Sam: She just assumed I was a virgin, too, and I didn’t know how to tell her the truth without making her feel weird about it. I’ll tell her the truth when the time is right.
Jack: The time is never going to be right. This whole situation has trouble written all over it. If I were you, I’d call her, explain you were on drugs last night and can’t be held responsible for your actions, apologize profusely for both coming on to her and offering her a job, and fly back to England to sit in that grotto at the back of your property and think long and hard about what you’ve done. And then make a solid plan to avoid doing anything similar in the future.
Sam: I can’t do that. I’d sell the company first.
Jack: Stop with the crazy talk, Sam. Seriously. You’re about to give me a heart attack. I may be older than you are, but I’m still too young and fit for cardiac arrest.
Sam: It’s not crazy talk. I mean it. I can always build another company. There is no other Jess. She’s it for me. The second I laid eyes on her last night, it was like the six years we spent apart never happened. I’m still all-in when I’m with her, just like when I was eighteen. I have to give this thing a chance and see if she might feel the same way.
Jack: I had no idea you were a bonkers romantic.
Sam: One man’s bonkers is another man’s finely tuned logic. Besides, love doesn’t play by the rules. Haven’t you ever been in love, Jack?
Jack: I love my stock in Paradisus and how having a genius leading the company contributes to my bottom line. Don’t even think about selling. Seriously. Promise me, Sam. Lightning doesn’t always strike twice in business.
Sam: Or in love. But yes, I promise, I won’t sell without discussing it with my wise, cynical portfolio manager first.
Jack: Thank God for small favors. I’m off to place an order for aspirin for my heart.
Sam: Relax. Everything is going to be fine. Jess and I are already over the “meeting again for the first time in six years” hump. Things should be smooth sailing from here on out. What can go wrong?
CHAPTER FIVE
Jess
“It just feels so weird. And wrong.” I take a sip of my coffee, barely resisting the urge to start rocking back and forth in my chair like a traumatized child. “What am I supposed to do with my hands?”
“Claw out your own eyeballs?” Harlow supplies, settling into the seat across from mine with a yawn. “Or Evie’s eyeballs? As revenge for starting this stupid no-tech-during-meals thing to begin with?”
Evie comes sailing in from the kitchen with a fresh mug of coffee and sets it in front of Harlow with a grin. “Oh, come on. It isn’t that bad. Don’t you enjoy looking at our sunny faces in the morning instead of your phone or your laptop? I think it’s lovely. Just relax and bask in the warmth of human connection.”
“I’m going to bask in something, in a minute,” Harlow mutters, sinking lower in her chair. “Where’s the cream? And sugar? How am I supposed to bask in anything but misery when there’s no cream and sugar in my coffee, and I’m too hungover to go get them myself?”
Evie pats Harlow indulgently on the shoulder. “I’ll get your cream and sugar, princess. I owe you one for the Old-Fashioned projectile incident of last summer. But I’m going to need you to pound a glass of water while you’re waiting. Caffeine alone is only going to make things worse. You’re the one who taught me that.”
“Thank you,” Harlow says, reaching for the water pitcher in the center of the table. “Maybe I won’t claw your eyes out, after all.”
“Aw, I appreciate that,” Evie says before shifting her gaze my way. “What about you, Jess? Need anything from the kitchen? Orange juice? Toast? Advil? I mean, it was your birthday blowout. If anyone has a right to be hungover this morning, it’s you.”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I say, snatching a napkin from the holder and folding it in half. “I got so busy dancing, I forgot to keep drinking, and by the time I went looking for another beer, they were all gone.”
“You should have asked me where I hide the backup beer,” Harlow says, resting her water glass on her forehead with a sigh. “I would have shared, and then maybe I wouldn’t be feeling like a donkey’s rotten ass right now.”
I fold my napkin in thirds, trying to remember how to make an origami beetle. “As fun as that sounds, I’m glad I stopped when I did. I need to be in top physical and mental condition today for my foster cat parent interview.”
“Oh, no.” Evie leans through the hole above the counter in the kitchen. “Is that today? I totally forgot. I promised the kids at the teen center that I’d chaperone while they practiced tagging the old bank the city’s tearing down next week. I would postpone, but if we wait until next weekend, the building will be gone.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to come. I know you’re busy. And I’m the one who will be home with the cat the most. I should pick one that vibes with my vibes.”
“It’s so nice that Brain Chill is giving you more time off,” Evie says as she returns with the sugar bowl and pint of cream from the fridge. “You deserve it after how hard you’ve been working the past year.”
I tap my bare toes on the floor, debating whether or not to spill my guts about quitting my job. I was going to hold off on telling the roomies until after I told my parents—I’m a big believer in getting the worst part of any task over first—but with a new job already on the horizon…
“I may have fibbed about that a little,” I confess, folding a wing on one side of my napkin beetle.
“What do you mean may have fibbed?” Evie asks. “You never fib.”
“Yeah, you’re even more obnoxiously honest than I am,” Harlow agrees. “And what are you doing to your napkin? And can you teach me? I need something to do other than sit here or I’m going to go nuts. How were people sane before they were able to scroll their social feed with their morning coffee?”