Page 76 of Fluke
She leans back. “Jess?”
“The ex-husband.”
You could hear a pin drop in my office as Shelly’s eyes bug out. All I can think about is how Jess would promise a smack on the ass if he heard me call him that.
I should remember to address him like that tonight.
“This is like a fairy tale.” Shelly shakes her head in disbelief. “Keep going. Tell me there’s an alpha moment in this story, dammit.”
I laugh, unable to contain myself. “Girl, if you could only see the way Jess came up behind me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and put Chuck the Fuck in his place.”
Her eyes twinkle.
“Jess was like—now that you know I exist, if you ever approach Pippa like that again, I’ll take it as a personal insult.”
Shelly leans dramatically onto my desk as if she’s collapsing.
“I know,” I say, sighing happily. “And that’s really what … you know, brought us together this weekend.”
Admitting out loud that we’re together—even if for a week—turns a little nugget of worry in my stomach. Every time I consider how poorly this might end, I shove it out of my mind. I refuse to give it any ground to grow.
Jess promised me that, no matter what, we would always be friends. That if I decide in a week’s time that I was right and that this is a terrible idea, he will never walk away from me.
And I want to believe that. My lord, I want to believe that.
I want to believe that he would never change the way he sees me. I hope that I’ll never be judged because I want, or don’t want, certain things in my life. I pray there’s never a day that I see regret in his eyes.
We’re one day in, and I already know that would destroy me.
No. I trust him. He’s the best man I know.
A knock on the door makes Shelly jump. She stands straight and smoothens out her skirt.
“Come in,” I say.
Bridgit opens the door and steps inside. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, ma’am,” Shelly says. “I was just bringing her flowers that I saw as I walked by the front desk. Chuck stopped about the Whistler campaign, so I’m off to address that.”
“Thanks for bringing me the flowers,” I say.
She winks. “Talk soon.” She shuts the door snugly behind her.
Bridgit drops a few files on my desk before dropping herself into a chair across from me. “You know, when I was younger, I lived for Mondays.”
“Really? Because when I was younger, Mondays often came with a hangover.”
She laughs. “Well, I came from a family where work came before all else. There were no parties and drinking and fun, really, of any kind. It was work, work, work.”
“That sounds like no fun.”
“It wasn’t. I mean, look where I am now—CEO of Bloom Match. I can’t complain. I just look back on my life and wonder if I could’ve had more fun.”
I sit back in my chair and take her in.
Bridgit’s hair is perfectly highlighted, blown out, and coiffed. Her nails are manicured with fresh French tips. Her signature navy suit has been tailored to hug her curves and her pumps have red soles which meansexpensive.
She’s the walking, talking, flexing woman who so many want to be.Who knew that she was thinking about having more fun?
