Page 5 of We Can't Be Friends

“Golden rule. Treating you the way you are treating me. You get to look. I get to look.”

“I’m pretty sure it’streat others how you want to be treated.” She glares at Emerson over her shoulder, one thick brow arched. Emerson puts her hands up in front of her chest. “Okay, yeah, no. Cal, stop gawking at her.”

“Sorry, Emme.” She has a momentary softness before she hardens, returning her focus to me.

“Need me to undress then?” I reach for the hem of my shirt, pretending that I’m going to take it off. She doesn’t react.

One of her shoulders hikes up and down. “Not worth it.” She pats the front of my shoulder, dragging her nails to the back, then shoves me forward. “Nobody wants to see that.” I stumble forward, the door catching on my heels.

“And that’s Chloe Henry,” Emerson sighs. “I would apologize for her, but that’s her. She’s an unlit firecracker. An overprotective Sour Patch Kid.”

I don’t think anything is sweet about Chloe Henry, but for some reason I’m eager to be proven wrong.

2

CHLOE

I've always thought an iced coffee was the modern-day version of a genie lamp. Instead of rubbing it once and being granted three wishes, you swirl the coffee and your life problems are figured out.

My hand is curled around the plastic cup, condensation forming on the outside from the blistering summer heat, and how long this meeting is going.

Swirling the iced oat milk latte with honey—my go-to order—on the board room table in front of me, I don’t know what I’m searching for in the beige liquid.

A reason to quit my job? The words to dump my shitty boyfriend?

My gaze is pulled back to the checkin turned three hour team meeting happening around me.

“That’s a terrible idea,” I mumble the words I was thinking aloud, my filter turned off.

“How is it terrible?” Tamara, my counterpart and the top of my you-annoy-me list, replies snarkily. “We work with influencers.”

“I know what my job is.” I pull my hands to my lap, needing to stop fidgeting with the cup. “People are over these big time influencers receiving PR packages and free trips, but don’t use the product or give it away to their friends.”

Our boss, Ryan, nods his head with a smile. The silent praise and agreement encourage me to keep speaking. I’m cut off before I can.

“That’s a bad take, Chloe. You want nobodies to be sent free products and to attend our trips? We can’t guarantee they’d even be attractive.”

Tamara’s remark has my head jolting back.

I hope I didn’t hear that correctly.

Jaw dropped, I scan the room. All men. Tamara and I are the only woman on the team, and almost the entire company. I’ll have to count the directory of employees, but I swear there are less than fifteen.

It’s a skincare company, Second Chance Beauty. You’d expect there to be more. Or run by a female, but we aren’t and I think that tells you everything about beauty standards. Concocted by males.

I took this job a little over a year ago, eager for the vertical move, but unfortunately—like my boyfriend—it was too good to be true at first. Sparkly and new, but once that faded, their true colors showed.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. How are we supposed to sell the product if—”

“Your definition of beauty is warped.”

“I’m doing my job. You should too.”

Finally, Ryan says something, “I think we should table this for now.”

“Fine,” I huff, gathering my things and head back to my office.

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