When we reach the awning, Edna is standing just inside, waiting for me. She swings open the door.
“I have a package I need help carrying,” she calls out. “Then we can go get pizza.”
“See, I don’t need a chaperone to my apartment door,” I say. “Good night, boss-hole.”
“Good night, beautiful.”
“Nope. You have to end it on a mean note so I can continue to loathe you,” I say stubbornly.
He heaves an exasperated sigh. “God, you’re ridiculous.”
I nod with satisfaction. “That’ll do.”
He makes a move as if he’s going to bend down and kiss my cheek, but I spin out of reach and dash inside before my resolve crumbles and I do something to embarrass myself.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Winona
I clench my phone so hard the plastic creaks, and groan. “There are no Sunni Sunni Singer dolls available in this space-time dimension.”
Thinking back to my earlier optimism, two whole weeks ago when I signed away my soul on the dotted line, I laugh bitterly. Those were simpler times. I was young and naive, and the world was full of hope. Now I know the harsh reality. I’ve got a better chance of finding an honest politician than one of those toys.
“I know,” Isabella says sympathetically. “I’ve been looking too. I mean, we’ve put it on the Kitchen Krew Bulletin Board, we’ve got feelers out everywhere. No dice.”
“In between running errands for my boss-hole from morning ’til night, I have been calling, Googling, Bing-searching, Yahoo-ing, emailing, texting…and I’ve turned up exactly zero available dolls. Every single doll is spoken for. It’s insane. Why is this stupid doll so popular? It’s a wildly overpriced piece of plastic.”
“She does sing all the latest pop songs.”
“In a highly creepy fashion. Her eyebrows jiggle, and she winks, and her eyes open and close, and her lips pucker.” I shudder. I’ve never been a fan of dolls who talk and sing. They freak me out.
“You don’t think he’d really let you go if you can’t find it?” Her voice rises in indignation. “After you guys slept together? Isn’t that a lawsuit begging to happen?”
“I would never. I jumped him, not vice versa, and we agreed it was a casual one-time thing.” I massage my temples with my thumbs. “And I don’t think he’d want to, but Bill Hudson will insist on it. I signed a contract.”
And Blake will try to throw a whole bunch of money at me, and my conscience won’t let me accept it.
Well, at least I’ll have gotten a couple of good paychecks out of it. Today is Friday, and my first paycheck has already been deposited. It was a generous check, but it’s like hurling cash into a black hole. My poor underfed bank account is already crying the blues at the thought of losing it.
The door opens, and a cafeteria employee walks in carrying a lunch tray.
“Right on time,” I say to him. “Thank you! Could you go tell Blake I said to take this entire tray and insert it in a place that never sees the sun?”
“I’d love to. We’d all love to,” he says ruefully.
A twinge of conscience tweaks me. “He is a crab-apple, isn’t he? But I guess, in fairness, he’s also under a huge amount of pressure these days.”
“Believe me. We know.” He rolls his eyes, then salutes me and departs.
“Sorry, Isabella,” I say into the phone. “Lunch has arrived.”
“The guy who doesn’t want a relationship is sending you lunch every day?”
“It’s a control freak thing. He keeps sending me peach tarts, to torture me.”
“Why don’t you just tell him what’s up with that?”
“I can’t. It’s a pride thing.” Mine, and my family’s. Isabella’s the only person who knows the real reason I gag at the taste of peaches. “All right, I’ll let you go. Give Xena my love.”
“Ciao for now.”
Hanging up, I look over the tray. Roast beef sandwich, salad, coffee…and a peach tart.
I send Blake a message on the inter-office computer. “Thank you for lunch, but you don’t have to do that for me. In fact you should stop.”
The reply zips back immediately. Isn’t he supposed to be busy conquering the world of retail? “If you tell me what’s up with the peaches, I’ll stop. And I’ll send you chocolate. Don’t you want chocolate? Girls like chocolate.”
I send him a message back. “I picked up your suits from the tailor.”
“I know, my secretary told me. Don’t try to change the subject. The more you resist, the more determined I am to find