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I swear the biggest smiles lift their faces—Scarlett, Luca, then Zar—but Luca warns, “You can’t run from love, little sister. Trust me; I tried, but thankfully, she caught me.” He reaches for Scarlett and gives her the most disgustingly passionate kiss.
“Yeah, well, please try and let me shower.” I tug at my sweaty sports bra.
That’s their cue. Zar and Luca leave with waves while Scarlett worries, “You sure you’re okay?”
“Righter than rain.”
“Whatever you say.” She yanks me into a hug and knows I’m full of shit, but I love her for not giving me any. “Are you coming for brunch tomorrow?”
“Maybe. I might be working.”
“On aSunday,too?”
“We get paid time and a half on weekends.”
“Ruby,” she sighs, “just let me pay off your school loans.”
“Nope.”
“Your medical bills?”
“I got it.”
Epilepsy, that is, and I’m not letting my sister help me with that, either. Besides, I have it under control with medication, exercise, and managing stress, which means stressing my smug boss out instead. That usually gives me tremendous relaxation.
“I could just call the hospital and pay your bills,” Scarlett threatens.
“Don’t.” I stand firm and topless. “I’m just like you—a trailer-park girl who doesn’t belong in this fancy world, so don’t make me swallow any more pride than I do every day. I haven’t had an episode in two years, and I’ve almost paid off the last one. I’m fine.”
“I love you” is her perfect answer.
“Love you, too.” I give her one more hug before I race through my morning routine. Shower. Hair. Make-up. Smart watch. A dress and dumb-ass heels.
My smart watch comforts me. It’s to call for help after I have a seizure, or if I can sense one coming. But the rest? I’d rather wear jean shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, but that doesn’t fit in with the Charleston elite. Trust me; they’ll let you know. They can afford everything but kindness.
“You have a good day, Ms. Jones.” Bruce tips his hat again when I exit the hotel an hour later.
“You, too.” I wave, smiling as I find the sun shining, pink azaleas blooming, and a busker playing her guitar outside an art gallery, so I tip her. She has a beautiful voice, and my day is getting better…
Until I get an annoying text.
Spitting Cobra
Three espressos. NOW
I smirk at my nickname for my boss. One, Axel’s a stalking snake, so it’s fitting. Two, he’s a giant dick, so it’s still fitting. And three, he’s venomous because no matter how much I hate him, he’s in my veins. I think about how much I hate Axel all the time.
If I search ASSHOLE on Google will your face come up
Because fetching your coffee isn’t my job
Spitting Cobra
You suffer fetching delusions of job security
You suffer the assumption being a dick will make yours bigger
…