I winced at that. Steven got me down from the table and must have stuck by my side the rest of the night.
I nudged him. “Steven?”
He groaned and cracked an eye open. “Morning.”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Probably about as good as you’re feeling.”
“Right.” I stood up from the bed and wiggled my corset around so I could breathe. “I’d love for us to get breakfast or something but you’re still in costume, and I have a killer headache.”
“Agreed.” He got up and grabbed his things off my nightstand. “Rain check?”
The man was cutting and running out of my house faster than I could kick him out. “Sure.” I shrugged because I didn’t know if either of us wanted one. “Uh, tell your family I say hi. I’ll see you at work.”
“Right. Right. See you there.” Just when I thought he was about to leave, he French kissed the hell out of my face, morning breath and all. “I think the party went well. The Stonewoods seem to love you.” He paused. “And me too.”
He turned on his heel and strutted out my front door.
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, grabbed my vitamins and pills from the kitchen, and went to brush my teeth. I peeled off my costume and studied what was left of me in the mirror. Glitter stuck in my matted pink hair, and my milky skin sagged. Dehydrated. I leaned on the counter where the vitamins and pills for Saturday and Sunday sat.
“I hate you,” I whispered. Then I popped the cases and downed everything except the medication. My heart medication. A little red pill that was supposed to be mandatory and for that very reason it was the hardest to swallow.
Literally and metaphorically.
I was better. I was living. I was enjoying life. And the life I’d mapped out was coming together. I had an impressive job, exceptional friends, a banging body (if I said so myself), and not one damn scar from the cancer.
The pain and turmoil were where they should be—packed away and hidden.
And I planned to be in a committed relationship, marry, and have kids. Steven was a step in the right direction. He’d commit, he’d try, and maybe he’d tackle the hurdles with me.
I gripped the counter, glowering at the pill. I’d paved my way through the chemo, through traveling to Chicago, to this job, to freaking Hawaii.
I swiped the pill over the edge of the counter, into the toilet bowl, and flushed it away.
I didn’t need that reminder. I was sure there would be millions of other little reminders in my life.
I took the rest of the day to prepare for Monday, the day of our meeting. I wanted everyone primed with Levvetor information and happy to serve it up to Jett.
Video chatting with Gloria and Brey regarding tactics and PowerPoints helped ease my worries.
On Monday morning,I slid on my Louboutin black stilettos. The red soles matched the fierce red dress I zipped up. Commuting on the L, I rehearsed my points again. Everyone had received an updated version of the PowerPoint and files to review before the meeting at 1 p.m.
I scoped out the workplace when I arrived. Nothing seemed much different. Josie handed me a coffee and smiled at me as I sat down. “Everyone is still talking about the weekend.”
“Oh, great,” I replied and lifted my cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Sure. Also, I pulled a few notes on our marketing efforts for the meeting later. I think if we discussed merging one of our other pharmaceutical company’s branding with Levvetor’s and consulted the finance team regarding what we could afford, the Levvetor acquisition would be beneficial.”
“Great idea.” I pulled up a file on my computer to make note of her suggestions. “Thanks so much for looking into it. I wasn’t sure anyone would have the time to review any of this before the meeting.”
Josie patted my shoulder. “We’re all part of Stonewood Enterprises, Vick. If we don’t have time, we make it. I think it will be a great work session. See you later.”
Gloria popped up out of nowhere to repeat Josie’s description. “‘Work session’? I saw that in the meeting reminder you sent this morning. Nice touch.”
I groaned and tapped a red manicured nail on the desk. I’d painted my acrylic nails the night before to match my look. “I thought it might help but now it seems silly.”
“It’ll help. Everyone here is competitive. They’ll all try to one up each other.”