“Is she silly?” I ask Jagger as he hits my chest a couple of times and he blabbers at me.
I watch her walk back to me with two big boxes and another bag. “What are you doing?” I ask her, moving out of the way so she can come into the room. “What is all that?”
“This”—she holds up the bag—“is a present from the office.” I laugh at her. “And then these”—she holds up the two white boxes—“are from our boss.”
I swallow when she says our boss instead of saying Kirby’s name. “Presents,” Ariella says, coming into the house. “Hi.” She smiles at Kylie. “We meet again,” she says, holding out her hand to Kylie, who goes to shake her hand. Jagger decides he’s done with me and launches himself toward Ariella, who catches him as if it’s no big deal. “This is my boy, Jagger.”
“He looks exactly like Jaxon,” Kylie says, rubbing her finger over his cheek.
“That he does.” She raises her eyebrows. “I spent nine months carrying him for him to come out looking like his dad. Actually, the only one who said he looks nothing like his dad was Angela.” When Ariella says that name, Kylie fake vomits making her laugh.
“Who is Angela?” I ask them.
“Kirby’s ex,” they both say at the same time and my stomach literally clenches. “She was vile.”
“She was,” Ariella agrees and they both look at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie and put on my fake smile. “So, what is all this?” I look at the boxes, hoping it will change the topic of Kirby and his ex.
“The champagne and glasses are from the office, which means they’re from me,” she replies of the box wrapped in blue paper and the bottle of champagne with a blue ribbon around it. “These”—she puts her hands on the boxes—“are from Kirby.”
“Isn’t that nice?” Ariella says. I look over and she is trying to hide her smile with Jagger’s head. “You should open it.”
“I’ll open it,” I say, “and you”—I point to Kylie—“pour yourself a glass of wine.”
“Say less,” she says, making us both laugh, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass and filling it with white wine.
I untie the white ribbon and open the box, folding the white tissues over to see that he’s got the quotes in my office printed and framed. I gasp and look at Ariella. “You knew about this?”
She rolls her eyes. “He might have called and asked where I got them.”
I take all of them out of the box and stop when I see the last one. “Wait,” Ariella says, looking into the box, “there were six.” Her eyes go to the last one.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
“Wait.” She turns and walks to the living room and picks up the frame I put there yesterday, his card from that night in the middle of it. “It’s the same quote.” She reads it and then gasps. “K is Kirby?”
“K is for Kirby.” I nod at her. “The two of us?—”
“Are a couple,” she quickly fills in, and I shake my head but look down at the picture in my hands.
“We got close when he was in Phoenix,” I admit to her. “He was there when I needed him.” That’s all I will say. “And I will be forever grateful for that.”
“I think it’s more than that,” Kylie breaks into the conversation, “but it’s none of my business.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Well, at least that’s what he told me when I asked him about it.”
“There is nothing to say,” I agree with him, even though my head screams there is a lot to say. “He’s my boss and I’m his employee.”
“Yes, but you were friends before you started working for him,” Kylie states, “so does that count?”
“It doesn’t,” Ariella refutes at the exact time I say, “One thousand percent. He’s my boss; it’s wrong.”
“I mean, if we are being technical…” Kylie looks at Ariella, then back at me. “I’m your boss.” I shake my head. “I mean, technically, there is no boss.”
“He signs my paycheck.”
“No, he doesn’t”—Kylie shakes her head, laughing—“the foundation does.”
“Where do you think the foundation is getting money from?” I argue with her.
