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And thank God for that.
It was comforting to know there was a spectrum of douche and while I was glad I wasn’t on the ‘absolute’ end, it was clear that I was somewhere on it, in her eyes.
And Natalee’s.
“I just wasn’t feeling it,” I confessed. “I’ve been preoccupied.”
“With the woman from that bakery?”
When I didn’t answer, she let me know the jig was up.
“Even though I was too late with the flowers, I’m your assistant. If anything gets past me, I’m not doing my job.” She sat up a little taller in her seat, at a 90 degree angle despite the fact the chair was reclined. “She’s clearly having a good effect if you’re not objectifying women, but if you start phoning in your meetings-”
“I’ve got it under control,” I reassured her. “I just screwed up before we got to even get started.”
Even admitting that felt like I was confessing some cardinal sin to a priest. That I screwed something up. That I cared enough about something, someone, that it affected me.
“Did you apologize?”
I took my eyes off the road to give her a glare, but she didn’t give me the opportunity, pointing her finger at the windshield.
“Of course I apologized,” I huffed. “At least a dozen times at least.”
“Then apologize a dozen more,” she said simply. “If she’s worth it, there’s no such thing as too many times. And if it becomes pointless, she’ll let you know.”
I stared out the windshield, pointed toward unfamiliar territory. I wasn’t used to being the one doing the chasing, but I could put aside my pride and do what it took to show Natalee that I was truly sorry.
She was worth it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: NATALEE
Even if I wasn’t already sold on The Women’s Collective and their mission to support entrepreneurship and mentoring female youth so they knew the sky was the limit for what you could accomplish, I knew I’d found home when they told me they specifically wanted the attendees to have their cupcakes and bubbles before the program began.
Dessert first was always a good idea.
The ballroom at the Hilton Downtown should have felt like every other hotel ballroom I’d catered: stuffy, uptight, with those uncomfortable chairs and name tags that were meant to encourage people to get to know each other. In reality, most attendees kept to themselves and tried to avoid the 10% that wanted to chat you up and shoot the breeze. All the pretense and the awkward was pretty much at zero and I had a feeling it had everything to do with Jessie Stone taking on the project pro bono. From the pink and glitter filled balloons, to the all female cover band that sang songs ranging from “These Boots Were Made For Walking” to “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)”, it was clear that this was meant to be a celebration. A day of indulgence and inspiration.
There was a spread to make even the most discerning charcuterie enthusiast squeal. Since the group was modest, Jessie had done away with those aluminum chairs with curtain drapes for cushions and replaced them with high back leather chairs that swallowed you whole in the best possible way. And if you had a couple of kinks to work out, there was even a zen space near the door with licensed massage therapists on hand.
And then there were my neon rainbow cupcakes, speckled with edible glitter—and they were going like gangbusters.
I fixed my Madison Creations button and got back to work, restocking the display with fresh cupcakes. I was holding down the fort solo today since Tamara was legitimately ill. Instead of feigning illness and dabbing her nose with an unused Kleenex, she had the nerve to FaceTime me while she was vomiting the entire contents of her stomach. Even if I was able to get the images out of my mind, my appetite had been on the coffee and blueberry muffin end of the spectrum. It’s all I seemed to have time for because I was busy designing cakes, setting up interviews for an additional staff member and...pretending like I didn’t mis Jason Cox.
Maybe just a tiny bit.
Which was so ridiculous because I barely knew him and what I did know included memories of him deserting me, fucking some random bridesmaid, and forgetting my name.
He hadn’t forgotten it the last time we were together.
He’d moaned it.
I paused and flexed my finger, a bit of the glitter dancing in the light.
Okay, I missed him.
Just a speck.
A speck that was just big enough that it lead to me bookmarking his Twitter feed, waiting for some sign that he’d moved on so I could write him off. So I could be let off the hook since the ball was definitely in my corner.
