Now, even the bath felt like a mistake. With my luck, I'd end up drowning in twelve inches of lavender soup.Would using a whole bottle of bubble bath give me some sort of rash?
Reluctantly, I drained most of the water and filled the tub again, feeling wasteful and stupid even as the water rose.
By the time it reached the right level, the water was running barely lukewarm.
Great.
A warmish bath.
The night just kept getting better and better.
I undressed and got in, anyway, soaking and sulking until the water turned cool, which wasn't long even if I smelled like I'd been soaking for hours.
Now, on top of everything else, I would need to replace Maisie's bubble bath – and quickly, too.
There was literally none left.And don't get me started on the Moscato.
By now, I was sober enough to regret that scene at the fridge. If I had needed booze so bad, I should've raided my own suitcase. It's not like there was any shortage there.
After standing and toweling off, I reached for the white robe that I'd left hanging on the nearby hook.
That stupid robe.I should have loved it. It was thick, white, and fluffy, withGoldenrose Spa and Retreatstitched in gold embroidery across the left side. It was a real place, too – super high-end and beyond exclusive.
This put it well beyond my budget, even before my flameout. The only reason I knew of the place at all was because it was a potential client of Thatcher-Hale.
I had received the robe at the office. With matching slippers, it was part of a set – adozensets, actually – sent to the whole team as part of a swag package in the lead-up to the big pitch.
"A little pampering for inspiration,"the note in the package had read. And yeah, Ihadbeen inspired. I'd worked my ass off, too.
But for what?By now, one of my colleagues had surely given the presentation – probably mine, using my laptop and notes.
Now I hated the robeandthe slippers. But they were the only ones in my suitcase when I'd bolted from Chicago.
So here we were.
Or rather hereIwas, flushed from stress but not from the bath, and wishing for a friend – preferably someone not from Chicago or even from that world.
But then, as if I'd conjured that companion myself, I heard the sound of keys rattling at the front door.
My heart quickened.Maisie.
She was home.And yes, she was my sister's friend, not mine. But hey, maybe I should give it a shot. After all, she and I couldn't tiptoe around each other forever.
Could we?
20
No Water, No Wine and Other Roommate Crimes
Tessa
Standing just inside the front door, Maisie looked up and spotted me coming down the stairs in my robe and slippers. When she stiffened, I tried not to take it personally.
Maybe she'd simply had a rough day. No, she'ddefinitelyhad a rough day. Her loose ponytail was barely holding, her clothes were wrinkled and smudged, and her eyes looked beyond tired.
When her gaze zoomed in on my custom bathrobe, I felt a slow blush creep up my face.Perfect.I probably looked like I'd been pampering myself all night.
I almost scoffed out loud.Yeah, that was me, living the dream.
