"Like I said, I am Mr. Whitmore's secretary," she said haughtily. "You do have a visitor waiting in your office even though I informed her that God alone knew when you would be arriving."
As much as I wanted to snap back, I knew I needed to save that for the person waiting in my office.
Rachel.
Ugh.
From Natasha's eyes shifting back to her computer, I figured the conversation was over. For the first time since I'd met the woman I found myself wanting to linger. Ask about her stylist. Was she Team Vampire, Team Were, or Team Zombie? Anything that would prolong the inevitable. I just wasn't ready to see Rachel's face.
Sensing that I missed her end of conversation nonverbal cues, she slowly lifted her gaze back to me.
"Can I help you?"
Think of something! "Uh, thank you for all you do." Wow that was terrible. I was surprised I'd gotten the lie out with a straight face.
She rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. Look, the poor girl has been waiting to see you for hours--"
A spark of hope flashed through me. "Girl?"
"Yes. Mia Kent."
A smile dashed across my face. "Oh, thank God."
Natasha pushed blond strands behind her ear, eyeing me strangely. "I wouldn't thank him yet. She wasn't happy when she stomped in two hours ago and I imagine she's even less so now."
Uh oh. I booked it down the corridor, pushing into my office as I dropped my smile and picked up a frown. The desk was littered with takeout cups and empty pastry bags. I would have let the mess and clear disrespect for my things slide if she hasn't made herself at home, feet up on the desk, powdered sugar covered digits typing away on my keyboard.
"What the hell?"
She froze mid-sentence, fingers posed above the keys, aqua eyes jumping from the computer screen. "Where the hell have you been?" She kicked her worn chucks off the table and stood up. Her getup was somewhere between rockabilly and coc**ne chic. She paired a sheer, oversized blouse with liquid leggings. Her hair was tucked under a trucker hat. The only thing worth noting was a lack of ten layers of makeup on her face. Without the stuff gunked on her eyelids, I had no problem seeing just how pissed she was.
I put aside my annoyance at the mess. "I was at the hospital."
Her anger dissipated. "What? Are you okay?"
I nodded, moving to the chair in front or my desk and balling up a pile of empty wrappers and lowering myself with a sigh. "I'm fine. It's Jacob's mother that's not doing so well." I looked up at her. "Heart attack."
She peered at me curiously. "I'm sorry?"
I gave her the smallest of smile. "We don't get along, but I don't actively wish her ill."
She smirked, repeating the two words with more authority. "I'm sorry. For Jacob." She made a face like she was remembering she'd come for a reason and it wasn't to deliver a verbal Hallmark card. "So when were you gonna tell me about Project Save Poor Mia?"
I cringed. "Yeah, about that..." She stood there, hand on hip, waiting. What could I say? It was bad form to gossip about one client to another. "I'll take care of it."
"Righttt," she said, voicing dripping with sarcasm. "Just how are you going to take care of it? I have people texting and emailing me, asking me things like, 'Is Rachel as hot in person as she is onscreen?' and 'How sweet is Rachel for trying to help you?'. As if I needed any other proof that this whole thing had nothing to do with me."
I stared at her in awe. I knew Mia was smarter than people gave her credit for, but I couldn't stop the swell of pride at how she'd come here and confronted me, calling bullshit--even if her anger at me was misplaced. Someone that didn't care about their life wouldn't care, but Mia did.
I shook off the moment, tightening the bun at the nape of my neck. "You have every right to be angry at this situation--"
"At the situation?" she snapped. "No, I'm mad at her--and I'm disappointed in you."
That hurt worse than any blow she could have dealt. We'd only known each other for a month, but it felt like I'd always known her. She could be a bit much with the texts and early morning calls, but despite my grumblings I loved that I was the number she called when she was stressed or stuck in some sketchy spot or couldn't sleep. She was more than my client. She was my friend. Which is why I was gonna break the cardinal rule. Well, that and wanting one less person to think Rachel was as kind and relatable as she seemed.
"This morning was my first time hearing about the organization."
"But Rachel said..." Mia didn't finish, cherubic face scrunched as she went through the whole thing again. She slid against the edge of the desk, sending trash fluttering to the floor. She ignored my glare. "I don't get it."
"Rachel and I aren't exactly besties." So I hadn't flat out said that she was a psycho bitch that made breaking up me and Jacob her favorite hobby. I figured I deserved a pass for that alone.
She twisted her mouth into a scowl, still trying to connect the dots. "But why would you two..." The scowl rounded into an O. "A boy. It's always a boy."
"Hey!" I said, feeling a little defensive. He was mine first came to mind even though that wasn't exactly true. He didn't care about her the way he cared about me, but he still used the words. Words that made an already unstable chick skitter over the edge.
I steered the convo away from romance. "We're gonna get a handle on it. I'll take care of it, okay?"
I should have known it was too late for that. I’d already given her a taste of the scandal. The genie was out of the bottle and she had a front row seat to the drama.
“So what’s her evil plan to steal Jacob away from you?” she asked excitedly.
I tried to backpedal. “I didn’t mean it that way. There’s a little tension between the two of us, but that’s because she and Jacob used to date--”
“Oh my god, Rachel and Jacob used to be a thing?!”
My face reddened at how dreamily she said it. Like they were some fairytale come true. Match made in heaven. Truth was, their story would have been a totally different one than his and mine. No one would have asked what he saw in her because anyone with two eyes would be able to see how perfect they were together. No one would have said that he must ‘really love her’ or that their future kids were lucky to have his genes in the mix. They’d say their kids hit the genetic lottery.
Mia waved her hand in front of my face. “Are you okay?”
I blinked, forcing a smile before dropping the lie. “Y-yeah.”