Page 32 of Last Love

No.

Wait.

If that were the case, it would’ve been in my office mail.

Staff and families – Katherine aside – don’t have my home information.

“I understand how difficult it can be to confront your past, darling, but you absolutely need to. Collect your thoughts. Compose your deepest suppressed desires. And finally face your past.”

“God,” my exasperated mutter is between bites, “you make it sound so much easier than it is.”

“It is my job as your best friend to help you through the really hard shit in your life, Presley. This is…undoubtedly very difficult. Redefining you, rediscovering you, embracing all the different parts of you – past and present – is not an easy process. It’s also one that many individuals – women especially – can benefit from having a guided hand during the journey, which is why my next book that I’m working on will be touching on all those things. Your bravery will be used to inspire others to find or retake their own.”

Ugh.

It is so no mystery why people flock from all around the world to hear her give a seminar.

An unexpected knock on my door is followed by Clemmy swinging her head around the blockade. “Delivery’s here, boss.”

“I have to go,” I sigh into the phone, abandoning my sugary comfort. “Work and what not.”

“Call me later.”

“Promise.” After hanging up, I rise my casual gray, business dress covered frame to its feet and retrieve the white blazer that’s draped on the back of my chair. “Have all the outside vendors now officially been confirmed? The last thing I need is having to find a balloon dude morning of again.”

“They’ve all been confirmed!” She cheerfully states at the same time she nudges my door open further. “And everything has been finalized with accounting for all the profits to go to a local children’s hospital.”

The smile she’s given is genuine. “Perfect.”

“You also have a chicken ceasar salad waiting at the front for you to have for lunch. Katherine called me earlier to make the delivery.”

“I don’t need lunch.”

“She knew you would say that and told me to tell you…” Clemmy’s face momentarily scrunches while trying to recall. “Oh! I remember! ‘Deal with it, darling. You need more than Pop-Tarts in your life.’.”

See.

Cameras.

That heifer has cameras in my office!

“She’s so thoughtful,” Clemmy gushes as I stroll towards her.

“She’s so something,” I playfully mutter prior to kicking my chin forward for her to get moving.

Outside, next to the front desk, an unexpectedly attractive delivery man is waiting with a tablet and killer grin. “Miss Morrison?”

Okay, either the entire world took sexy pills or I’m sporting a thick pair of horn-goggles.

My smile is professional despite the fact his once-over is not. “That’s me.”

He cocks his head, extends his carob-colored hand my direction, and flirtatiously smirks. “Mind signin’ this for me?”

This?

No.

What he’s wishing for by the gleam in his eye?

Yeah.

Partially because I shouldn’t be trying to get a date at work – especially not with where I work – and partially because the only taste I want is the one I sprinted away from like I’m a direct descendent of Jesse Owens.

Thanks bar trivia for giving me a new comparison to use in my time of crisis.

I transfer the device to my possession, swiftly scribble my signature, and hand it back on the same polite grin. “Clemmy will show you where to place the products around back.” My stare shifts to her. “And I’ll watch the front while you do so.”

Clemmy enthusiastically nods and leads the charge away.

“Have a good afternoon, Miss Morrison.”

“You too, sir.”

He smiles wide one last time before redirecting his attention to my chatterbox assistant.

I’m thankfully blocked from his direct line of sight by an unfortunate savior.

“Hey, boss,” his typical good-natured demeanor is both relieving and infuriating. “Got a minute?”

Nope.

No-huh.

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