Tequila, Tequila

Today, I had no escape route, and I’d had no choice but to make eye contact with him numerous times.

All I had going for me at this point was that he hadn’t recognized me. Not yet, anyway, and I hoped like hell it stayed that way.

The last thing I needed my new boss to know was that I was a complete and utter walking disaster. Much like sex, that was something you saved for later on in a relationship. Like when I was six months in, and he liked me to enough to not fire me for being a hot mess.

Granted, I probably couldn’t keep my disaster tendencies under control that long, but I only needed this job for three months.

I could do that. I could totally not screw this up for three months so I could move out of my parents’ place.

Setting attainable goals and all that.

The big hand ticked onto the twelve, and I grabbed hold of my mouse so hard I almost crushed it. I took a deep breath and made sure I had all the programs and files saved and shut down before I turned off the computer.

It would be just like me to accidentally delete everything.

Then I’d have been screwed. It’d taken me weeks to get this job. I’d need to start praying to get another if I lost this.

With another deep breath, I made sure I had all my things and headed for Mr. Reid’s office. I knocked on the door, holding my purse against my body like a shield.

A clunk came from inside, followed by some gentle scraping, and I heard a deep hum of agreement as the door opened.

He stood on the other side, phone to his ear, and waved me in. “I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone before he tapped the screen and put it down.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all. Just a friend.” His blue eyes darted to my purse. “Are you done?”

“It’s five,” I said, clutching the strap of my purse tighter as butterflies swilled in my stomach. “I was just checking if you needed anything before I left.”

“Is it? Crap.” He checked his watch. “Well, I’m running late,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m all good, Mallory, thanks. See you tomorrow?”

I nodded. “What time will you be here?”

“Around ten-thirty. I have an early viewing.” He paused. “Would it be wrong of me to ask you to get me breakfast and put it in the fridge?”

Uh… “Depends. Do I have to cook it?”

He laughed, his whole face lighting up with amusement. Pressing a hand to his stomach, he said, “No, you don’t have to cook it. Just go into Java Hut and pick it up. I’ll call ahead of time and pay for it.”

“I can do that.” I smiled. “Is that everything?”

He nodded once. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I stepped out of his office with another smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“And, Mallory? Good job today. It takes a saint to put up with my cousin for that long.” He grinned right as his phone rang again.

Dipping my head, I smothered a laugh. “She said the same about you. Goodbye, Mr. Reid.”

I dropped my hand from the door and headed for the stairs, feeling his eyes on me long after the phone had stopped ringing.

With any luck, he was looking at my ass and not trying to figure out if he knew me from somewhere.

And there was something I never thought I’d think.

***

Me: I can’t take this house anymore.

I slumped forward on the table in the kitchen. Great Aunt Grace and Grandpa had been going at it for two hours, and not even Mom was hiding the Jack Daniels anymore.

Nope. The bottle was open in the center of the table, and she was nursing a glass of the amber liquid like it was a newborn baby. For real—if this carried on any longer, she was going to put the bottle down her shirt or some shit.

“Six hours,” Mom said in a tired voice. “They’ve been fighting for six hours. We went for a late lunch at the garden center because your grandfather slept through lunch and they argued the entire time. First, because he’d slept through lunch and Grace was hungry. Then it ended up with them bickering because Grace said he was an old coot who needed to be put down like a dog, then they fought because apparently, she’d once run over his dog who’d then needed to be put down.”

My phone buzzed with a text as she continued to complain about their arguing.

I was starting to wonder what was worse: the arguing or her complaining about the arguing.

Jade: Wanna come over?

Me: Can’t. I have to work tomorrow, remember?

Jade: Oh yeah. You’re a real grown-up again.

Me: Don’t go that far.

Jade: I wanna hear about your day. I’ll bring wine.