Page 8 of Booked on a Feeling

“I didn’ttakethis case from you. It came in hot, and someone had to jump in right away. That’s why it was reassigned tome.” Ashley’s animosity bewildered Lizzy. Yes, they had been awkward and distant toward each other, but things had never gotten nasty. “I thought I was helping you out by taking the case off your plate while you were recovering.”

“You could’ve given the case back to me when I returned,” she accused.

“That wasn’t my decision to make. And how could I have known you wanted this case back? You never asked.” Lizzy spread out her hands, imploring her to be reasonable.

Ashley paused as though she was searching for a response. In the end, she scoffed, giving Lizzy a hostile glare. “Never mind. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

Before Lizzy could respond to that last bit of unfair accusation, Ashley spun on her heels and stormed out of the office. Lizzy stared at her retreating back, trying to come to terms with the revelation. She had naively thought the mad dash to make partner had put a temporary strain on their friendship and that they could close the rift between them someday. She didn’t know Ashley was filled with pent-up animosity and resentment toward her over a case she thought should’ve been hers. It hurt to think that their friendship was something that could be callously cast aside over a jealous grudge.

Carol Monty’s angry snarl, Peter’s well-meaning advice to go the extra mile, Ashley’s hateful accusations… The events of the day crashed into Lizzy and sent her mind reeling. The familiar sensation of blood draining from her fingertips washed over her, and her heart rate kicked up several notches. She had to get out of there. Grabbing her cell phone and purse with shaky hands, she nearly stumbled out of her office.

“Heading home early?” the receptionist called out. “I don’t blame you one bit.”

Lizzy managed a small smile and waved weakly as shepassed the reception desk. Although it wouldn’t make the elevator come any faster, she pressed the down button several times in quick succession. She didn’t think she could manage a normal conversation if anyone were to catch her. Her breathing was uneven, and she was trembling from head to toe. Luckily, the doors opened to an empty elevator, and she stepped inside.

Once she made it to her car, she unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel and breathed, letting her thoughts come and go like boxes chugging down a conveyor belt. Her thoughts couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t allow them to. She intentionally acknowledged them, accepted the accompanying emotions, and let them go.

She didn’t know how long she sat in her car like that, but when her breathing evened out and her limbs felt solid, she started her car and maneuvered it onto the road. On a day like this, there was only one place she wanted to be.

Accounting Fun Day meant Jack got to spend his entire morning holed up in his bedroom, which doubled as his office, and play with numbers. He typed the last amount into the accounting software and hit Enter. A satisfied smile stretched across his face, and he leaned back from the monitor with his fingers threaded behind his head. Weldon Brewery’s accounting was done for the month, and the numbers looked good.

He sat back up and generated the pertinent financial reports, which confirmed that the brewery was indeed performing well. Numbers were his friends. They were infallible and infinite. Working with them made him feel warm and fuzzy, especially when they shared good news.

Too soon, his math-induced euphoria burst like a soap bubble. While numbers were infinite, his prospects were dismally finite… at least while he remained in Weldon. It was a lovely, small town in California, nestled in the outer edges of the Sierra Nevada. Their downtown thrived with eclectic independent stores, but none were in need of a business analyst with a math degree.

It wasn’t that he disliked working at the brewery. Joining the family business had been exciting at first. His family had desperately needed his affinity for numbers and technology to wrangle in the financial aspect of the brewery. But Weldon Brewery was a well-oiled machine now, and he had to wear many hats—none that fit right—just to stay useful.

The walls of his bedroom seemed to close in on him. He hadn’t heard anything back on his interview, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope yet. He couldn’t. The hope of getting that job was the only thing anchoring him these days. McBain did say it might be a while before they got back to him. He was one of the first people they interviewed, and they had a long list of candidates to interview after him.Yeah, hope lives on.

The job in Los Angeles was an entry-level position, but there was ample room for growth. He wanted to tap into his potential and see how high he could fly. The challenge called to him, and something heady buzzed through his veins. Excitement. He wondered how it would feel to wake up every morning, excited to work toward a goal all his own. Damn, he wanted that job.

And Lizzy was there. What would it be like to live close to her? So close they could bump into each other unexpectedly and one thing could lead to another.… When his pulse picked up pace, he corrected the course of his thoughts.

Jack knew she’d win the trial. Her opening statement had blown him away. She was articulate without being stuffy, intelligent without sounding arrogant, and wickedly funny atjust the right moment. If he’d been on the jury, he would’ve believed everything she said. He was 98 percent sure that it wasn’t his decades-long crush on her that colored his opinion.

Suddenly restless, he pushed away from his desk and got to his feet. Crush or no crush, Lizzy wasn’t the reason he wanted to move to Los Angeles. He needed to do it for himself. Besides, she was too busy with her work and doing whatever else overachievers like her did—which probably included dating fellow overachievers—to spend much time with him.

He might as well go into the brewery early. Hopefully, there was something for him to fix or tinker with. He put on his handyman hat and grabbed his car keys. He was halfway to the brewery when his phone rang.

The screen readMOM.In all caps. Because his mom was the boss and deserved to be thought of in all caps.

He thumbed the answer button on his steering wheel. “Yes, Mother?”

“Where are you?” she asked without preamble.

“In my car. On my way to the brewery.”

“Oh, good. Then you can go to market for me.”

“Sure. What did you need?” He’d just passed the turn that would take him to the market, so he made a U-turn at the next street. He switched his handyman hat for the errand-boy hat. It was disquieting how relieved he was to have work to do.

“Your dad”—her words held a world of frustration—“got red onions instead of yellow onions.”

“The yellow onions weren’t fresh,” his dad interjected from the background, loudly enough to be heard over the phone. “We can’t serve the customers something that isn’t fresh.”

“I thought Dad was retired. What’s he doing back in the kitchen?” Jack pulled into Nature Mart’s parking lot.

“Driving me crazy,” his mom muttered. “Can you imagine serving onion stacks made with red onions?”

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