Page 49 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
“Right?” Erin grinned. “I wish I had Claire’s talent with sweets; I’d be having those suckers for breakfast every morning.”
The laughter that filled the room eased some of Claire’s pain. And Lincoln—he’d spent the entire day affirming her skill, preaching her wonders to anyone who would listen. To hear Lincoln tell it from the podium, she’d been a God-given gift to the project. She had her doubts as to whether that was true, but the praise had felt good. Then and now.
“The crème brûlée,” Lily was moaning.
“Yes!” Erin got a dreamy look in her eye. “And that bacon…”
All three women groaned. Claire couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“So the way to y’all’s hearts is through the bacon, huh?”
“And sugar, apparently,” Lily conceded. “Now…” She glanced at the margarita in Claire’s hand, the one she was a third of the way through. “Eat another pretzel.”
Claire complied. The snack did help settle her uneasy stomach.
Scarlett nodded her approval. “Good. Feel like talking to us about Lincoln?”
There went another gulp of her drink.
Scarlett snorted. “Look at that face! Now you have to spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” Claire mumbled against the rim of her glass.
“You know,” Erin said, “it’s safe to talk to us. We’re not gonna judge how you got this job, or how things went with you and Lincoln in the past. We just want to know that you’re okay.”
Erin was right. Her friends wouldn’t judge her—unlike her family. And the rest of the world, apparently.
“So I guess you know about our history.”
“Do we”? Scarlett raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Because I’ve heard it from the horse’s mouth, and it went nothing like what was written in that article.”
“Maybe you can tell it, then?” Claire asked hopefully.
Scarlett tipped her glass toward Claire. “I will.”
Her friend proceeded to spill the details that Shel had either altered or completely left out of her article. The gasps of outrage and angry looks were a balm to her soul.
“That bitch!”
Claire giggled, planting a fist on the ground when turning her head to look at Erin made the room spin. “I believe both Lincoln and I used that word.”
“Good,” Lily said. “Because it’s true. Shel Blanchard is a bitch.”
“I’ll write her into my next book,” Scarlett said.
“Will she die in some horribly humiliating way?” Erin asked, grinning.
“Oh no,” Scarlett said. “Victims have to be sympathetic, even if their deaths are humiliating. No”—she tapped her chin thoughtfully—“she’ll definitely be a villain.”
They all burst out laughing. Claire rolled onto her back, barely keeping her drink upright to prevent its spilling all over Lily’s living room rug. Erin rescued it. “Maybe I should hang on to that.”
Claire laid on the rug, staring at the slowly revolving ceiling as she gave Erin a sloppy nod. “Probably a good idea.”
“I think you might should hold on to that for more than one reason,” Lily agreed.
Scarlett laughed. “Let the woman have her drink if she wants it.”
“Weren’t we trying to get more details about Lincoln?” Erin asked.
