The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,48

she’d used for the wretched man she’d once lived with. That man, if Bruce recalled correctly, had been jealous of him. That Bruce was far more beautiful than any human could ever be was reason enough, but also, the woman liked Bruce, and Evan was jealous of a cat.

Well, that only made him smart. He should be jealous of a cat.

But Evan had never given Bruce a branzino. Bruce’s stomach convulsed at the memory of his long-ago jailer, of Evan’s selfishness in keeping branzinos only for himself.

Bruce leapt up, hacked several times, then proceeded to vomit up his dinner.

All over the covers.

There. That’d show her what he thought of Evan. That would answer her question.

“Oh, Bruce. You poor thing. I hope you feel better soon. Let me change the bedding.” As she cleaned up his sick, she sighed. “That’s obviously a sign that it could all go wrong. Relationships always do, don’t they?”

Bruce climbed up on the windowsill and licked his paw. Then, because he’d once seen her laugh when she watched a cat do this, he swatted a mug off the sill.

Crash.

The mug broke. Yes, that was satisfying too.

“Oh, brilliant!”

She snapped a photo of the carnage, stroked his back, and scratched his ears. She did seem pleased with him, and that was, he had to admit, growing more appealing by the day.

20

Bryn

On Thursday I have meetings all day with our content partners.

As I zip around town, I think.

As I dart into meetings, I contemplate.

As I march down the sidewalk, I wonder.

The whole time I dip into the big ol’ bag of advice my mom left behind, fishing around for that one perfect bit of wisdom.

But I’m not sure which one to clutch, the go for it adage or the do the right thing motto.

I spend Friday prepping for my trip to California next week. After work, I meet with Teagan at Peace of Cake. Our friend Amy comes too, because she loves us and because she can’t resist cake.

After I order a slice of coconut cake to share, Amy plops into a chair, red glasses on, and gestures grandly to me. “You have called me to a cake meeting. I can only presume you have a big dilemma.”

“Yes. I put it before the cat, and he gave me contradictory advice,” I say as Amy digs in.

“Huh. How odd for a cat to be contrary,” Teagan says drolly.

“Shocking, I know.”

“So, what’s the dealio?” Amy asks.

I spread my hands on the table, leaning on the scale I use for bad decisions. “On a scale of one to a box of rocks, how dumb is it to date the guy who just bought the site I work for?”

Amy flinches, her fork freezing in midair.

My shoulders sag. “I’ll take that as a vote for a truck full of rocks. A quarry full of stone.”

Teagan clears her throat and points at me. “In Bryn’s defense, she was dating him before he bought the site.”

“Well, before either of us knew who the other one was,” I clarify.

Amy blinks. “Back it up, ladies, and explain. Don’t leave out any juicy details.”

I unspool the tale, especially what weighs on me the most. “I love my employees. I love Matthew and Rosario, Quentin and James. And I can’t help but wonder how they’ll view me if they know I’m sleeping with the guy in charge.” I fiddle with my bracelets. “Will they see me as less of a lady boss? As more foolish? Will I seem less strong, less kick-ass? I want to be this badass woman who knows her mind. Who goes after what she wants. Like my mom was,” I say, and I don’t choke up. I stay strong. Because that’s who she was. That’s what she taught me to do, how to be.

Teagan squeezes my hand. “You are strong. You’re so much like her in the ways that matter, sweetie.”

“But what if the people I work with don’t see me that way?” I ask softly. That’s the big issue. My job matters to me. My identity matters. I care deeply for the staff at the site.

Amy taps her chin thoughtfully. “It’s hard, I know, because you want them to respect you.”

“And sometimes, call me crazy, but people can be judgy of women,” Teagan puts in.

“Yeah. Just a little bit. So I don’t know if the answer is easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Teagan says, eyes locked with mine.

“It’s a choice,” Amy adds, setting down her fork, holding that same serious tone.

“How do I make it?” I ask.