My weekend off couldn't have come at a better time. The perfect memory had been created at the Getty. Actually, my brain couldn't have even invented the wonderful scenarios that unfolded. Except the person beside me throughout my once-in-a-lifetime experience was my boss—and I hated myself for not hating it. I tried not to think about it, though the sudden smile on my face when I arrived home almost gave me away. I didn't want any questions or suspicions. If Aunt Molly didn't catch on right away—too busy with her early riser monkeys—Summer definitely would.
Suppressing all feelings to smile, I looked for something to distract me from all these mixed emotions. Flipping through the same pages of a book or swirling my spoon in my coffee didn't help. His face, right before he buttoned me into his green jacket, kept flashing through my mind. Then I caught sight of Summer's long blonde beach waves.
"So . . . where did you go?"
I looked up from the kitchen to see her on the couch in her pajamas, scrolling her phone.
"Just some work stuff."
"That early? I heard you leave around twelve or something."
"The joys of working at Sera Elganza. It's still not too late to apply."
"Did this work event require you to wear a green jacket? A man's jacket?"
"Nope. My boss threw it at me and told me to bring it to work after I clean it."
I busied myself at the cupboards, pretending to look for food. When I glanced her way, she had put her phone down and was squinting at me.
Crap. She's onto me.
"Tell the truth, Marcie. I know you too well not to notice when you're lying."
Technically, it wasn't a lie. He did tell me to bring it to work.
"Oh shit!" she suddenly squealed. "You met the guy? That guy Bash I was telling you about?"
"What—no!"
She slumped back against the couch in a pout.
"Stop making stuff up in that crazy head of yours," I laughed out, settling for cereal.
"Well—I have something to confess. Promise to not hate me."
"Okay . . . what?"
"I thought you met with him early since I put you on a blind date with him for tonight."
"What?"
"I'm sorry! He's just been flooding my DMs asking about you. I already know you, so I answered his questions myself. There's this place called Wokanoes he wants to eat at."
"You mean Wokcano? And why wouldn't you tell me about the date while you two were setting it up?" I barked, my voice sharper than I intended.
At least when I filled out the questionnaire Ms. Fallon had sent me, I was able to write down my own answers.
"You need more surprises in your life. When's the last time you've been on a date anyway?"
Actually, just this morning, I wanted to yell out. But I swallowed the thought.
................
Getting ready for the date I was being practically forced into, I shimmied into one of Summer's dresses. The red one she offered first showed far too much cleavage, and after ten minutes of bickering, I locked myself in the bathroom with her green dress. A simple maxi. My usual bun should do.
My phone buzzed on the messy counter.
This better not be him.
Relieved, I saw Ms. Fallon's name.
"I don't know what to do!" she wailed. "I was rushing and accidentally deleted Grant's file with the meeting notes on the collaboration. He knows it's gone. He's emailing me, asking questions, and I'm terrified he'll rope Mr. Fabrizi into it."
"Okay, Ms. Fallon, deep breaths. Your notes are linked to my account, so I have the backup. In the future, change your settings so deleted items clear after thirty days on the company app."
I could hear her panic melt away. Helping people always made me feel better; I'd been in that spot too many times myself.
"Thank you so, so much! I thought I was going to lose my job. Is there anything I can do for you—"
"Your date isn't going to wait forever! And Burbank's forty minutes out, according to my GPS," Summer shouted from the other side of my bedroom door, interrupting business.
"Oh, Ms. Marcie, you have a date in Burbank? I live that way. San Fernando Boulevard has great food spots. Just some suggestions, since you helped me."
"Thanks, Ms. Fallon. There's actually a Wokcano that's there we're going to."
"Oh, nice. Well, enjoy your night. Thanks again. And—oh crap, Grant's calling now!"
I turned off my ringer, something I really never did, and leaned back against the wall. My burning eyes reminded me just how exhausted I was. Canceling wasn't an option. My job has trained me to always be on standby and to never cancel on anything. If I did, it would feel unnatural. When I finally opened my eyes again, I debated switching into one of my more casual beige dresses, but stuck with the green. My gaze landed on his jacket hanging on a hook. Irritation flared. Why was I being sentimental about it—like I didn't know exactly who owned it? Still, between dabs of eyeshadow and swipes of lipstick, my eyes kept drifting to the damn jacket.
"You are going right here," I muttered, tossing it into the corner.
A thud followed. When I turned, a small blue box sat on the floor. It looked too feminine to belong to Mr. Fabrizi.
Maybe it's from some other woman he knows.
My now smokey eyes studied the contents: a simple silver heart-shaped pendant from Tiffany's with the letter M. My chest gave a stuttered beat, but my brain snapped out:
Hush. If it's for me, he would have given it to me.
I was about to tuck it back when Summer burst in, eyes locking on the box.
"Yes, now we're talking. Wear that!"
Before I could protest, she fastened it around my neck.
"Summer—"
"Marcie, trust the process. Bash is going to look his best, so you need to too."
I opened my mouth, but Aunt Milly wandered in, a sugar glider perched on her hand.
"Oh my gosh, Marcie, you look adorable."
Adorable?
I ignored their theatrics and tried to ignore the strange weight of someone else's pendant as I headed for my car.