Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
CLARA
Ithought getting promoted to marketing director was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.
But now I spend ninety percent of my day explaining to the new hires how to do my old job, despite having left both of them a very detailed how-to document.
On top of that, I’m stuck in about twenty more meetings a week—I wish I was exaggerating—and to make things worse, my boss—the VP of Marketing—seems to have completely forgotten what boundaries are.
Work’s been so exhausting lately that the couch in the living room has become my new bed.
This week’s been especially draining, and every night during movie time with Alejandra, I end up dozing off before the credits even roll.
And when she gets up to go to bed, I’m too tired to move, so I curl up in the warm spot she leaves behind and drift right back to sleep.
The last time I slept in my bed was Monday—four days ago—and that only happened because I passed out scrolling through my phone instead of making it to the couch.
Thankfully, it’s Friday, so I don’t have to worry about my boss tonight because at least on the weekends, he leaves me alone. I guess we’ll see how long that lasts.
All week, Alejandra told me to skip our nightly hangout and get some rest, but I refused.
I love our dedicated time together; my days are incomplete without it.
I’ve been especially looking forward to it this week because Alejandra’s had to be on-site for photoshoots every day.
She doesn’t usually work from home like I do, although she’s home at least two days a week.
This is the first time in a month or two that she’s been on-site all week long.
So here I am once again waking up on the couch with a slight kink in my neck. I pat around on the floor, searching for my phone. The alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so it’s either the middle of the night or my 7 a.m. alarm is seconds away from going off.
When I can’t find it, I grumble, throw the blanket off me, and sit at the edge of the couch, rubbing the sleep from my puffy eyes.
I still feel exhausted. I look around, but my phone is nowhere to be found.
Whatever. I’ll deal with it after coffee because, according to the time on the microwave, it’s time for me to get up anyway.
Maybe once I’m fully awake, I’ll remember where I left it.
I shuffle into the kitchen and start brewing a pot, the rich smell filling the air. I inhale deeply, letting it wrap around me.
“Yes, this is heaven,” I murmur, taking in another deep breath.
“What’s heaven?” Alejandra asks groggily, startling me.
Her long brown hair is up in a messy bun, with loose strands framing her face perfectly. Why can’t I look that perfect first thing in the morning? Life isn’t fair.
“Coffee,” I say, turning back to watch the coffee drip into my mug. “What are you doing up so early?” I ask, remembering Alejandra doesn’t work today.
“I accidentally took your phone into my room last night, and the alarm woke me up,” she says, handing me my phone.
I gasp. “Were you looking through my phone? Are we at that stage in our relationship?” I tease, knowing she does this at least once a week. It’s hard not to mix them up; we have the same phone, the same case, the same Polaroid tucked in the case, the same home screen, and the same password.
“Just doing my part to let your roster know you’re officially taken,” she says with a sleepy smirk that has no business being so cute.
“My roster?” I laugh. “How many women do you think I talk to at once?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Enough that I had to send out a group text.”
She’s ridiculous. “Wow. You think I’ve got it like that?” I lean in slightly and bite my bottom lip, mainly as a joke, but now I can’t help but feel heat rise to my cheeks.
Alejandra shrugs, still grinning. “Please. You walk around with that little mysterious vibe and your sad boi eyes—people eat that up.”
“I do not have sad boi eyes,” I protest.
“You so do,” she says, booping my nose. “It’s part of your whole brand. Tragic but lovable.”
I try to look stern, but the smile on my lips gives me away. “You’re just jealous no one’s texting you ‘hey stranger’ at 2 a.m.”
Alejandra snorts. “Oh, absolutely. Do you know when the last time I got laid was?”
“Three months ago,” I answer immediately.
I should probably feel embarrassed knowing that right away, but I don’t.
Alejandra’s eyes narrow, but she’s fighting a grin. “Okay, wow. Creepy that you know that.”
I smirk. “You told me. Right after it happened. You even gave me a full recap I didn’t ask for.” It had been so vivid that I’d almost begged the Earth to swallow me whole. The only thing that had gotten me through it was Alejandra talking about how awkward the whole thing had been.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Alejandra jokes as she reaches for my coffee mug. I swat her hand gently, but she grabs the mug anyway and takes a sip as she settles onto the kitchen island stool.
“What are you doing today?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from Alejandra’s sex life, a part of her world I know way too much about and wish I didn’t.
“Nothing much. I might edit some pictures, go through Diana’s wedding schedule, and decide which of my assistants will help me photograph the wedding so I don’t have to be in photographer mode the whole time.”
Diana’s photographer bailed last week. Since Diana and her fiancée, Alexandria—though we all call her Alex for short—moved back to Washington from Florida a few months ago, the original photographer couldn’t make the out-of-state gig work anymore, leaving Diana scrambling.
Alejandra hadn’t hesitated to offer herself, even though she was the maid of honor.
Somehow, she’d managed to convince her sister to let her photograph the wedding and make someone else the maid of honor.
“That’s a good idea. But please don’t take Clarissa. I know she’s the best, but I’d rather not have her flirting with me in front of your family all night,” I say.
“Oh, so you’d rather she flirts with you in private?” Alejandra jokes as she raises an eyebrow at me.
“You know I don’t.” I shudder.
Clarissa is one of Alejandra’s assistants at the studio.
I went out with her once, but I ended things the second I learned that she worked with Alejandra.
She’s never stopped trying to rekindle whatever she thinks we had, though.
Which is wild, considering we never even kissed.
But somehow, by the end of our two-hour date at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Seattle, she was convinced I was the love of her life.
Once my coffee is done brewing, I add a splash of creamer—because I don’t hate myself like Alejandra, who only drinks her coffee black—and finally take a sip, starting to feel human again.
“Are you working on the couch today?” Alejandra asks.
“No, I have a bunch of meetings today. But I’ll come out when I’m done, and we can order some food?”
“Perfect, have fun.”
“Thanks.” I lean in and kiss her cheek before disappearing into my room.
The rest of my morning is pretty hectic. I have three back-to-back meetings, a mountain of emails to reply to, and a few proposals to finish up, but by lunchtime, I’m all done and can step away from my computer for the day. A very welcome change compared to how the rest of the week has been.
Alejandra is on the couch watching Bob’s Burgers, laughing like it’s her first time seeing it and not at least her fifth time watching this same episode within the past month.
I’m about to sit on the couch and ask her to massage my head when there’s a soft knock at the front door.
“Will you get that?” Alejandra shouts as she runs to the bathroom. “I got us lunch—it’s already been paid for!”
I head toward our front door, expecting our usual delivery guy, but when I open it, it’s not him. It’s Lala standing at our door with a big smile on her face.
My eyes widen, and for a moment, I forget what words are. I open my mouth, then close it. Open it again—nothing. My throat is dry, my mind scrambling for a word, any word, but I come up with nothing.
I stare at her for what I can only imagine is an eternity, because Lala is furrowing her brows, looking very concerned.
“Are you okay, mamita?” Lala says sweetly, reaching for my face and pressing the back of her hand to my forehead.
Thankfully, the contact reboots me.
“Hi, yes, I’m fine, I’m . . . just . . . surprised, is all.” I shake my head, hoping that will make the fuzziness in my brain go away, and it does—sort of—enough to know I need to invite her in. “I’m sorry, come inside.”
“It’s fine,” she says as she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.
I lean into her, savoring the warmth of her hug, my initial surprise and panic subsiding.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to remember if Alejandra said anything about her coming over last time they’d talked, but nothing’s clicking.
“Where’s Ale?” Lala asks, completely ignoring my question.
“I’m so hungry!” Alejandra shouts as she emerges from the bathroom.
“There you are.” Lala speeds past me and wraps Alejandra in a hug.
Alejandra freezes in place, her eyes wide, but she recovers quickly. “Hi Lala,” she says, looking at me for answers.
“I don’t know,” I mouth.
“What are you doing here?” Alejandra hugs her tightly. “How did you even get here?”
“I had a friend drop me off for the weekend.”
“The weekend?” I practically scream, trying not to choke on my spit.
Alejandra’s eyes go wide again, and I watch all the color drain from her face until she’s Edward Cullen pale. Lala watches with the biggest smile plastered on her face.
“Where can I put my things?” she asks, pointing to the carry-on sitting near the front door.
How could I have missed such a big bag?
My brain buffers again, and I say nothing.
I stare at her with the blankest expression in the world, because there’s literally no space for her.
Our house isn’t small—it’s more than spacious for Alejandra and me.
It’s a two-bedroom, two-bath home with a large living room, a roomy kitchen, and a finished basement.
But we’ve never set up a proper guest space.
Our friends usually head home or crash on the couch, and most of Alejandra’s family is local, so there’s never been a need for a guest room.
Fuck . . . We’re so busted.
If we can’t convince her we’re together, Alejandra and I are going to be neck-deep in blind dates for the next few decades.
“You can stay in the spare bedroom,” Alejandra says chirpily.
“The spare?” My brows furrow.
Alejandra widens her eyes at me, and I can only assume she’s telling me to shut the fuck up.
“Yes, my old room,” she says through a strained smile.
I blink at her, tilting my head, trying to piece it together.
Alejandra lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Can you go get us some coffee, please? I’ll clean up the room and get it ready for Lala,” she says, practically pushing us out the door.
“Coffee this late?” Lala peeks at my watch.
“Yeah, Ale loves her coffee,” I say, guiding Lala toward the car while wondering how the hell Alejandra is going to move all her shit out of her room.