“Hey, I don’t mind a good one-bed trope,” Emma said, arching a brow.
Leah threw up a finger. “Don’t get any ideas, Whitehart. I’m a black belt in reflexive self-defense. I almost poked a guy’s eye out once.”
“I bet he had it coming.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you managed to get us upgraded in the middle of this madness.”
“They had a last-minute cancellation.” Leah’s shrug was casual, but she couldn’t quite keep the smugness off her face. “And I may have hinted we’re considering a press junket here with the Lucen actor. You should’ve seen the receptionist’s eyes light up. TotalBonds of Lightfan.” She lifted her coffee in a toast. “Perks of stardom, darling.”
Emma blinked.
“You didn’t—”
“I just insinuated,” Leah said sweetly. “Assumption is the mother of all upgrades.”
Emma laughed despite herself. “You do know we don’t have a Lucen actor yet.”
Leah shrugged, lips pursed conspiratorially. “Well,shedidn’t know that. And a lot can change in a weekend. A certain fan favorite is confirmed for the event, you know.”
Emma huffed, masking her faint blush behind a sip of coffee. She didn’t have to ask who Leah meant.
“Now let’s get upstairs.” Leah ushered Emma toward the elevators, eyeing her like a designer assessing a runway model. “You need a shower, an ionic hairbrush, and about a ton of my best concealer. What ungodly time did you get up at?”
Emma grimaced. “Three forty-five.” Just saying it made her brain feel mushier. And she still had a full, meticulously Leah-scheduled day ahead of her.
Leah shook her head. “Jesus, Em. Do you know what concealer costs? I’m adding that to my fee, and you’re the one who explains if Miranda complains about the invoice. Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Day job duties,” Emma muttered, punching the elevator button.
“Ah, yes,” Leah mused, sarcasm radiating out of every pore. “The noble task of ogling Excel sheets. What could possibly be more worthwhile?”
“I can’t just drop everything and leave, Leah. The accounting department is full of summer interns. I put out so many fires yesterday, I swear my eyebrows are still singed.”
Leah waved a manicured hand as they stepped into one of the elevators. “Spare me the details, Whitehart. You’re making me nauseous. Just let me know when you’re ready to quit. I’d love to make that call for you.”
“I’m sure you would.” Emma snorted, picturing it: Leah rolling in like a tornado through her boss’s phone. Poor Adam wouldn’t even know what hit him until the day she simply stopped showing up.
Her coworkers knew aboutThe Bonds of Light, of course—her plan to keep it secret had gone up in flames the second she hit the New York Times list—but they still seemed to think of it as a quirky little hobby. As if being Head of Controlling at a firm that manufactured standardized industrial parts was the pinnacle of life achievement.
Leah did have a point, though—she couldn’t juggle both careers forever. Shewasgoing to quit. Just...not yet. She tried to imagine Adam’s face if she’d told him she was leaving. Ever since he’d had to sell off his family business, he’d looked like a sad mastiff, even on his best days.
He’d taken a chance on her when his old head controller went into retirement and promptly vanished to Aruba. Emma had picked up the mantle at twenty-three, along with a paycheck bump that made her jaw drop, and made sure she’d earned it ever since.
Sometimes, it felt like she was wielding magic to make the declining sales figures add up well enough to please the board. But so far, she’d kept any major crises at bay.
There were other controllers out there—probably good ones—and she wasn’t sure what kind of divine intervention would make her take the leap and just quit. Whatever it was, it hadn’t happened yet.
And with thesequel-shaped void on her laptop, maybe holding on to her day job wasn’t the worst idea.
The elevator was sleek and silent, lined with polished cherrywood and the kind of lighting that flattered even travel-worn skin. Emma combed a hand through her long blonde hair. It was slightly messy, but that was pretty much its natural state. Besides, everyone looked disheveled next to Leah.
“Who’s watching the spawn of Satan while you’re here?” Leah asked, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.
Emma shot her a dark look. “The girl downstairs is taking care of Sherlock and Moriarty over the weekend. And they’re doing just fine, thank you.”
Once, justonce, her British shorthair Moriarty had given Leah a tiny scratch on the ankle, chasing the sparkly buckle on her pumps. Leahhad never gotten over it—the scratch wasn’t the problem, but he had also frayed the satin on her vintage purple Manolos.
Besides that single incident, they were the sweetest, cuddliest cats in the world.
Well, Moriarty was. Sherlock was a bit kooky.
