“With cookies?”
“Always.”
I walk up the familiar sidewalk to the rough-looking brick of the building that does, in fact, house the comedy club, our new office, and, just to keep things real, the kink club that I spent all weekend trying not to think about.
Look how well that’s going.
CHAPTER TEN
Rae
IHURRY UP THEstairs.
So what if it’s the same building? It’s a weird coincidence. Not the end of the world, right? Richmond’s not a huge city. Stranger things have happened.
Could this be a sign that I should absolutely become a full-fledged member of Off the Cuff? Is this fate’s way of telling me I haven’t yet fulfilled my destiny? Only instead of taming dragons and saving the world, like some elf princess from one of those fated mates romantasies I love so much, my one true path involves being called agood girland getting spanked.
Very noble, I know.
With a final breath, I shove the handle down, lift my chin, and stride into the lobby.
“Yay!” Samantha yells from behind a big wood-and-glass reception desk. “The cookies are here!”
“Staff meeting!” a voice immediately responds from the wide, brightly lit open office area to the right, followed by the sound of about ten chairs rolling back from desks as people stand, whooping. At least two baseball caps take to the air like mortarboards at graduation.
“The eagle has landed. Cookies are here. I repeat. Cookies in the house. This is not a drill,” Samantha says into her phone, her voice echoing through a dozen speakers. She eyes my outfit. “Love the skirt. Is that—”
“Vintage. No label.”
“And the top?”
“Yes, it’s the one Brendan hated.” Too tight, he’d said. Too showy.
“May he rot in hell. The top is gorgeous on you.”
I smile. “Where’s my office?”
“Right there.” Wide-eyed, Sam points at a door to my left, directly off the lobby. “But you might want to—”
“Oh, honey! You’re here!” Dorothy glides through another door, this one straight ahead. Our boss is a chaotic swirl of colorful fabrics and long gray hair. She wraps me in her patchouli-sandalwood-scented arms and squeezes. “Ugh! I just… missed you, honey!” Releasing me, she pinches one of my cheeks, a thing she’s always done. In all fairness, I’ve got a pretty round face. I’d probably pinch them myself.
Which, of course, makes me think of getting pinched in other places and—
Nope. No. What happens at Off the Cuff—in the basement of this very building, no less!—stays at Off the Cuff.
“Missed you too, Dorothy. Before the meeting, could you and I quickly—”
“Ooooooh, are those the famous new-and-improved recipe?”
“Yeah, I’ll just put my stuff down and get these to—”
“Here. I’ll help.” She grabs the top plate, pulls back the foil, takes one, and shoves half a cookie in her mouth.
“That’s gluten-free.”
“Listen.” Her words come out garbled. “I won’t be around for long, so—”
“You won’t?” Why does that sound so ominous? Oh my god. Does she mean forever or just this morning? Is this what the consultant’s about?
