“Right.” I drop my eyes to the company card in my hand, holding it like a precious jewel. “Of course. I’ll—I’ll make sure to do that.”
“Good.”
A prickle runs over my skin at the sound of that—his praise. I bite down hard on my tongue to keep that prickle from turning into a shiver.
I’m being a creep, standing here with my thighs pressed together, body ready to fall apart at the sound of his voice. Moving as calmly as I can, I slip the card back into the envelope,then the envelope back into the box, trying to show how I plan to take care of it.
“Lucy?” he says, and I pause just before walking out the door.
“Yes?” I turn back, blinking at him. He holds himself perfectly still in his chair, voice low and deep, his fingers laced together.
“Your desk is on this floor,” he says, eyes shifting away from me, grabbing a stack of papers, and pulling them in front of him. “See to it that you’representon this floor tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I rasp, before turning and hurrying out.
I get to the elevator, stomach swooping all the way to the lobby, where I text Julian frantically.
Lucy:S.O.S.
Julian:OMG, what did he want?
Lucy:Can you meet me in the lobby?
Julian meets me near the ergonomic chairs just minutes later, his coat on his arm and a bag slung around his chest. He looks ready to leave for the day.
“Rourke gave me a company credit card,” I whisper, stepping in close to him. We might not know each other that well yet, but he’s my only friend at Ember. And I need him desperately right now.
Julian’s eyes widen, and he looks down at the box in my hands. I flush again, praying he doesn’t ask me to open it up for him. He looks back at me, “Shit, he reallydoeshave the hots for you…”
“No,” I interject, because it’s like thinking about winning the lottery. Fun, but not realistic in the least. “He just doesn’t want to be seen with Old Navy.It’s about his image. The company image. He made that perfectly clear. I need you to help me go shopping, and get?—”
But I don’t get to finish, because Julian is already pulling me toward the front door, saying, “I’ll call the Uber.”
“Love it, Iloveit!” Aunt Ruby sings, clapping her hands and gesturing for me to twirl. Pudding sits on her lap, lazily licking at her paw, apparently not bothered by my aunt’s exclamations. “Let me see the back! My goodness, you’ve got a great ass.”
We’re in her living room, the soft late afternoon light filtering in, glinting off other buildings, through the west-facing windows. The smell of Thai food and incense hangs in the air, along with the indelible scent of Aunt Ruby’s perfume oils.
Julian is teary, wheezing with laughter, and I turn around, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at her. “Seriously, Aunt Ruby?”
Aunt Ruby waves her hand, “Just be glad you didn’t get your mother’s ass—you know, it’sdirectlyconnected to your personality, and hers is flatter than?—”
“Auntie,” I complain, dropping my arms and shooting her a more serious glare. I might not absolutelylovemy parents’ approach to things, but I’m not quite to the point of body shaming my own mother. “Please.”
“Fine,” she grouses, tossing her napkin into her open take-out container. “But you come to me when you’re ready to talk shit about your mother’s ass, okay?”
Julian snorts, and I shoot him a glare, too. He drops his plastic fork and leans back against the couch, saying, “I’m so full. I think I actually got filled up on the shopping earlier.”
“Shopping has no calories,” I argue, turning around so Aunt Ruby can unzip my dress. Her fingers are cold, and her rings scrape against my skin.
Since moving in with her, I’ve never seen her wearing fewer than six rings, which seems to be a pain, since she’s always pouring olive oil on her hands to get them off.
The rings match the rest of her—the skirts, jackets, and patterns, her hair piled up into a headscarf twisted around on her head. Ears dangling with hand-made earrings from random markets, necklaces layered so they jangle together, tattoos snaking up and down her legs, so you catch glimpses of them when her skirts swish past.
While she is very eclectic and, frankly, too much sometimes, her scent is the opposite. A distilled, straightforward and almost simple note that’s still layered well.
But perfume is what Aunt Ruby does, so it makes sense.
I step into the bathroom to change out of the dress, the last of my haul from the shopping, and hear Aunt Ruby and Julian talking about the consumption of art over food, Van Gogh, and the rumors that he often chose to buy paint over groceries.
