Page 27 of Hard Limits

Notable by his absence this morning was Mr. Vale. He was in the adjoining office, I knew that for certain, but I guess he didn’t believe birthdays were important. Or he didn’t believe I was important. Or both. Probably both.

Not that I saw much of him. He sent emails, usually vague emails that required several rounds of clarification before I could act on his instructions. Those clarifications came with varying degrees of rudeness. But the job was bearable, and the work was well within my capabilities. And if I got stuck with anything, my other colleagues helped however they could. For the first time since I became Meera, I didn’t feel as if I’d made some horrible mistake.

But I suspected the real Meera might. Alfie was being a jerk. Yesterday, she’d been in tears as she told me he’d quit the ecological project to work evenings in a bar, which meant they’d hardly see each other now since she worked during the day. Personally, I thought a little space might not be such a bad thing, and I desperately hoped they’d resolve their issues quickly because we couldn’t have two Meera Adamses in the United States using the same social security number and the same driver’s licence.

Rhonda began cutting the cake and handing slices around with plastic forks and napkins. Meera would have had a fit about the forks, and the disposable plates too. China was infinitely reusable. Except in my family—my father had thrown more dinnerware than I cared to think about. Whenever he got annoyed…smash.

And when Mr. Vale got annoyed? He just sent an email, all caps.

I’M ON THE PHONE.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh. We’re being too loud, and Mr. Vale’s trying to make a call.”

“Oops.” Selena giggled and forked another piece of cake into her mouth. “Sorry.”

Charlotte picked up an extra slice and headed for the adjoining door.

“Wait, wait! What are you doing?”

“I’m telling Brax to stop being a party pooper.”

“No!”

But it was too late. Charlotte was already through the door, and I put my head in my hands. Should I attempt to do damage control? The call light blinked out, along with any hope of salvaging the situation. All I could do was herd my colleagues out of the room and back to their desks so they couldn’t annoy our boss any further. The email came the moment everyone had left.

USE THE KITCHEN IF YOU WANT TO THROW A PARTY, NOT YOUR OFFICE.

Happy fake birthday to me.

The Pink Panda was a Japanese-themed wine bar two blocks from Dunnvale’s headquarters. I’d walked past it several times while I was running errands for Mr. Vale, and it was the type of place I might have ventured into with Meera, but never on my own. The cool kids hung out there, and I’d always been the nerd in the library. The second-floor reading room, to be precise. But with Charlotte on one side of me and Selena on the other, I worked up the courage to walk through the door of the bar on Wednesday night, trying to look as if I belonged. Charlotte had reserved a trio of tables at the rear, and they were already full. Some of the girls I recognised from the office, but others were strangers.

“Do all of these people work for Dunnvale?” I whispered to Charlotte.

“If they don’t now, then they used to.”

Which of them came from The Dark? I could take a guess—the long-legged blonde with the perfect posture, the striking redhead with the hourglass figure, the brunette with the million-dollar smile, the Black woman with skin like silk and eye-catching earrings. All of them looked so confident. A handful of men had shown up too, including a guy who looked like a cover model from one of Meera’s romance novels. She’d tried to get me to read them, but they only depressed me. Romance was out of the question in this messed-up life I’d ended up with, so why torture myself?

Becky threw her arms around me. “Hey, it’s the other birthday girl!”

“Careful,” the hot guy told her. “I got told off for saying ‘girl’ last week.”

“By who?”

“A woman at Whole Foods.”

“Well, screw her. The song is ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun,’ not ‘Women Just Want to Have Fun.’”

“Or ‘Females Just Want to Have Fun,’” the long-legged blonde said. “And we’re no ladies, not tonight anyway.”

Becky had been here for at least half an hour already, and judging by her high-pitched giggle, she’d gotten through several drinks.

“‘Bitches Just Want to Have Fun’ is also acceptable. Who wants to go to a karaoke bar later?”

Everyone groaned. Yes, quite. I’d die a painful death if I ever had to sing in front of an audience.

“No singing, Bex. Nobody brought earplugs tonight.”

The brunette held up a small package. “Actually, one of us did. Hearing Becky murder ‘I Kissed a Girl’ once was quite enough.”

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