Davis takes the colander from my hands, his thumb brushing my wrist. “I’ll do this. I wanna know what that chick said.”
I force a wobbly smile. Sure enough, it’s a new message from Jenny:
I just think it’s your responsibility as a business owner to ensure your staff maintain a certain level of professionalism. I’d hate for your reputation or your online reviews to suffer because of one bad apple…
God, she’s the worst. I open my camera, flip it to selfie mode, and fake the sweetest smile I can. Then I raise my middle finger and take a photo.
Fuck off, Jenny.
I send her the picture, and her reply is swift:
Cecelia?! Why am I talking to you???
Honestly? Great question:
Because I own this bar. Stop trying to get Ada fired just because Jake won’t fuck you again, you mega-Karen.
There’s a pause long enough that I start to wonder if I’ve gone too far, then Jenny’s reply slithers into my inbox:
Um, maybe take a deep breath and remember you run a shitty bar, not a daycare centre for sluts? Ada’s embarrassing both of you. You clearly know fuck-all about business, but if you ever want decent customers, you need to fire your whore mascot. And maybe explain to Ada that getting passed around by bored men isn’t cute?
White slices across my vision. I turn sideways, and my gaze lands on the flowers Will Sharpe sent me.Me.Iwas sent them. The knowledge brings a charge to my body. I open my photo library and scroll for the screenshot from Jake’s dumbass golf chat. The one of him telling all his mates he’s going to marry Ada. Warning bells ring in the back of my brain, but I ignore them. Jenny and I aren’t kids anymore. I don’t need to take her sugar-coated aggression. The sharp, double-talking jabs she perfected in kindergarten and never put down. She wants to come for Ada? She can come through me first:
Looks like Ada brings in plenty of decent customers already,
I hit send on Jake’s screenshot like I’m firing a bullet. I add another text for good measure:
What’s wrong, Jen? Couldn’t keep your husband, and now your celeb crush doesn’t want you either? Hate to say it, but if anyone’s embarrassing themselves, it’s you.
Jenny’s response is short, fast and to the point:
You’re going to pay for that.
I snort, more thrilled than frightened to find Jenny and I are past the point of no return. The newness of having an actual argument with a bully burns bright in my chest. I’m done pretending I’m the same mild-mannered AlmostGirl I was at school. I run a bar, and I love my friends, and if someone steps into my ring, I’m going to knock them down.
Jenny might try to screw with me at the reunion, but what can she actually do? Seat me next to the toilets? Slip a sweaty netball pic of me into a photo collage? I’m a grown woman. And if I have my way, I’m going to take her ex-husband home at the end of the reunion.
Fuck you, Jenny,I think.You’re the one who’s going to pay for this.
I shove my phone in my pocket and find Davis has already plated the prawn twisters. They’re sitting on the pass for Cameron or Krissy to collect, and he’s leaning against the counter watching me, a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I say for what feels like the millionth time.
“No problem. Everything good?” His gaze is steady on my face.
“In order at least,” I lie.
Frenetic energy is beating under my skin, a call to battle that isn’t going to be satisfied by packing down the kitchen.
Fucking, fleeing, fighting.
I want to flee into safety, and I catch my breath before the adrenaline fades.
“I’m going to have a drink in my office,” I tell Davis.
It’d be easier to get it from the bar, but I want space to recalibrate and watching Ada self-destruct isn’t going to help.
He nods. “Sounds good.”
