Page 15 of Ivory Ashes

Like staying home and watching Gilmore Girls until I pass out on the couch in a sugared-up coma. That sounds better than squeezing into a fancy dress just so I can still be the Administrative Assistant to the CEO of Cerberus Industries, but in much less comfortable shoes.

These kinds of industry-wide, “networking” events inevitably have me sprinting all over the ballroom, passing notes from my boss to people stationed in every far corner of the room.

Have a drink, they say. Enjoy yourself, they say. But they don’t mean it. I’m never off the clock. Unless I call in sick.

Really, calling in sick is the superior option, anyway. Bianca is doing me a favor.

“Did you already have a date?” Bianca asks. “Because I can reschedule my thing if?—”

“Yes!” I snatch my keys out of the pantry where they are wedged between a box of off-brand Lucky Charms and a half-eaten Rice Crispy Treat.

“So you do want me to reschedule?” Bianca asks.

“Wha—No! I found my keys.” I do a small victory dance and then place the keys securely in the absurdly-small pocket of my trousers. “You can’t reschedule your thing. Your thing is emergency wisdom tooth surgery.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a real emergency. I’m on pain meds. I can push it to Monday if you have plans.”

I snort. “I haven’t had plans in six years, Bianca.”

Mikhail Novikov’s face rises up in my mind—the Ghost of Unbelievable, Life-Changing Sex. He pops up a lot more than I wish he did. But for good reason.

He changed my life that night.

I drop down into the traitorous barstool. “Six years. I can’t believe it’s been six years. Is that too long to go without a date? It feels like too long.”

“Oh, um… I don’t know,” Bianca stammers. “I haven’t really—I’m not?—”

I groan. “Ignore me, Bianca. It’s early and apparently, I’m inappropriate before I’ve had coffee.”

I’d stop at the coffee stand down the block, but there won’t be time. Toxic brown sludge from the break room at work, it is.

“It’s okay.”

“I wish it was, but it’s not. I pay you to be my babysitter, not my therapist.”

Suddenly, a golden brown head of hair pops around the corner, a red-and-blue felt superhero mask strapped to his eyes. Terrible morning aside, I can’t help but smile. Dante has that effect on people. Me most of all.

“Is that Bianca?” he asks.

I nod and hold out my phone.

“Hi, Bianca!” he shrieks.

Bianca laughs and says hi, but Dante is already darting off back to his bedroom, making vroom noises like he’s flying through the air. Five-year-olds are a trip, I’m tellin’ ya.

“You sure it’s okay that I cancel on you tomorrow?” she asks again.

“Unless you want to chase Dante around the apartment while you have ice packs strapped to your swollen cheeks, then yes, it is absolutely okay for you to cancel.”

“Well, I mean, I could do that. Maybe if I put on a movie for him, I could stay on the couch and?—”

“No! Rest up, eat boatloads of ice cream, and I’ll see you when you’re four teeth less wise, okay?”

Bianca chuckles. “Okay. Thanks, Margaret.”

I wince. It’s been six years, but the fake name still stings. I should have gone for something more original. Like, I dunno… Athena. Or Aphrodite.

Then again, being the goddess of warfare or love would definitely stand out in a crowd, which would have made the name change counterproductive.

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