me to go out to lunch with him! That was kind of like asking me on a date – wasn’t it?
An odd, angry hurt bubbles up inside me like heartburn. I grab my phone and call Isabella. Fortunately, she didn’t work last night, or I wouldn’t dare. Once she crashes after an all-night shift, you wake her at your peril.
“My boss is sick and she was supposed to do some shopping for Blake, so I’m doing it for her. Oh, and Blake has a girlfriend,” I blurt out. “Her name is Sloane. I need to go pick out a birthday present for Blake’s girlfriend. And I’m actually upset about that. Why, though?”
In the background, I hear Latin pop music. “What? That asshole. Didn’t he just ask you out to lunch?” Yes! Exactly! She’s so awesome. Xena lets out a sharp bark. She’s also indignant on my behalf. “Clarita, Blake has a girlfriend!” she yells. She must be at Clarita’s apartment. “That rich hot guy who’s been flirting with Winona? The one who owns Hudson’s? He has a girlfriend!”
“He what? That pendejo!” Clarita follows up with a string of curses in Spanish. Isabella’s taught me most of those. Whoa. For a former kindergarten teacher, Clarita’s got quite the colorful vocabulary.
These days, Clarita is the owner of the Kitchen Krew blog and bulletin board, and the head of the neighborhood volunteer network. She lives in the building adjoining ours. A year ago, a car accident left her mostly wheelchair-bound, and she took disability retirement from her job. Then she and her husband ended up taking in her nephew, Jorge, so he didn’t have to go into foster care. Despite all that, she runs the unofficial volunteer neighborhood network, keeps tab on what everyone’s doing, and acts as the neighborhood mom. I love her fiercely.
“It’s okay. It was never a love-hate thing. It was just hate-hate,” I say gamely. It suddenly hits me, with a gut-punch that makes me mildly nauseous: this is why he tried to job-block me. He asked me out on a lunch date; of course he wouldn’t want me to be here. He’d be worried that I’d rat him out to his girlfriend.
“Anyway, I’m not surprised. He’s lower than a snake’s belly. There’s your Southernism for the day.” I try to sound light-hearted.
“Ah,” Isabella says with satisfaction. “Like a visit to Georgia. I’ll have to go in person someday.”
“When you do, tell them Winona says hey.”
Okay, if I’m being honest with myself, I will admit that I sort of had a teeny hate-crush on Blake and this stings just a little. If it were anyone else I’d buy him a cactus and tell him where to stick it. I’d even help with the insertion. Ha; he’d end up in Isabella’s ER and she’d see a whole new side of him.
However, if I want to keep my job, I’m unfortunately going to have to keep a smile on my face and pretend I don’t want to wring his neck.
“I should go,” I say bitterly. “I’ve got to go shopping for a smarmy butthole.”
“Smarmy butthole. We treated someone with that disorder a few days ago. Maybe leave some Preparation H on his desk,” Isabella suggests. “Or in his chair, so he sits on it. Save some time that way.”
I grin at the thought. “God, I’d love to. But I’d love to be gainfully employed even more.”
I hang up and return to the list. I start with Blake’s girlfriend. I might as well get that one out of the way.
According to Thérèse's notes, Sloane likes diamonds. Is he planning on getting her a diamond ring soon? Oh well, not my business.
I pull my new iPad out of my purse and do a social media search to try to get a sense of her style.
When it comes to jewelry, Sloane seems to go for gargantuan and flashy. All diamonds, all the time. She wears enough ice to sink a dozen Titanics.
And yep, she and Blake are definitely attached at the hip. There are tons of pictures of them side by side at public events.
Well, it actually looks more like she’s attached to him. She always has an iron grip on his arm, but she’s never looking at him; she’s smiling right at the camera. As for Blake, he has a faint, pained smile on his face and a look in his eyes that seems to say he’d rather be trekking through Death Valley naked then where he is right now.