The Boss Upstairs - Roya Carmen Page 0,77

Donovan? He was my true love, and I’ve so easily forgotten him. Am I falling too hard too fast?

I’m tossing and turning, still driving myself crazy hours later. The clock on my bedside table reads 1:25 AM. I decide to pop open a bottle of red wine. I don’t often drink, but red wine always relaxes me and helps me fall asleep. I hop out of bed, and go fetch myself a glass. When I return, I fire up my television and watch reruns of Modern Family on Netflix.

Before too long, I drift into slumber.

Abigail and I are seated on my sofa, enjoying our cups of tea. I’ve asked her to come early because I want it to be just the two of us for a bit, before Claudia and Mischa show up. It’s my turn to host. I do it once a month. I don’t mind it, but it’s always a tad stressful as I struggle to clean up and tidy before their arrival. Claudia says I shouldn’t bother, but I’m afraid Mischa would judge me if I didn’t. Her place is always spotless. She has a job and two teenage boys. I’m not sure how she does it all. Unfortunately, I’m no perfectionist.

“So you finally went all the way,” Abigail is saying. “I knew you would eventually. I mean, just look at the guy. How could you possibly resist?”

I laugh. “You don’t think I’m making a mistake?”

She shakes her head. “Hey, listen. Not many of us get to have that kind of passion in our lives. I say go for it.”

I stare down at my tea. “I’m just afraid I might get hurt,” I admit. “I’m pretty sure I’m just a fun distraction for him. He doesn’t take me seriously.”

“Maybe he does,” she argues. “How would you know?”

“I’m not the kind of woman men like him marry,” I point out. “He’s way out of my league.”

“What?” she scoffs. “No one’s out of your league. You’re beautiful and awesome.”

I smile. “Thank you, but what I’m trying to say is… he slaps me, bites my ass, throws me over his desk and fucks me. All that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re having a lot of fun,” she jokes. “I kinda wish Abe would slap me. Maybe I’ll ask him.”

I laugh.

She stares at my wrist. “He did you give you that beautiful bracelet, and the dress, bag and shoes.”

“The man is loaded… I’m sure that’s like pocket change to him. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re being really pig-headed you know,” she scoffs. “Stop being so cynical. You remind me of Mischa right now.”

“Oh no.”

The doorbell buzzes, and I bounce off the sofa. “Speaking of the devil.”

I swing the door open and both Mischa and Claudia are standing there. Claudia has two tins of what I assume are cookies. Some are most likely regular ones, and some are her special recipe I’m sure.

I hug them both before they even have a chance to come in. “Oh my God, look at you,” Claudia says. “Poor girl.”

“I’m fine.” I take one of the tins, and am quick to pry it open. “Special and regular again?”

She grins playfully. “Yes, the shortbreads are safe. The chocolate chip are the fun ones.”

“Good to know.”

Mischa peels off her shoes. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened to you. You must have been terrified. I’m so glad he wasn’t able to… you know…”

“Yeah, I defended myself pretty well. Who knew I had that in me.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” she says. “You’re a strong woman.”

I pull coffee mugs from the cabinet, a pretty pink and purple one for Mischa and a fun cat one for Claudia. Claudia has her usual, Chai tea. And Mischa opts for a coffee. I set the shortbread cookies on a tray. “I’m keeping the chocolate chip cookies on top of the fridge,” I tell them. “I can’t let Ethan get his little hands on them.”

“For sure,” Mischa chimes in. “I honestly don’t think it’s a great idea to bring those types of cookies around when there’s a small child around. If Claudia tried to pull this kind of thing at my place, I’d be kicking her out.”

Thankfully, Claudia is out of earshot, busy playing with Ethan on the floor, but Mischa makes an excellent point.

We all get comfortable on the sectional. Claudia and Abigail have helped themselves to chocolate chip cookies, and Mischa, Ethan, and I are enjoying the shortbreads.

“So what’s new with you?” I ask Mischa.

“The usual,” she says. “Busy with work. I hardly

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