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We disconnect and Maria pops her head in the door, speaking in rapid Spanish as she walks toward me. “Why did you just have a Tiffany’s bag delivered and please tell me it’s for me.”
“No,” I say. “It is not for you but stop cursing me in Spanish and you might get something nice for Christmas.”
“I don’t curse you in Spanish.”
I arch a brow.
“How do you know I curse you in Spanish?”
“You just admitted it.”
She smirks. “You do know that Christmas is only two months away, right?”
“Yes. So I suggest you have restraint.”
“I always have restraint,” she claims, setting the bag in front of me. “You’re proposing to Cat,” she says, knowing Cat well now since she’s been to my office any number of times.
“That’s between me and Cat.”
Her eyes light. “You are.” She claps. “Can I see?”
“No. You cannot see. Leave and shut the door.”
She grimaces but does as I ordered. I open the bag and pull out the blue box inside. I inhale and think about Cat opening it as I open it, staring down at the ring that I had sized after sneaking one of her rings. It’s stunning like Cat and I pull out a card from the store clerk that reads: The Tiffany Nova Princess Cut ring was a perfect choice. She will love it. Congratulations. It was perfect and expensive, but Cat is worth every dime and a million more.
This is my Christmas gift to her and her gift to me will be agreeing to marry me.
Cat
Liz and I sit at a fancy restaurant she’d insisted on taking me to, giggling over champagne. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” I say. “I can’t drink. It’s doesn’t make for a good me.”
“You signed a huge book deal, fell in love with a gorgeous man and—”
“Wow. I never told you I love him.”
“Oh please. You love him and you’re so much more relaxed with this man. Look at you. You’re in a pink fluffy sweater.”
“It’s just a pink sweater and I paired it with a very conservative pink shirt,” I say. “And what does pink have to do with anything anyway?”
“You lived in black before Reese. You’re different. I can’t explain it. Softer maybe.”
“I lived in black in the courtroom,” I say. “And why are we talking about sweaters? Pink sweaters.”
She downs her champagne. “Because, bitch, we’re too drunk to talk about anything else.”
I laugh. “Okay, bitch.”
We both laugh and I’m reminded how well we connect. I can’t believe I fired her. I can’t believe she made me. “Seriously, though,” Liz says. “You know I love you right?”
“Most of the time. Except that time you tried to get me to work with Dan.”
“I told you. That was a complicated political mess. And you just sobered me up. Thank you for that. I was protecting you.”
“Yeah yeah. I don’t want details. Just don’t try to get me to do something you know breaks my moral codes again.”
“When it’s half a million dollars, I’m obligated to present the option.”
“But not obligated to push me or leave out details.”
