Page 8 of Boss Me

“That was months ago, and you’ve worked almost every weekend since. Evenings, too. You need a break.”

She wasn’t wrong. Today proved it.

“Someday,” I said. Though not while Jackson had a newborn, apparently.

She pursed her lips and lifted her handbag to her shoulder. “Have a good trip. And don’t forget to eat.”

I gave her a weak smile. “Don’t you forget, either. And don’t spend your days off working in the soup kitchen.”

“What I do on my days off is none of your business, Miguelito. If I want to spend time at church or even here, it’s not your concern.”

I held up my palms. “Sí, señora. Good night.”

She nodded once and walked out the door to the garage. Her headlights swept away down the street.

After my solitary meal, I trudged upstairs to my bedroom. The suit bag in the walk-in closet was still half-packed from my trip to Asia.

Boston in early April. I shivered.

I slid a couple of wool sweaters into the pockets, then clipped in my suits and shirts on their hangers. Just as I was considering adding a pair of jeans on the off-chance I’d have the energy to go out after the conference, my phone buzzed on the chest of drawers in the center of the closet.

Was it Ben, calling to check on me? No, he didn’t call me after hours. But I’d never hurt myself at work before. My stomach gave a hopeful flutter.

When I checked the name on the display, my gut settled for a second and then clenched. She must have heard what I did.

“Jamila.”

“Hey, now. No need to be so growly. You know I don’t fall for that shit. I’m calling to see how you’re doing.” Her honey-dipped Texas accent softened the consonants.

I checked my right hand. The bandage was free of blood despite the packing I’d done. “I’m fine.”

“You sure about that? Because people who are fine don’t Hulk out at the office.”

“What the fuck did Jackson tell you? I didn’t Hulk out. I was making a point, and my ring caught that glass on my desk.” Why was I lying to her? She was my best friend, after Jackson. She had to know why I did it.

“You mean the glass you put on it after you argued with one of your temps and she keyed the wood?”

I winced. Not my finest moment. But the temp had been the one to damage the desk that time, not me. “You know how Jay is. He got on my last nerve.”

“I know how you are about Jay. Ever since—”

“It had nothing to do with that.” Another lie. They just kept flying out of my mouth. Had my father died and possessed me like the jumbee from my tías’ stories? I could only hope Mick Fallon was dead. As Jamila often said, that man was too mean to die.

“You sure? You’ve been in a horn-tossing mood since Valentine was born.”

“I’ve always picked up his slack, but he’s hardly been in the office since the birth. I’ve been doing my work and his, too.”

I crossed to the built-in shelving that held my watches. Next to my Breitling was the fragile, dried calla lily boutonnière I’d saved from his wedding. When I touched it, the edge of a petal flaked off. That night had broken my heart in two. Thank God Jamila had been there to save me. I shuddered to think about what I could’ve said—or done—if I’d gotten drunk.

I returned to stand in front of my suit bag. “I’m packing right now to give his speech to the Entrepreneurs’ Society in Boston.”

“No, Coop. You just got back from Singapore.”

“Someone’s got to do it,” I growled, scanning the closet for my dress shoes. What had Norma done with them?

“There are other people who can take up the slack, you know. Get Weston to do it. The CEO ought to step up.”

“He can’t.” He’d told me to cancel. And I’d been tempted. Especially after he made me see how Jackson was disentangling himself from the company we’d built together, the one that symbolized our friendship.

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