Page 74 of Emerald Malice

The copy room is empty. I use the desk in the corner to open my file and pull out the documents that I need to scan. The whole time, Abby hovers around me like a bird of prey, ready to swoop down at the slightest sign of weakness.

“Well, what about the company cocktail party next week? Are you bringing him to that?”

I throw her an impatient glare. “That’s only for the senior partners.”

Abby shrugs. “I’m sure they’ll make an exception if I go to Mr. Ewes and ask?—”

“Would you excuse me?” She’s blocking the damn copier now and I’m losing the will to be polite.

She steps out of the way with an ignorant little titter. “Maybe you could give him my number?”

I put in the first document and close the lid. “I’m not giving him anything.”

“Why not?”

A dozen spiteful answers spin through my head, each and every one laced with a scathing insult.

Because he has absolutely no interest in you.

Because he deserves a woman who wants more than just his money.

Because he’s not interested in another gold-digger with more boobs than personality.

Instead, what tumbles out is the truth: “Because I don’t see him much anymore.”

It tastes as bitter as bile coming out of my mouth. And it only makes me want to headbutt Abby all the more for making me admit it.

She smacks her glossy pink lips with unfiltered satisfaction. “You don’t?”

Before I have to answer, my phone rings. I’m so desperate to get out of this trainwreck of a conversation that I answer it immediately without checking to see who’s calling.

“Hello?” I wave for Abby to give me some privacy. Surprisingly, she takes the hint and skulks back to her desk.

“Hi, Nat.” Kat’s voice is small and nervous. Clearly, she didn’t expect me to pick up.

I freeze for a moment, contemplating whether or not I should hang up or be an adult.

“H-how are you?” she squeaks into the silence.

I close my eyes. Angry as I’ve been with her lately, hearing her voice again makes me realize how much I’ve missed her.

Be an adult, it is.

“Okay, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The silence stretches on. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m certainly not about to. I pull my fresh copies out of the machine. “Well, if that’s all you called to ask?—”

“No!” she yelps. “Nat, wait. Please.” She sounds miserable. She sounds exactly how I feel right now.

The loneliness inside me expands tenfold.

Sure, Mila’s around. And so is Yelena.

But there are moments—like right now—when neither of them counts.

Because neither of them has met Aunt Annie. They don’t know that Celebration by Kool & the Gang is one of my sad, I-need-a-good-cry songs or what a cherry tree means to me. They don’t know to grab my hand every time a car backfires and they haven’t watched me cry myself to sleep in the second week of October on the anniversary of the night I lost my parents.

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