I can’t help but snort. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Try again.”
“Gabby, I’m serious.” Her face pinches at this, almost as if she’s smelling something foul. “I’m not trying to be mean, but look at you, and look at me.”
“Not everyone likes blondes, Elise. Ever think of that?” There are other things I can point out: her attitude, unprofessionalism, and the way she practically threw herself at Theodore. He doesn’t like women like that. Like her. My subconscious sneers the words, but I keep my expression neutral, no matter how much all this bothers me—how much my body nearly recoils at the idea of them together. “And even if that’s the excuse you’re choosing to go with, how you treated me—embarrassed me—is unacceptable and quite frankly, a bit sad of you.”
At my words, her eyes narrow. “Not in this case. I’ve done my research and—”
“Are you stalking him?”
“No.” She answers much too quickly, her body shifting a bit from her place across from me. Elise is on a counter stool, hands palms down on the butcher block top. “That’s stupid of you to even think that. I’m just better than...”
“Me?” I end her trailed-off sentence, my own hackles rising. “Is that what you really think? That you’re better than me?”
“Don’t take it personally, Gabby.”
“Too late.” Pushing off the counter, I head to the fridge and pull out my creamer and walk back. The pot is done and I pour each of us a cup, preparing mine how I take it, while hers remains black. “You know where everything is.”
“Don’t be like that. Let’s put this morning behind us and head out.” I’m not going to bother myself with answering her and stir my coffee, adding a bit more sugar at the end because I need something sweet to combat the bitterness her words are brewing within. “Come on. Girlfriends don’t argue over guys. We respect the rules and since I saw him first, you need to back off. Do so, and everything will go back to normal.”
Bringing the cup to my lips, I take two sips. “That sounds like a threat.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“And yet you warn me to back off?” Once again, heavy silence fills the room and I’m more than uncomfortable with her here. God knows I’m trying to work through this—trying to understand her—but my patience is at an end. Her words have more than hit a nerve, but then a thought hits me and I start to see another angle. What angle are you playing at? “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“When was the first time you saw Theodore Astor? Did he show interest in you?” Those last words taste bitter. I’m going to be sick if he’s touched her. It’s a thought I shouldn’t have but can’t deny being true.
Something happened between us at the cafe. The chemistry still lingers on my skin where he innocently touched me before leaving.
“In person?”
“In general.” At my question, Elise looks away and then chooses that moment to prep her own drink. She adds some sugar and milk, then takes a few sips to test it out. But what’s obvious is her sudden avoidance and the twitch in her hands. “Answer me.”
“How is that any of your business?”
“Answer me.”
“Today was the first time physically, yet I’ve followed him for years. His face is kept out of the media for the most part and it’s hard to track him down, but I did. “That sounds stalker-ish. Elise flips her hair over her shoulder, twirling the end of one curl. “As you can imagine, he’s a busy man, and your work was the opening I needed so I jumped at the chance. And he’s just as handsome as the few photos I’ve downloaded.”
“You’re here telling me to back off someone you just saw with your own eyes for the first time today? Where you embarrassed me, yourself, and him?”
“That wasn’t my fault! You ruined everything wearing that trashy dress—”
“Speaking of the dress...”
“What of it?”
“Did you come into my home and leave it here as a gift, or not?”
Something crosses her face, a fearful expression, but it’s gone before I can fully decipher. What are you hiding? “So what if I did?”
“Then why have a problem with me wearing it?” Nothing. Not a peep. “A birthday gift worn on my birthday. What a crazy notion.”
“It was unprofessional to wear and you—”
“To a meeting I didn’t ask for nor set up, and which I only found out about an hour before I needed to be there? That meeting?” My sarcasm is heavy, my glare just as icy as hers. I’m done being pushed around. “The same meeting where Theodore Astor ignored you, asked you to be quiet, and exchanged numbers with me?”
“He saw you as easy.”
“Never confuse me with yourself, Elise.”
“Tell me, Gabriella. What were you thinking when you offered yourself to him?” And there’s the woman I met today in the café: my friend’s true colors. Her face flushes and her chest heaves, the cup slamming down atop the counter with enough force that it breaks, and all that’s left behind is the handle in her hand. “Are you that desperate to lose your virginity? Isn’t it pathetic of you to throw yourself at the first man who indulges your quirks and is nice?”
And yet, I’m not moved or intimidated. Instead, a part of me is angry.
So angry.
Insulted.
Hurt.
“What was I thinking?” It’s rhetorical, but when she opens her mouth, I level her with a look. This surprises her; the hostility in me is new, but that little girl who grew up alone and with forced thick skin each time life knocked her down isn’t having it. This feeling is one I’ve fought to always push back, but today I’m embracing it. It’s bubbling within my veins and my heart races, I’m feeling flushed, and a deep vibration settles through every limb. “You’re asking me what I was thinking?” My laugh is sardonic, so dry. “I was thinking my friend went out of her way to make a dream come true for me out of the goodness of her heart—because she loves me, and not because there was a personal agenda attached. I was thinking that it was a business meeting, not a pimp’s personal catwalk where I’m used to attract a big spender and then told to bend over and take it as you please.”
