Hard Edge - Tess Oliver Page 0,68

see you eating at lunch. No sugar, or fat. And plain.”

Mr. Campe had a good laugh. “What’s left? The container?” The men had a good laugh, but Ms. Bridger, who I was fairly certain had only ever laughed at funerals, didn’t appreciate the humor. In fact, she looked pissed. Of course she took it out on me.

She shot a haughty glance my direction. “The regular yogurt is fattening. I think Ken is proof of that.”

Another good round of laughter for the two men, who both had bellies round enough that their belts disappeared beneath them. I walked out before Ms. Bridger could throw another stinger my direction.

I pulled the list up on my email and headed to the elevator. I stepped in and thought what I really wanted to do was head out of the building and never look back. I seemed to be suffering a constant headache from trying to get a decent night of sleep, and my work day only made the throbbing that much worse. At this point, I had no idea what I was doing anymore. For so long I’d been convinced I was doing everything right, and now, it seemed everything right had been completely wrong.

I pulled out my phone as I stepped out of the elevator and headed out of the building. If there was one person who could put up with a good stretch of me whining, it was my mom.

“Kenny? Where are you?”

“Mom, why do you ask that every time I call? I’m in New York. Like always.”

“I thought you were working.”

“I am. I’m on a scavenger hunt for the evil Ms. Bridger.”

“Oh my gosh, someone needs to set that woman straight.”

The sidewalk was crowded with early lunch goers streaming from the high rise buildings and luxury offices. “Yeah, I would like to do that myself, Mom, but I need shelter and food more than I need the intrinsic satisfaction that I’d get from setting the woman straight. Whatever the heck that means.” I glanced down at my slightly too tight skirt. Bridger’s last words were still stuck in my craw. “Mom, your truffles have turned me into a human pillow. Stop sending me samples. I have no self-control.”

“Oh, Kenny, but you need to treat yourself when things are going badly. And you’re not a pillow. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“Yeah, well the zipper on my skirt heartily disagrees.”

Her laugh came through the phone, and a good splash of homesickness followed. I’d realized, not long after returning to New York, that I was still very much a hometown girl. If things had worked out differently and I hadn’t let my heart get trampled, I might have just headed straight back to California with my paltry few possessions.

“Kenna, you’re just being silly.”

“How’s business, Mom?”

“Now that the summer heat is really cranking everywhere, orders have slowed. Which is perfect. It gives me time for some research and development.

“Listen to you, with your research and development and everything.”

“I need to come up with something pumpkiny for fall. Then there are the winter holidays. My head spins just thinking about them. I’m going to have to hire some help, but I just can’t find anyone as good as the assistant I had this summer.” She paused. “Are you happy, Kenny? I worry that you left here feeling blue. And now you’re all alone there in that chaotic city.”

“Mom, I’m fine. I’m a big girl. But I miss you and dad. I loved helping you with the business.”

“You know”—she lowered her voice to her famous, conspiratorial mumble, in case someone was listening, which was impossible in her own house—“He’s back in town.”

I lowered my voice too. “Who? And why are we whispering?”

She clucked her tongue. “You know who.” Apparently remembering that she was alone in her kitchen, she returned to normal volume.

“Mom, I can’t talk about it. The wounds are still too fresh, too raw. I’ve had a crappy morning and only a few hours of decent sleep—”

“Fine. Subject dropped. Like you said, you’re a big girl.” I could hear Dad’s voice in the background. Mom stopped our conversation to talk to him.

“Mom, I’ve got to get going.”

“I won’t keep you then, but your dad said he emailed you some information about a local law school. Not as prestigious as the one you’re in, but, you know, just in case.”

“Tell Dad thanks. Kiss him for me. Bye.”

I hung up and found myself walking against pedestrian traffic, dodging elbows and scowls for upsetting the flow. I