“There he is!” Jamal announces.
“Hey, Jamal.”
“Hey to you,” Jamal says, squeezing each of Ash’s arms, separately. “And you.”
Ash blushes. “I knew tonight was going to be hard, so I brought these. I mean, not that this makes it easier, but….”
“You’re sweet,” I say, taking the flowers. “And you’re saving me from another white canvas.”
Ash eyes the canvases painted with nothing but thick white. “That nervous?”
“I know you respect him, but Alistair gives me the creeps.”
“You don’t have to go,” Ash says, offering what sounds to him like the perfect, easy solution. “Just don’t show. He’ll get the message.”
“Don’t I owe him more than that? It’s not his fault billionaire parties make me squeamish. He was there when I needed him.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Ash concedes. “You’re not crazy, and if you say he’s a creep, he’s a creep. I believe you.”
“And I believe the news,” Jamal adds. “Guy’s a power-hungry creepo.”
Let myself be happy. Ash makes me happy. He brings flowers. He worries about me.
“I’ll be fine,” I say to both of us.
Ash turns to Jamal. “You buying that?”
“Not for a second.” Jamal shrugs. “But Alistair’s a sixty-year-old douche. Just kick his ass if you have to.”
After all the spiraling, I can’t believe that’s practically my plan: tell Alistair I want out, and if things get ugly… I’ll improvise.
CHAPTER 24
ASH
Jennyand I keep our dinner plans, because cold is perfect weather for Nabe and our favorite hole-in-the-wall Japanese place only has five tables. Also because if I sat at home picturing Kael at Alistair’s party, I’d climb the walls.
The front windows are fogged, with the tiny dining room hidden behind a heavy curtain. I hurry in for warmth and run straight into Jenny in the little waiting space.
“Whoa.” She steadies me with a hug. “Hi, friend.”
“It’s freezing. Hi. Sorry.”
“Glad you didn’t cancel.” Jenny peeks through a slit in the curtain. “Once I heard Kael couldn’t make it…”
“Shabu-shabu,” I say, which is all the explanation she needs.
“I needed this too,” she sighs.
“Shabu-shabu?”
“Yes. Ben’s driving me crazy. He started making these little chore lists. I asked him to help more, but coming home from work to a list of shit to do is giving me angina.”
I mime stirring the hotpot.
She puckers her lips and gives me a look. “Shabu-shabu,” she echoes, dragging out the syllables.
“Shabu sha?—”
