“Forget it, Em. Focus on the task at hand.”
“Which is?”
“You thinking of all the fun things you can do with the piles of money I’ll give you if you stay,” he says before sauntering out of the room.
“Surprise!”Sebastian says two days later.
Matt, Sebastian, and I are standing in the carriage house’s library.
But I don’t recognize it.
I’ve always loved the room, with its view of the Pacific and all the historic eighteenth-century details. I look around. Before, it was a masculine space, with dark wood. Now it’s been revamped into the office of my dreams. The chandelier, the huge white wooden desk, the organizational supplies in gold, just waiting to be used, the massive pin board, the framed photos of my favorite inspirational quotes, and the perfectly organized bookshelves, color-coded, which make my heart happy just to see. I think of the sad little shelves and the slightly sagging desk that Sadie and I tried to put together back in my apartment.
I may have whimpered.
“Is that an Aloe chair? In camel?” I ask, pointing to the furniture I’ve been lusting over on Pinterest. Then I pull one of the books off the shelf.Productivity Code. “I love this book.” I pull the next book down. “Closet Dreams? This features the most fabulous, most organized closets of women around the world. It’s out of print,” I say in wonder. And then I see another book I’ve been wanting to read. And another.
My mouth forms a perfect O. I feel a little dizzy, but I’ve been feeling that way lately, so I chalk it up to low blood sugar. Or needing more caffeine.
I turn to Sebastian in confusion.
“Ta-da. It’s your dream office.” His smile is proud, like a little boy presenting a picture that he spent hours painting himself.
“But… how?”
“It wasn’t easy. Most of your Pinterest boards are private. But Matt hacked them. By the way, some of your pins make me think you might be a serial killer. Who else has a board featuring the insides of refrigerators?”
“Refrigerator organization is very calming. And don’t change the subject. You hacked my Pinterest account? Who does that?”
“I didn’t hack it. Matt did. If you’re mad, it’s all his fault. Matt, back me up here.”
My new so-called assistant studiously ignores us as he straightens a set of linen-covered binders on a top shelf.
“He did not just randomly hack my account. You told him to. Paid him to,” I accuse.
“All for the greater good. I sacrificed his integrity so you could realize your dream.”
I run my hands along the stunning white desk. It’s sleek and sexy, if desks can be sexy, which, hell yes, they can be. I pick a card out of a cut-crystal holder that looks suspiciously like Tiffany.
“You made me business cards?”
“Matt made your business cards. I wasn’t sure what title you wanted, so there are ten different ones. If you hate them, Matt’s fired.”
Sebastian looks absurdly proud of himself.
Matt looks a little worried.
I flip through the cards, and, just as Sebastian said, each one is different.
“I thought it was the master of spreadsheets. Not master of schedules,” I sass.
“Matt, you’re fired.”
“Matt, you’re not fired.” I contradict.
Sebastian shrugs. “You heard her. She’s the master.”
I make a gulping noise because I refuse to be amused. What’s important is not that this is my fantasy. It’s that none of the business cards read, “CEO of Dream Space.”
