Page 78 of Something Cheeky

“I can’t believe I ate so much.” Derek patted his stomach and groaned. “This is the second-best meal I’ve had since in DC. Your mom’s is the best.”

“Maybe we’ll get a Filipino restaurant at Eden Center one day,” Zoe said wistfully. “There’s still a couple of vacant storefronts.”

“When was the last time you were at your boutique?” he asked suddenly.

Derek had been so engrossed in rehearsals that he hadn’t checked in with her about her business. They spent most of their off hours discussing the musical or naked in bed. Sometimes both at the same time.

Zoe squinted as her lips silently counted the days. “Last Sunday night so I could finalize payroll for my staff.”

“You miss it?”

“A little. I have a great manager who’s taking care of everything while I’m at Prestige.”

“Of course you have everything under control. You basically ran our college costume shop whenever you were working on a production.”

“That was different. We were running on naivete and cold pizza,” she reminded him.

“Don’t forget the late-night energy drinks.”

“How did we ever drink that syrupy stuff?” Zoe shuddered as her face scrunched up in disgust.

“Says the lady who dumps a cup of sugar into her coffee.”

She giggled. How he loved that sound. If his only job in the world was to make her laugh every day, he’d die a happy man.

“Something Cheeky is different because there’s more balls to juggle. There’s staffing, inventory management, marketing—and I have to work on next season’s designs in advance so my sewists can make them.”

“And I gave you one more,” he said with a twinge of guilt in his voice. “I had no clue it took so much to run a boutique. I’m glad you agreed.”

Zoe frowned instead of agreeing with him. Did she regret accepting the gig? Maybe that was why she’d been quiet most of the evening. He’d chalked it up to general tiredness after their long days.

“Did you talk to Greg after he found us together?” she blurted. The slight relief in her expression meant that she’d held in the question all night.

Derek nodded. His light mood vanished. He’d avoided the topic because Zoe wouldn’t be happy about it.

“What did Gregzilla say?”

“Did you say Gregzilla?” Derek cocked his head but he couldn’t help but smile. His mentor had many similarities to a self-obsessed, micromanaging bride-to-be.

“All the credit goes to Trixie.” Zoe smirked.

He chuckled. Trixie was a firecracker. But he supposed she had to be in order to be a sex educator and the show’s intimacy coordinator. There was no way he’d be able to stand in front of people and talk about vibrators and lube.

Zoe poked his arm and waved her hand for him to continue.

“I went to his office after rehearsal. It was the strangest conversation I’ve ever had with him.” He’d replayed it several times on the drive to Zoe’s, trying to figure out if he could’ve steered the conversation differently.

“Did he imply again that I’d gotten this job by sleeping with the director?”

“No. Yes. I mean.” Derek clamped his mouth shut. He was doing this all wrong, but Greg’s reaction had confused him.

“Tell me.”

“He invited me into his office and poured me a glass of fifteen-year-old Macallan,” he said quietly.

That glass of whisky in a crystal highball was etched in his brain cells. Greg had planned the entire disgusting conversation before Derek set foot into that office.

“Are you kidding me?” Zoe sat up straight. Her nostrils flared. “So now you’re part of Greg’s little old boys’ club.”

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