Page 28 of Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I said Yes)

“I think something’s wrong. Maybe it’s his other businesses.”

“How do you know about those?” I try to ask as offhandedly as I can.

Mabel looks like a model. Wavy blonde hair, makeup straight off of one of thosehow to apply makeup to your face to look like a kickass boss bitchtutorials, and all the vintage clothes for days. She’s a thrifter, too—an absolute fiend for finding vintage in the wild—and she wears it so much better than I do.

I don’t get jealous of other people the way some people do. If that stems from insecurity, then maybe I’ve just never had that in me. Rather than be jealous of how pretty Mabel is and how great her fashion sense is, I look to her for inspiration. I’m not really into competing with other people for anything because I find it so freaking tedious.

“I just looked him up as soon as I knew what his name was. I was surprised he was so young to be buying a corporation of this size, but I guess he’s already got an impressive portfolio of other companies he owns.” She opens the microwave, stirs her soup of the gods, and puts it back in for another minute. “Do you think maybe something went wrong there? I don’t know how he can run all of these things. It must be so stressful.”

“I’m not sure.” If I’m any more noncommittal, it’s going to be very obvious that I’m committal.

“He’ll likely just leave this place to his CEO and COO, president or vice-president, or whatever structure he decides to implement here soon enough. It’s kind of weird to have him in meetings on and off anyway.”

“What do you mean? Mike and his family were constantly sitting in on meetings.”

“Yeah, but they started the place, and Mike was the CEO. It’s different when you build it from the ground up. Mr. Montfield bought this place because either he had a bee in his business bonnet about owning a pudding empire or he thought it had the potential to make some great profits over the years. Well, that, or he’s money laundering and thought pudding would be a good cover.”

I see the way her lips turn up. She’s rocking a gorgeous shade of red, and don’t ask me how she gets it to stay flawless the way she does because red on me gets everywhere except my lips. “Probably not money laundering,” I say with a laugh.

“Anyway, I think something’s wrong. How should we bring it up without sounding weird?”

“Are you asking me because you think I have great ideas, or…”

“Okay.” She gives in without a fight. “I might have heard something about you two dating.”

Fuck. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“We’re more like good friends. We might have dabbled in a single date, but sometimes it’s better to just stay friendly.”

“Oh my gosh!” Her squeal is as spicy as her soup smells. The microwave dinged sometime ago, and neither of us noticed.

I lunge for it and open the door. “Shh,” I admonish. “I don’t want everyone knowing, especially because it’s not really a thing. And even if it were, workplace stuff is so…it’s just not good.”

“Wait. Was it your idea for him to restructure the place the way he did? Because that had insider intuition written all over it.”

“No. It was all him.” Lies, but this one is a good one. I don’t need any credit for having a great idea. I’m not the one who made gigantic sacrifices and went through a lot of trouble to make it happen. “How many other people know about this?”

“Hardly anyone. I might have just been walking down the hall at the right moment when you guys were in the reception areawith his mom. She’s super sweet, by the way. At least she looks like she is. It sounded like she hadn’t met you before, though.”

“Mr. Montfield and I met at a fundraiser a while ago.” Yeah, using his last name really makes this sound more convincingly casual. “Almost a year ago. We’ve known about each other since then, but it’s more like a casual friendship. I haven’t met his parents.”

Mabel gives me a strange look as she slips her soup bowl onto a plate so it’s not too hot to handle. “I didn’t know casual friends were a thing.”

“I mean, we’re friends, and we’re all happy and nice when we see each other, but we’re not friends from childhood or anything.” I am not good at this. Not good at all.

Mabel just laughs, and it’s not unkindly. She’s one of a kind in so many ways, and one of those is her ability to see something and intuitively know she shouldn’t tell anyone else. Even if she hated me, she wouldn’t have divulged something she didn’t consider her business. She came to me with her worries today because she has a big heart, and she’s concerned about someone she thought I was dating.

But I’ve since totally disabused her of that notion. Completely. Without a doubt.

“We’re not really dating,” I reiterate. Again. Ihavenoticed that Mont hasn’t looked so hot in the happy pants lately. Correction: He’s looked every bit as hot as he always has. I mean, temperature hot. On the happiness scale, though, that reading is subzero. “But I’ll check on him. I’ll make sure he’s doing okay.”

“I just didn’t want to notice and not say anything to you. I wanted to talk to him, but I’d feel silly bringing it up. I think it would only make him uncomfortable. It’s important to check on our friends, whether they’re happy or sad, especially when things don’t appear like they’re okay. Even rich people have problems, and they have feelings like everyone else. Maybe it’sa mental health thing, and that’s something that should never be ignored. If he trusts you, maybe he’d be willing to share with you.”

“I’ll talk to him right away,” I tell her.

“Sounds good.”

“Mabel?” I call out as she turns around. She cranks her head over her shoulder and raises a perfect brow. Literally, they’re perfect because she pencils them on. Or in. I don’t even know. I just know she does it because they aren’t natural hair if you look closely. They don’t go all wonky like mine do at the ends. I wish I had the courage to just wax mine off and draw them on, except I suck at makeup, so…not going to happen.

---