The Truth

“Yes,” I answer with certainty.

Ricky hums. “On a totally unrelated note, you talked to Elle recently?”

He’s one overgrown, protective bruiser of a soft-hearted man. He’s looking out for his family all the way around, and I can understand what Miranda sees in him. He’ll never win the Nobel Prize, but he sticks, and he’ll do anything for those he cares about, and that’s way more important than a gold medal and a million dollars.

“I did. She’s good with everything.”

His lips press together as he mulls that over. It must pass some point of acceptability in his mind because he shrugs carelessly.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “As long as you know what you’re doing, Tiffany.”

I grin and punch him lightly on the shoulder. “I always do.”

It’s a half-truth.

I’ve always got a plan, a way to live a little but not go too far. That’s the important balance so things don’t become mundane and predictable but stay exciting and fresh.

Does it always work out? No.

But when my plans go awry, I remember that once upon a time, I’d keep my balance by daring Elle to do silly things and completing the dares she gave me in return.

But she said something to me as she moved to London that has stuck with me, perhaps her most difficult dare of all.

“Live, Tiffany,” she told me in a private moment as we packed up the last of her stuff for shipping overseas. “One last dare, me to you. On something really, really important to you, I dare you to let loose, live wild and recklessly, and be open to great things that aren’t necessarily part of a plan.”

I promised her I would and that I’d tell her when I did.

Looks like I’m about to cash in on that dare.

* * *

I actually wait until seven fifteen to ensure everyone’s gone home before I knock on Daniel’s door and let myself in without waiting for an answer the way I’ve seen Ricky, Billy, and Vanessa do. “Daniel.”

He looks up, his eyebrows shooting up. “Tiffany . . . what are you doing? I didn’t even know you were still here.”

I try not to let that sting. He’s been eyeballs deep in work after all.

“I’m assuming that means you also don’t know how late it is, so I ordered you dinner and had Mac escort the delivery driver up,” I tell him, lifting the bag that came in a few minutes ago and waving it back and forth like a dangling carrot. “It’s healthy stuff.”

Daniel blinks but shakes his head. “Oh, I’m not hungry. I’ll grab something at home later.”

“Bullshit,” I tell him, keeping my voice light but chastising. I step in further and set the bag on the conference table and start pulling out delicious smelling food, hoping the aromas will tempt him as much as my company might. “You’d stay here until you’re left with the options of a green smoothie or a protein bar, neither of which is ideal.”

“Tiffany—”

“I got you a chicken and veggie stir-fry with brown rice, or there’s beef and broccoli, if you’d rather,” I continue, plowing right over his objections. “Now refuel, and we can talk about what’s on your mind.”

It’s subtle, but it gives Daniel an ‘out’ that this is just business. He puts his pen down and tilts his head left and right, stretching. When he stands and comes around his desk, I can see how hard he’s been working. His tie is loosened, his sleeves are rolled up on his corded forearms, and there’s a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. It could look disheveled, but on him, it looks sexy as hell.

He sits down at the head of the table, pulling the beef and broccoli toward him. “This smells good.”

“Thank you. And thank Vanessa. It was in her contacts,” I tell him, taking the chicken and veggies before offering him a pair of chopsticks. “What’s keeping you here late this time?”

“The settlement on the Carlton lawsuit,” Daniel says, taking the chopsticks and deftly splitting them. “I don’t know if we should accept it.”

I split my own chopsticks and pluck a bit of chicken from my cardboard box. “Well, give me a breakdown. What’s the case about?” I pop the chicken in my mouth, chewing it thoughtfully as I listen.

“Carlton sued us over what they’re claiming was a violation of a construction contract we made with them,” Daniel explains. “We’re building a new technology center in New Jersey, and when they didn’t meet the timelines, it triggered certain withholding clauses in the contract. They’re saying we triggered them without cause. We’re counter-suing for breach of contract because they haven’t held up their end of the bargain.”

“Ah . . . and what are the reasons for the construction delays?”

“The crunch on materials. But if that were the case, why the hell were they able to keep popping out cookie cutter suburban housing units like it was nothing?” He angrily bites into a piece of broccoli.