and it made Regan grin as she remembered her funky hair and no-nonsense attitude.
Paige commented,At least now we know why we had to sign NDAs. She doesn’t want future attendees knowing how much she likes mind games.
I think the best revenge, Ava typed,is to take the checks and do something good with them.
I agree, Regan typed.I know we all had plans for it and we’re getting less than we thought, but we’re all getting some, which is pretty cool. Use it well.
Good plan,typed Vienna. I said it before, but it bears repeating: Never meet your heroes. Jesus Christ.
* * *
August had come in hot.
Like, really hot. Fry an egg on the pavement hot. Surface of the sun hot. And it didn’t really matter how hard Pomp’s air-conditioning unit was working, there were still ovens running and burners lit in the kitchen, and not even two hours into her shift, Ava was sweating like a menopausal woman in a sauna.
Not her favorite conditions to work in, and added to Goldie and her “I hate the world and everyone in it especially my employees” attitude that day, the idea of quitting—simply taking off her chef’s coat, handing it to Goldie, and telling her to stick it where the sun don’t shine—was almost too tempting. After all, she now had fifty thousand dollars sitting in her bank account. She didn’thaveto stay there if she didn’t want to. Not really.
The corners of her mouth tugged upward, as they always seemed to do when she thought about her bank balance. How could they not? There was a cushion now, and she’d never had a cushion before. Totally new to her. Her mother texted her every morning to ask how her fifty thousand grandchildren were doing, and it cracked Ava up every time. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could certainly buy relief.
Shoving aside that whispering desire to leave her job, she put her head down and focused on the cranberry orange scones she was making for the brunch special the next day and did her best not to sweat on them.
Fridays were always hella busy, and by the time she wiped down her counter and put the last of her equipment away at the end of her shift, she felt like a wet dishrag, limp and wrung out. She finished up, bid her good nights to the few crew members left, and pushed her way through the back door and into the hot August night.
Then stopped dead in her tracks.
“Hi.” Regan leaned against the wall of the building directly across from the door, arms folded over her chest, feet crossed at the ankle, looking as beautiful and sexy as she ever had in worn jeans and a simple white T-shirt. Ava had to make a conscious effort to catch her breath and then to remember that she was still mad at Regan.
And stung by her.
And missed her terribly.
She inhaled to steady herself. “Hey.”
