Page 46 of Touch of Class

“Britney!” Brooke finally called. “She loves Britney Spears.”

“Traitor,” Gillian muttered, but it was too late. Daphne had already pulled back the phone.

“If you don’t pick, I will. And I know how much you love ceding control,” Daphne needled, “especially to me of all people.”

Gillian was being baited. She knew it. They all knew it, but the idea of maintaining even a modicum of control did spark an idea.

Brooke noticed immediately. “Uh-oh, I know that look. Did you come up with a plan?”

She shook her head again, but mostly out of habit. This was game over, and she’d lost enough in her life to do so with grace, so she extended her hand. “Not a plan, just a fitting connection for how I feel about this situation.”

Daphne laughed and handed over the phone.

Gillian typed in a quick search and the first strains of music filled the room. She waited patiently for the recognition to play across her friends faces as Britney Spears launched into her version of “My Prerogative.”

It took another second for the others to get the point, and one by one they all began to laugh.

Then the dancing started until a laughing, happy, joking circle formed around her.

She wanted to be annoyed, and, honestly, a huge part of her was, but maybe she didn’t have the energy to sustain anger amid her other emotions. Then again, perhaps all the easy affection in the room softened her reaction.

Either way, she allowed herself one final eye roll before she did the only logical thing left to do, and joined in.

Twelve

Daphne tugged on the fitted sheet and huffed in frustration when the upper corner didn’t come loose. It was such a little thing, but this late in a long day, she would’ve preferred it if the sheets would jump into her laundry basket so she could go home. It was weird to spend the better part of one’s day in bed and still long to get back to her own, and, not for the first time, she briefly considered sleeping here. It was Hugh’s night with Izzy, so there was no logistical issue, but over the years she’d learned the hard way what havoc could come from not drawing sufficient boundaries between work and home, so she walked around the mattress and pulled the sheet free.

She’d done such a good job of transitioning into her new life, new office, and new work relationships, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that when she finally felt like she’d hit her stride.

Then, as if the universe had heard the little shot of bravado flit through her brain, it sent a warning shot in the form of Gillian striding down the hallway. Daphne recognized the sound of her heels hitting with purpose. No one else walked like Gillian.

The thought made her smile, which in turn reminded her of Gillian dancing in the waiting room earlier, and her smile widened.

Acting entirely on a whim, Daphne called out, “Hey, Gilly Bean.”

The footfall stopped short, and she shook off a little shiver of anticipation.

“Yes?” Gillian stuck her head in the door, and Daphne wondered if she’d ever quite get used to the sight of her, all put together and using her professional register.

“I wanted to say thanks for being a good sport earlier.”

That seemed to catch Gillian off guard, and her business face flickered to reveal something more fatigued. She hitched her leather workbag higher on her shoulder, as if wanting to hold the trappings of her profession closer.

“I know I pushed you out of your comfort zone.”

“Is that an apology?”

Daphne laughed. “Not hardly. It was good for both of us.”

“You presume quite a lot to declare something good for me simply because you enjoyed it.” And there was the erudite side of her back again.

“Maybe,” Daphne said, “but it was good for me to see everyone being freely human together for a few minutes. I suppose you can be responsible for crafting your own narratives.”

“It doesn’t feel that way around you,” Gillian said softly. It wasn’t an argument so much as a statement made in bewilderment, a rare flash of vulnerability showing through the thin sheen of exasperation.

“Sounds like another ‘you problem,’” Daphne said without the same level of amusement she usually felt when tying this woman in knots. “If you can’t make sense of human moments with your closest people, that might be something for you to examine, but my opinion of you goes up every time I see you with your posse.”

Gillian lifted her eyes to search Daphne’s, as if waiting for the punch line.