Emma’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but when they still didn’t say a word, she turned her chair around to boot up her computer.
“Oh,” Grace said, in a casual, by-the-way tone. “Cassidy stopped by this morning. Asked if you could head up to see him.”
Ah. There it was.
Emma matched Grace’s casual tone. “Did he say what he wanted?” Emma asked, toying with a hair rubber band as she spun her chair around to face them.
“You know, he did,” Riley said around a mouthful of doughnut. “Starts with a p and rhymes with . . . with . . . wait, is there no word that rhymes with pussy? That can’t be right.”
Emma flicked the rubber bad at Riley, hitting her between her impressive boobs.
“Ow!” Riley said, rubbing the spot.
“Seriously, did he say what he wanted?”
“Said your article wasn’t turned in with the rest of ours on Friday,” Grace said, her voice curious.
“Probably because the damn thing wasn’t done yet,” Emma muttered.
But she didn’t blame Grace for being puzzled. Emma always turned in her stories on time. They all did. Well, except for Julie, who could get away with pretty much anything simply by being Julie.
Riley put her phone away, set the package of doughnut holes on the desk, and brushed the sugar off her fingers as she looked at Emma.
Emma managed not to squirm. Barely.
“Do you need help with the story? Want to talk it out?” Riley asked.
Emma bit her lip. Truth time. Because if you couldn’t tell your friends, who could you tell?
“I finished my story,” she blurted out. “Early this morning.”
“Well, that’s good,” Grace said. “Are you worried he’s going to chew you out for being a couple days late, because—”
“I didn’t write about Cassidy,” Emma interrupted.
Riley sat down in her chair and leaned forward. “Wait, you decided not to write the story about exes?”
Emma scratched her nose. “No, I did write that, I just didn’t write about . . . him. I did the twelve days of exes minus—”
“Minus the one who mattered,” Grace said quietly. Her voice was gentle and not at all accusatory, but Emma covered her face with her hands in shame.
“I couldn’t do it!” she wailed. “I couldn’t put it out there for everyone to read.”
“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Riley cooed, coming beside her to pet her head. “Just because you write for Stiletto doesn’t mean you’re obligated to spill your guts for the world to see.”
“You guys did,” Emma said, looking at her friends. “All three of you were brave.”
“We didn’t write about our respective love lives because we were brave, Emma,” Grace said. “We did it because in some way, for us, at that time, it was cathartic. That doesn’t mean that it’s going to work that way for you and Cassidy.”
“There is no me and Cassidy,” Emma said glumly.
Riley gently poked Emma’s cheek. “Really? Because I know orgasm-induced glow when I see it and your complexion is looking quite dewy this morning.”
Emma ignored this. Good—no, excellent—sex with Cassidy was the least of her worries. That had never been their problem.
She leaned down, rummaging around in her bag until she came up with the blue folder where she always kept her in-progress articles. She held it up.
“So what do I do?”