Blakely walks over with a cookie tray full of plates, taco shells, beef, lettuce, salsa, and cheese, as well as drinks. I let her sort everything out and when I reach for a plate, she swats at my hand.
“Tell me what you want and I’ll put together your tacos for you.”
“You know, I can do it, right?”
“I know, but I do it best.”
My brow raises in question. “Says who?”
She grins. “Me, of course. Now, tell me what you want.”
Letting her win, I say, “I’ll take the works.”
“Ooo, just the way I like my tacos too.” She starts with cheese on the bottom of the shell and then adds the meat, then the salsa, and finishes off with the lettuce.
“Smells amazing. Thank you, Blakely.”
“Of course. I’ve been craving these for a while. Perry never really liked tacos so I’m excited to share these with someone else.”
“He didn’t like tacos?” I ask, confused. I feel like tacos are a universal food that everyone likes. I can’t imagine one single person saying they don’t like tacos.
“Well, he was more into a fancier taco. Like . . . he needs refried beans and rice and olives and fajita veggies.”
“Isn’t that more of a burrito?” I ask.
“That’s what I told him.” She hands me my plate. “But he’d try to shove it all into a taco shell and it would break. He’d then get so irritated and just start piling everything into a bowl and crunching the taco shell on top. At the end of the day, he wasn’t eating a taco and it just . . . it irritated me. Sometimes simplicity is key.”
“I agree,” I say right before I take a bite, letting the flavors wash over my tongue. “These are really good.”
“Thank you. My secret is freshly grated cheese. Other than that, there’s nothing special about them.”
We both laugh. “I knew it had to be the cheese. Truly elevates the meal.”
“And elevation is key when eating tacos.” She holds up her finger cutely, as if teaching a lesson.
“Besides adding fajita veggies and refried beans and all of that, right?” I eye her.
She smirks. “Exactly.” After she takes a bite, chews, and swallows, she says, “I got an email today from Huxley.”
“You did?” I ask, feeling my skin start to crawl. I almost forgot about the whole new job thing. Fuck that billionaire—can’t he cool his jets? Jesus, let the girl breathe.
“Yeah, he was asking what I thought about the offer. I told him it was a great offer, but I was nervous about moving and also leaving my current job. He told me he understood and reassuredme that the office was one of the best places to work and that all moving expenses would be paid. He’d also have someone on the team help me find a place to live.”
And just like that, my anxiety rears its ugly head, making my skin break out into a sweat.
“That’s, uh . . . nice of him,” I say, trying to stay calm, even though panic is racing so fucking hard in my chest.
“I do think it’s a little odd that he’d want me to relocate. Then again, if he gave me the option to work remotely, I feel like I’d let the team down. Like I don’t want to be that one asshole that doesn’t work in the office, you know? Employees are bound to resent that person.”
“I think times have changed,” I say. “I think technology has allowed us to expand what working in an office really means.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I asked him when he needed to know by and he said I had some time, but that he was just checking in to see if I needed more money. I laughed and told him more money is always good and he came back with a salary of three hundred thousand dollars.”
What the fuck, Cane?
What is his game?
Sure, Blakely is amazing at what she does, but three hundred thousand? That has to be life-changing money for her.
