“Probably.” One could only hope.
My hopes were dashed by noon.
When I returned to my desk after lunch, there, sitting in the very center, was a small red envelope with a distinctive white bull’s-eye.
A knot in my throat, I opened it and nearly shrieked at the amount.
One thousand dollars.
Holy shit.
My hands trembled as I read the note.
Catherine,
Something useful to go along with the luxury.
The spa card doesn’t expire. Use it when you have the time, even if it’s three years from now.
Congratulations on your impending arrival. I should have said that sooner.
-Elliot
It was strange being this grateful to a man who drove me up the wall on a daily basis. He didn’t hire single women, for Pete’s sake. I didn’t know how to reconcile these warring feelings.
The sound of Elliot’s voice approaching instantly sent me into professional mode. I circled my desk, standing behind it with a practiced smile.
I needn’t have bothered. Elliot was conversing with a pair of men older than him by at least two decades in starched suits with serious, no-nonsense expressions. Elliot gestured toward his office, and the men swept in with Elliot right behind them, disappearing inside without a single glance my way and pulling the door closed.
Exactly as expected.
This was the Elliot I knew.
The world had tilted back on its axis, just as it should’ve been, and I breathed easier.
But that little red envelope glared at me from my desktop, telling me there was more to my boss than what was on his slick surface.
Glaring back at it, I whispered, “Go fuck yourself. You’re just a card. What do you know? You don’t even have a brain.”
Now that I’d told the inanimate object off—undoubtedly a new low for me—I sat down in my chair and turned on my computer, getting back to work.
Chapter Eight
Elliot
Luca rolled into the gym thirty minutes after Weston and me, but that wasn’t anything new. Even though he was a married man and had recently taken over as CEO of his family’s motorcycle company, Rossi Motors, he’d always have a healthy dose of carefree partier as part of his personality, and I didn’t mind at all.
It was why our three-way friendship functioned so well. Luca balanced us out. Weston and I had a tendency to get lost in our work, and we both veered to the side of way too fucking serious. Then again, neither of us had grown up in stable environments, and we’d had to make our own way. When Luca had entered the picture in college, he’d smacked off our blinders, so we finally saw the world around us. It wasn’t all books and studying.
Luca Rossi was fucking fun. All suave looks and smooth moves, he could talk his way in and out of anything. We’d had some adventures back then, forging a bond that still held strong, though we’d all grown up in the years since.
It was why, despite our busy lives and multitude of responsibilities, we met at a private gym several times a week before work.
Luca hopped on the treadmill beside Weston, who’d been updating me on the efforts to restructure the corporate level of his outdoor clothing company, Andes.
“Welcome, Rossi,” Weston intoned.
Luca flashed a not-guilty grin. “Why thank you.”
“Nice of you to join us.” I was on Weston’s other side, powering through my third mile.
“I have a valid excuse for running late today.”
I eyed Luca’s reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room. “This should be good. Don’t leave us in suspense.”
Luca pressed some buttons on his treadmill, upping his pace. “Saoirse let Clementine into our room last night.”
Weston’s brow lowered as he jogged at an even pace. “Wait. Does the cat watch you”—he lowered his voice, though there were only a few people around—“fuck? I don’t think I could perform—”
My hand shot up. “If you care for me in any way, don’t finish that sentence. I don’t want to know a single detail about your performance when it involves my sister unless it’s Shakespeare. And even then, I might not want to know.”
Weston chuckled. “Noted. All I’ll say is I wouldn’t let a cat in my bedroom.”
Luca shrugged easily. “We let her in…after. And to be quite frank, Clementine doesn’t give a shit what we’re doing. She gets pissed if the bed jostles too much, but all she does is meow her opinion of us and go to her cat bed in the corner.”
“I’m not a cat person,” I said.