Chapter 7 Zofia
zofia
You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, looking down at the coffee stain on my brand-new skirt.
I’d purchased it last week, when I’d needed some serious retail therapy.
Mostly because it was an excellent distraction from thinking about my boss’s sort-of-proposal.
Maybe I’d buy a new pair of shoes this week, too.
Or there was a pretty pearl collar I’d been debating getting for Duchess.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to change, which meant I was stuck wearing it for the rest of the day. Lovely. I groaned, trying to clean it up as best as I could while juggling both coffees in my hand—both mine and Nicolas’s, which thankfully hadn’t spilled—as I headed into the office.
It had been a week since the lunch where Nicolas had suggested we get married, and we still hadn’t talked about it. I was pretty sure neither of us knew what to say. That, combined with our night together in Napa, and we’d spent our time avoiding any serious conversations.
After dropping my stuff off at my desk, I knocked lightly on the door to Nic’s office, finding him on the phone. I set his coffee on the desk, and he caught my eye, his attention dropping to the large stain on my skirt.
You okay? He mouthed, his eyes lingering over me.
“Just a spill,” I muttered, tugging on the neckline of my top. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”
He frowned, but went back to his call, and I let out a breath, slipping out the door.
Neither of us had brought up his proposal since it had happened. Just like we’d still never discussed the night we slept together in Napa. It was driving me a little crazy, because I didn’t know how to act around him anymore.
Back at my desk, I grabbed a pack of Tide wipes out of the drawer, hoping I could at least get most of it out of the pretty light blue tweed. It was a damn cute skirt, complete with a matching jacket, and I’d be upset if I could never wear it again.
The women’s restroom was empty, so I peeled the skirt off, trying to blot at it with the wipes before rinsing it out. Luckily, I was wearing a pair of spandex shorts underneath, so at least I wasn’t running around commando in the bathroom.
“Great,” I said, trying not to get more upset. What a way to start my day. Now it was going to look like I’d wet myself. Lovely. I couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the coffee stain.
The door opened, and Angelina walked in—her silky dark hair pulled up into a ponytail, her lips painted the shade of red she seemed to love, dressed impeccably in a tailored black skirt suit and red-bottomed heels.
A pair of pearl earrings somehow completed her look.
I was envious of how put-together she looked, especially while I was desperately trying to clean my skirt in the sink.
Today was not my day. “Hi,” I said to her after she came out of the stall, washing her hands at the sink next to me. “It is so not my day today.”
“Hey, Zo.” She dried her hands before readjusting her ponytail. Her eyes drifted down to the stain I was trying to get out—and the fact that I was standing in the bathroom in just my spandex shorts. “Need some help?”
I sighed, holding up the wet skirt. “I spilled coffee on it this morning on my way in. I was already running late, so I didn’t have time to go back and change.
Sometimes I keep a spare outfit at the office, but…
” But I’d worn it earlier this month, and with everything going on, hadn’t replaced it yet.
Groaning, I appraised the wet skirt. There was no way I’d be able to put it back on.
It wasn’t going dry fast enough, even if I could get the stain out of the fibers.
She winced. “Been there. I might have an extra spare in my office. Want me to check?”
“Oh, yes.” I nodded immediately. “That would be great, actually. You’re my hero. Nic and I have a meeting later.” I didn’t want to show up to a potential client meeting with a stain on my skirt.
“I got you. Wait here.”
Ten minutes later, I was back at my desk, wearing a skirt that was only slightly too tight for my frame. Angelina had a few inches on me, and she was all legs, but I’d take that over a wet skirt with a stain. Or worse.
After sitting down, my personal cell phone started ringing, and I let out a strangled sound when I saw who was calling me. Why was everything happening on the same day?
“Amma?” I asked, my voice short as I answered my mother’s call.
“Zofia. I’m glad I caught you.”
“Hi. I’m at work,” I said, massaging my forehead.
“I know, I know. I’ll be quick.”
Said every mom ever, I thought, holding back a snort. My patience was running thin this morning, probably why I snapped out, “What is it?”
“Remember the guy I was telling you about the other week? My friend’s son—the lawyer? He’s agreed to meet you!”
I winced. “Oh.” I’d tuned most of her offer out, mostly because I’d been too busy staring at Nic and thinking about the way he’d used his tongue. Definitely not safe for work thoughts. I definitely needed to get laid. “I don’t really think I’m interested—”
“Nonsense. You’re thirty years old and single, Chellam.
There’s no reason for you not to meet him and see if you two have a spark.
” I had to remind myself that at my age, she’d already had three kids.
She and my dad had moved to Oregon from India with no support from their families. “What is the worst that could happen?”
Samir, that was what. Another failed engagement, for the whole extended family to know about. Getting my hopes up that someone could support me and my dreams, only to find out they just wanted a perfect little housewife.
I could see through the glass doors into Nic’s office. He was sitting at his desk, focused on the screen in front of him, chewing on the end of a pen. Damn, even that was sexy.
We should get married.
We should get married.
It was crazy.
Unless… Maybe it wasn’t so crazy, after all? Maybe Nic had been on to something, and I’d been too quick to shut him down. It wouldn’t be real. My mom would be happy, and I’d be free to live my life. Nothing would have to change.
Wait, was I actually considering it?
I tipped my head up, looking at the ceiling.
Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea, if it was really fake.
The worst thing had already happened. My heart shattered into a million pieces.
I could survive a fake marriage with Nicolas, couldn’t I? We’d spent a night together, and the sexual chemistry between us had been crazy.
Damn. I really was considering this.
Nic’s eyes met mine through the glass, and I offered him a weak smile.
“I’m actually—I am seeing someone.” I blurted it out before I could think better of it, eyes still trained on Nicolas. “It’s still pretty new, so I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but—”
“Is it serious?”
I looked at the photo of the girls and me from Napa that was sitting on my desk.
It had been taken in the bar the last night, everyone dressed in short cocktail dresses with bachelorette themed sashes.
A few minutes later, Nic asked me to dance.
Even though I’d known it was a bad idea, I still hadn’t been able to say no. “Mhm. Very serious.”
“Oh! Good! Well, you’ll have to bring him by sometime. What’s his name? Where did you meet him? When will you bring him to dinner?”
“Amma.” My voice was sterner than I had meant it to be. “Sorry. I just—I really have to go. I’m at work and have a meeting I have to prepare for.”
And I really needed to have a discussion about all of this with my boss before I said anything I’d regret. My heart wasn’t the only one broken when I’d ended my engagement—my mom’s had, too.
Her frown was practically audible over the phone. “Zofia—”
I sighed. “Okay, okay.” I looked over at my boss, raking his fingers through his blond hair in the way he always did when he was stressed. “Nicolas. His name is Nicolas, alright?”
Oh. God. I’d done it. I was doing it, apparently.
“Nicolas… like the man you work for, Nicolas Larsen?” She sounded shocked. Which made sense, considering she had no idea I was even interested in him. And I wasn’t—not really.
I held back my wince. “Yes. I gotta go. Love you.”
Then I promptly hung up the phone, horrified and mortified about what I’d just done.
What was Nicolas going to say?
He was going to think I’d lost my mind.
I knocked on the door to Nicolas’s office, trying to figure out what I was going to tell him.
So, I know you joked about getting married last week, but I accidentally implied to my mother that we were together.
In a serious relationship. I tugged down the front of Angelina’s skirt that was already riding up my thighs.
No biggie though! I’m sure she’ll forget about it in a few days… or two to five years.
Nothing was going right today. I definitely hadn’t thought this through.
I wanted to go outside and scream—and then maybe cry.
My ruined skirt was the least of all my worries, and yet it seemed to be the crack in the iceberg.
I was so off-kilter today that I’d actually thought his idea sounded like a good one.
“Come in,” he said, though I knew it was nothing more than a formality anymore between us.
“Hey,” I said, walking in and sitting down on the chair in front of his desk. Fuck, this skirt was determined not to stay put. I tugged it down again.
He eyed my outfit, but said nothing.
“Angelina let me borrow a skirt,” I offered, even though he hadn’t asked. “You know, after my coffee spilled this morning.”
“Looks nice,” he said, voice tight. I scrunched up my nose, knowing it absolutely did not.
“So,” I swallowed, not sure how I was going to get the words out.
“So…” Nicolas propped his elbows on his desk, resting his head in his hands. “What’s up?”
“I might have done something less than optimal,” I admitted. Terrible. Please don’t fire me, bad.
He frowned. “What? Normally, you’re the one who puts out fires for me. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can fix it.”