When Sara woke up on Monday, her head was throbbing and her mouth tasted like an old gym sock. Way too much wine. Grabbing the water bottle off the nightstand, she chugged until she felt more human again. Glad she had the morning off, she could only imagine how terrible Elle felt right now.
Eyes going wide, she grabbed her phone to check for drunk texts. Breath caught in her chest, she checked the phone log. Exhaling loudly, she smiled. No texts and she hadn’t drunk dialed either. Thank God.
Calling Elle at the office, she said, “Never again,” once she answered the phone.
Elle laughed and said, “I can’t even think about food. Working for a caterer is horrible today. Bret laughed his face off when he saw me this morning. Little douche bag.”
Laughing, Sara said, “Gonna swing by the office, then go to JDC to get the stuff ready for tomorrow’s thing.”
“And then hang around and wait for your boyfriend to get off work?” Elle asked, laughing.
“That’s such a juvenile term. But yes, basically.”
“Well. You Googled him last night and showed me a picture. I’d wait around for that kind of hot, too!” Elle said wistfully.
“How many times did you stop me from drunk dialing?”
“Four or five, I think.”
“Thank you. I’ll be in by ten. Do you want anything to eat? Coffee?”
“Ugh. No!”
“See ya later.”
“Bye.”
After a shower, Sara felt almost human. Dressing and putting on a minimal amount of makeup, she headed into the office. After returning a few calls and answering requisite e-mails, she made Elle eat some crackers, then drove over to JDC.
As she was walking in the building, Deacon texted her. Are you gonna be here around lunch time?
She laughed and responded, Are you tracking my ID badge? I literally just walked in the door. I won’t be eating lunch though. Drank a little too much last night.
Her phone beeped with his response. Poor girl. I’ll stop down around noon anyway. Not one drunk text? Frankly, I’m a bit hurt.
She typed back quickly. Elle hid my phone. She’s the best. See you soon.
Wandering into the main area of the kitchen, she started to check in orders as Bret walked in the door.
“Hey, Bret. How’s it going?”
“Good. How’s your head, boss?”
Narrowing her eyes, Sara said, “Fine, thanks. I probably won’t ever eat again, though.”
Snickering, he said, “So what are we making?”
“Tomato bisque soup, some annoying little finger sandwiches…pea and prosciutto, turkey and cranberry, smoked salmon and cream cheese, cucumber and watercress, curried egg salad, then chocolate mousse for dessert…and fruit.”
“Ugh. Finger sandwiches. I have big hands. Hate making those tiny things.”
Bret was six four and did have giant hands. Giving him a pitying look, she said, “It’s only for fifteen.”
Holding up his hands, he sarcastically said, “Well, then. That’s not so bad.”
Sara smirked at him and ignored the sarcasm completely, saying, “See. Problem solved.”
Rolling his eyes, he laughed as he moved to the refrigerator and started to work on the curried egg salad.