Pike (Sin City Saints Hockey 2)

It’s been ten days since I met with Cynthia Wright and she hired me on the spot. My new job is helping clients find art for their homes and businesses, and Cynthia wants me working for her full-time.

It’s my dream job. Cynthia and I spent several hours this past week scouring every gallery we could find in Vegas, finding pieces for clients whose homes she’s working on and also buying pieces we liked for future projects to store in the warehouse she rents near LA.

“It’s not that I feel undeserving…” I try to find the words to describe my mood in a way that Rue will understand.

She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes.

“No more relying on a man for anything. You have a career of your own now. You’ll be traveling sometimes, and you’re not allowed to feel an ounce of guilt because I’ll be here with Nolan when you’re gone. We can do this, okay? You can do this. But if you don’t truly believe that, no one else will, either.”

I nod and look at my reflection again. “I do look great, don’t I?”

“You look amazing.”

“I look like…you.”

She shrugs. “Well, I did your hair and makeup, and you’re wearing my clothes and shoes, so that’s not surprising.”

Smoothing my hand over my sleek, shiny black hair, I turn my head to one side and then the other, smiling. “I’m a long way from my Just Brew It visor.”

“You need to go in there and make that asshole ex-boss make you coffee. And then tip him a penny with sticky stuff all over it.”

“Not today.” I look at the clock on her nightstand. “My flight leaves in three hours.”

“Remember, only one glass of wine at dinner. And no dating clients. Ever.”

I give Rue a look. “You can’t tell me to be confident in my abilities to do this job, and then fifteen seconds later tell me how to do it.”

She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “It’s just last-minute advice. And in case you decide to be a dumbass and not take my advice, just so we’re clear, there is never to be any sexual activity of any kind while wearing that suit.”

I scowl in response. “Really? I don’t think that’s something you have to worry about.”

“I got that suit at Nordstrom before the designer stopped making that line. I literally can’t replace it. And jizz stains don’t always come out in dry cleaning.”

“How do you know?” I ask, arching my brows.

“Never mind how I know. Just take care of the suit.”

“I’ll take care of the suit; you take care of my kid.”

“Of course I will. We’re going to watch Frozen and eat pizza.”

I sigh. “That sounds like more fun than meeting a bunch of rich people.”

Rue scoffs. “You make way more money now, Indie. You have health insurance and a retirement plan. Quit bitching.”

“I’m not bitching. I’m just nervous.” I exhale hard. “I should leave for the airport. It’s been ten years since I’ve been on a plane. I don’t know where to go or anything.”

“I’ll drop you off at the right terminal and then you just have to go through security and find your gate.”

“Okay, I’ll change Nolan and then I just need to grab my bag.”

“Are you nuts? You can’t help a child change their Pull-Ups in the suit! It’s basically like changing a diaper.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, you help him then.”

“I think we should let him wear his big-boy underwear.”

“There’s a one-hundred-percent chance he’ll pee through them.”

Rue considers the ramifications of what I just said. “As long as he doesn’t get it on my car seats.”

“He’ll get it all over his car seat, though,” I argue. “And then I’ll have to wrestle the car seat cover off and wash it and wrestle it back on. And he’ll be sitting in his own pee. He needs to wear a Pull-Up.”

“Fine. I’ll help him get changed. But don’t blame me if he starts running around the house naked.”

Rue leaves the room and I take another look at myself in the mirror. In this black suit and heels, with my makeup and hair done by Rue, I look professional and capable. That’s going to be my mantra tonight. I can do this.

Later that night, I kick off my sister’s heels, unbutton the suit jacket, and fall back onto the king-size bed in my hotel room. I close my eyes and smile, finally able to relax.

I was great tonight. Cynthia and I met with a big-time TV producer, John Wells, his wife Teresa, and the contractor for the home they’re building just outside of LA. As soon as Teresa started talking about her style, I felt a kinship with her. She ended up switching seats with the contractor so she could sit next to me and I could show her the work of some of my favorite artists.