Chapter 37
“My best friend’s coming over,” I told Amir, like this was my apartment, not an office. Like he was my doorman, not a security guard who didn’t seem like my biggest fan.
He blinked at me from behind the reception desk, where he’d gotten comfortable for the night.
Or, I guess, as comfortable as you could be in a suit at three in the morning, playing Candy Crush at work.
“Does wearing a suit all day not become annoying? Is it like tights, where if you wear them for too long, they become itchy and don’t seem to fit quite right anymore? ”
In emphasis, I scratched the knee of mine. The pattern in them might be making it worse.
Apart from the game’s music coming from his phone, the lobby was dead silent as I leaned against the counter between us. He put his phone down, and I was about to add something, just for the sake of it, when he finally said, “Are you . . . drunk?”
“No.” But my head shook too vigorously, and what I’d interpreted as slightly tipsy had done a number on me in the twenty minutes I’d been waiting for Paula. “Maybe,” I amended. “You won’t tell on me, will you?”
“I should tell someone. Call them to pick you up.” His brows drew together, not quite in concern but—confusion? Amusement?
I waved him off, and I didn’t mean to pat his shoulder in the process. It just kind of happened. It was right there, in the trajectory of my hand. “Paula is coming, silly.” The smile on my face didn’t feel loopy, but I imagined it was. “I just told you.”
“Did you?”
“Remember when I said ‘My best friend’s coming over’ like two minutes ago? Are you drunk?”
Thankfully, Amir was great at ignoring stupid things coming out of my mouth. “My job is quite literally not to let anyone into the studios. You can’t just . . . invite friends over. There’s classified stuff in there. Probably.”
“But she’s my best friend. Surely the job entails not letting anyone into the studios unless it’s Maeve Peterson’s best friend, Paula Castillo.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I can’t let her in—”
“There she is!” The door wasn’t locked yet because I’d still been working upstairs. So, I rushed over, pointedly ignored Amir’s protests from behind me, and fell into my best friend’s arms like it had been years since I’d last seen her.
It had only been a few weeks, but we hadn’t gone that long without each other since we became friends in college.
In our embrace, I could feel her gaze wandering, looking around. At the backlit Ashwood bow by the seating area, one of the few light sources after hours. The couches and reception, and Amir, who startled the shit out of her.
“Hi,” he deadpanned at what must’ve been a distraught look on her face. “Paula Castillo, I assume.”
“Be nice, Amir.”
He scowled, but didn’t argue, which I appreciated enough to turn back to Paula. Who, unexpectedly, was also scowling.
“What are you doing?” she hissed into my ear, then probably sent a smile across my shoulder that was supposed to signal Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. “You’re at work. You can’t just . . . act this way.”
Right. For Paula, I was still the put-together college girl. Not the struggling intern who was clearly a mess.
“Don’t worry. Amir promised not to tell on me, but we’re not allowed to go up to the offices.” I ushered Paula toward the white couches in the corner, usually reserved for waiting guests.
“That’s okay?” Confusion was an understatement for my best friend’s state.
“It’s not. But I won’t try and argue,” I added, loud enough for him to hear.
I imagined there was a hint of appreciation in his gruff “Thanks.” I could be making it up.
I thought I’d been the one leading Paula toward the couch, but when I fell on top of it, it felt like maybe she’d been the one leading me. “Are you okay?” she whisper-shouted.
A futile attempt at some privacy. “He’s going to hear us anyway.” I shrugged. “No need to try and whisper.”
Paula shook her head, and I wasn’t sure if it was at my words or just . . . me. Like this. “I haven’t seen you like this since the first night Riley mixed drinks for us. How much have you had?”
“Not much,” I promised. “I just haven’t eaten all that much.
” For the past couple of days, actually.
Instant ramen between one deadline and the next, a pastry from the catering table when no one was looking.
I’d been microdosing food because I hadn’t had time to do anything else but work.
“Probably why a single bottle of cheap white wine knocked me out.”
“You’re going to have the hangover of a lifetime,” Paula said matter-of-factly, then coordinated my head onto her lap and let her fingers run through my hair. “Poor Elliot’s probably gonna have to tuck you in tonight, or you won’t make it to bed.”
The sheer reminder of him made me groan. I buried my face in my hands and wished this was the first time I’d thought of him since coming back to the office.
But the way she pushed my hair out of my face had Elliot written all over it, and Amir’s nonchalance had reminded me of him, too.
The Candy Crush music coming from behind us got quieter. Like the two girls lying in his lobby had become just a bit more interesting. Still, Amir’s eyes were trained on his phone.
Slowly, carefully, Paula asked, “What?”
I groaned again. And again. Until I was kicking the couch and had buried my head so deep in her lap, it was pitch black. Until finally, I let it out. “We hooked up, alright?!”
The Candy Crush music stopped. Paula gasped. The room was spinning, even though I still couldn’t see it.
“Get out of my lap right now!” she screeched, hauling me upright, the look in her eyes bordering on deranged. “You’re telling me you had sex and you didn’t immediately call me—”
“No!” I fell back against the couch, but at least I could still see her. There was no sound coming from Amir, but I was too mortified to check if he was still busy with his phone. “He didn’t want to.”
“What?”
“He didn’t want to . . . I don’t know. Have me regret it, I guess? He wanted to wait until we knew which one of us got the job, so that if I hated him afterward, I wouldn’t regret sleeping with him.” I had to do a double take at the look on her face, immediately mortified. “No, no! Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” But she was pouting, and she knew what it meant.
“Swoon over it.”
“But you’re swooning over it!”
“It’s the bare minimum!”
“It’s still objectively sweet.” Her brows rose. “Don’t worry, I’ll be demanding all of the details, and there’s no way you’re getting out of telling me. But,” she added, “care to explain what you mean about one of you getting the job?”
Oh.
Fuck.
It just slipped out. I’d been so focused on Elliot and all the problems he was bringing to the table that I completely forgot about the problems already sitting there.
Paula didn’t know my internship had started off as a shit show, gotten worse when he got involved, and we’d been battling for the Intern of the Summer title ever since.
So, I told her. About the coffee, and interrupting a meeting, and that only one of us would get offered a full-time position at Adeline Ashwood.
I told her that ever since we graduated, no matter how much work I put in, I struggled.
Even my three miles in the morning had me huffing and puffing when I’d barely broken a sweat during the same run a few months ago.
I told her I couldn’t read people here. That the intuition and understanding she’d usually called precognition seemed to have disappeared as soon as I got my degree.
That’s probably why I was trying to make up for everything going wrong in my life by getting drunk at the office and working until three in the morning and crying in her lap and rambling incoherently.
It was so unlike me, she hadn’t been quite sure what to do about it. Apparently, running her hands through my hair and massaging my scalp had been the right thing, though. Soothed me enough to take a deep breath.
By now, it must’ve been around four in the morning, and the predawn light was dipping the lobby in a blueish hue. “You’re fighting with Allegra Amato?” Paula was still hung up on the fact. “The Allegra Amato?”
I nodded absentmindedly, head still on her lap, exhausted above all else. No longer quite so drunk, just feeling the residue of alcohol in my weary, tired bones. “I’m not reading into it, right? She definitely still wants him?”
From behind us, Amir muttered, “I never really liked her. Smile’s too wide, voice pitched too high. After that video of Elliot leaked, she was all over him again.”
Which had me suppressing a smile.
“Oh yeah.” Paula huffed. “Sounds worse than me after Henry and I broke up last year.”
“Ehhh,” I intervened, an apologetic smile on my lips. “You were pretty bad.” But that only proved my point.
“Hey!” Paula’s gasp was so loud, even Amir snorted. By now, I knew he’d long abandoned his phone, no shame in the eavesdropping game.
His demeanor shifted at once. “Ashwood approaching” was all he said.
“Wha—” Sitting up, I cut myself off when I caught a glimpse. Of him, already inside. Door falling shut with a small woosh. Beside me, Paula was holding back a gasp. I could feel it by the way she tensed, hand flying up to her mouth. “Elliot,” I breathed.
“You are going to be the death of me, Maeve Peterson.” His steps didn’t falter on their way over, pure confidence in his strides and exasperation on his face. He tipped his head at Paula, then added, “Excuse us for a second.”
I should’ve been less cooperative when he pulled me off the couch, through the lobby, and toward the gates, but I just glared at Amir when he opened them for us without a word of protest. It was a storage closet we ended up in.
Pulling a small string hanging from the ceiling, Elliot looked at me in the glow of a single bulb. His blond hair was tousled, and his shirt, once crisp, was wrinkled and untucked now. His tie was loosely draped around his neck. Shoes replaced with sneakers.