“Not a chance.” I drop my messenger bag on the counter and roll my shoulders, trying to release the tension that’s gripped me like a python for the last eight hours. I flip through the stack of mail on the counter, pausing when I see a stiff cream envelope with my name scrawled across the front in elaborate black script.
My stomach drops like a busted taco.
I don’t need to open it to know what’s inside. My mother warned me it would be coming. A save-the-date card for my cousin Hannah’s wedding—in Brady.
“You want?” Sofia asks, holding up the bottle of Lescalo we picked up from a local vineyard last month.
“God, yes.” A glass of chenin blanc will take the edge off nicely. I shove the envelope back in the stack where I don’t have to look at it. I’ll think about Hannah’s wedding later. Preferably after I’m mildly buzzed. “Just let me change first. I need to get out of these heels.”
Sofia arches a brow. “You need to tell me where you went at the ass crack of dawn, sneaking out like a damn ninja. On a Monday.” She shudders, as if rising early is utterly unthinkable. Which, to be fair, it probably is, since she’s a night owl. “Who does that anyway?”
“A woman on a mission,” I singsong, backing out of the room.
“A mission?” she calls after me, voice rising with curiosity. “What kind of mission?”
“I’ll tell you all about it after I change!” I holler back, hustling down the hall.
In my bedroom, I kick off my oxford heels and add them to the surplus of shoes that line the wall next to my closet like a colony of ants. Then I strip down, throwing my skirt and blouse in the hamper. I grab my bookshelf leggings and an orange off-the-shoulder tee and dress quickly…because wine. Then I make one last stop before the dresser and pull the bobby pins from my bun, dropping them one by one into a glass bowl overflowing with hair ties, clips, and various pieces of costume jewelry.
My scalp sighs in relief as I make my way back to the living room and join Sofia on the couch.
“Cuéntame.” She offers me a glass of wine as I snuggle down in the soft gray cushions, folding my legs beneath my body. “What was this secret mission of yours, chica?”
“So, you know how Nick and I had dinner Thursday night?” I start, fighting to keep the grin off my face. Sofia nods and sips her wine. “Well, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands.”
Her eyes go wide, and I snort.
“Not like that!” Though I’d be lying if I said the idea hadn’t crossed my mind once or twice. “With the suggestion box.”
“Riiight.” She wiggles her brows suggestively. “Because you’re keeping things strictly professional. For your project.”
“Exactly.” She’s mocking me, but whatever. So what if I think the man is sexy? I can hardly be faulted for noticing when it’s practically a verifiable fact. Besides, there’s nothing going on between us. Just business. “Do you want to know where I went this morning or not?”
She mimes zipping her lips and takes another sip of her wine as I blurt out the story of Oreo’s adoption and subsequent re-homing. By the time I’m finished, she’s howling with laughter, and I could be wrong, but I think there’s a bit of pride shining in her eyes.
After all, it was kind of a boss move.
“The look on his face was priceless,” I say, laughter spilling over as tears run down my cheeks, washing away the tension of the day. “I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel when I told him I couldn’t keep the dog.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t.” Sofia raises a brow. “With his reputation, it’s a wonder he didn’t fire you on the spot. Or at least make you return the puppy.”
She’s not wrong. I wasn’t sure how Nick would react—which is why Miles was on call, just in case I needed a new home for the puppy—but he took it surprisingly well. There was shock, denial, a weak attempt at bargaining, but he didn’t pull rank and he stayed remarkably calm. Especially for a control freak who’d just learned he was responsible for keeping a tiny pup alive.
And, ideally, thriving.
Sofia’s brows knit together, and she cocks her head to the side. “But I’m not allergic to dogs.”
“I know.” I pause and sip my wine. “But he doesn’t.”
We both burst into hysterical giggles—because we’re mature like that—and I nearly spill my wine when I lean forward to put the glass on the coffee table.
I spent the entire weekend rehearsing my pitch, and everything had gone exactly to plan until he suggested I take Oreo. I’d nearly panicked, scrambling for an out, but I pulled it off in the end.
“You’re an evil genius, you know that, right?” A wicked grin curves her full lips.
I shrug and lean back against the cushions. “I had to tell him something. With my luck, he would’ve used his deep pockets to help the landlord overlook the ‘no pets’ rule. Besides, it’ll be good for him. And his image.”
Which reminds me…
