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“I need you to call the Holbrook Foundation. I need to speak with Allegra.”

“Absolutely.” Haylee immediately went to her desk, wriggling her hips a little more than necessary with the joy bubbling up, but she couldn’t help it.

This was a good day.

“Oh, and Haylee?”

Haylee jerked her chin up to find Febe leaning over her desk, Febe’s finger pushed directly onto it, the tip turning white from the pressure. Haylee’s heart stuttered as Febe lifted her finger and pointed to her own mouth, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “That color isn’t the right shade for you.”

“Shit,” Haylee said as she landed her butt in her chair.

With that, Febe left.

Cherish stepped out from the printer room and gave Haylee an odd look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Damn it all to hell if Haylee was going to share that with Cherish. They’d never stand a chance then. And holy hell, so much for this just being a crush. Haylee was completely lost in Cherish.

fifteen

“Come on, pick up,” Cherish muttered into the phone as she paced her apartment.

She was proud of her apartment. It mixed the life she lived now with a few touches of home. Things that she would never take to the office or show anyone. Not even Febe had seen the objects that littered her home and told of her past.

“Hey, baby sis.” Stuart’s voice came over the line, a breathless chuckle in his tone.

“Finally. Twenty-seven rings, Stuart. Twenty. Seven,” Cherish snapped out and shook her head back and forth, feeling the pucker in her lips. She huffed out her frustration as she perched on the edge of her couch, ready to stand up and pace again.

“You could have hung up, you know.” Stuart laughed. He was more than a little used to Cherish and her directness. That was what he always called it.

But her brother had always been able to temper her mood. No one else could melt a bad mood like he could, except maybe Haylee. A lump formed in Cherish’s throat, and she questioned her decision to call Stuart after all.

“What’s up, Cherry?” Stuart asked, obviously having noticed the silence had stretched beyond any normal sort of time frame.

“Don’t call me that.” Cherish’s relief surprised her as a small chuckle unexpectedly escaped with her words and the lump in her throat dissolved. Despite her protest, she had always loved when Stuart called her that. She had only insisted on dropping the nickname when she had moved to the big city. It did not give the professional vibe she knew Febe demanded.

“Okay, something is definitely wrong.” Stuart’s playful tone shifted in a heartbeat. “Is Febe okay? She called me a while back. Told me you’d suggested it.”

“It’s fine.” Cherish bit back her retort. She’d called him for a reason, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to take her ten minutes to work up to the actual conversation she’d called for.

“Cherry.”

She grasped for straws as she stood up and walked into the kitchen and back again. “I made a stupid bet with the new office admin, and now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“A bet?” Stuart sounded surprised. He should be. It was so unlike Cherish to do something like that.

“Yeah. Because the gala is coming up again, and I need Febe to not flip out like last year.”

“Oh.” Instantly, he understood what she wasn’t saying. Which was perfect, because Cherish really didn’t want to have to think about that night. Holding Febe while she bawled when Bernie had died would have been enough, but to do it in public?

“Anyway, so I made a bet to try and get Haylee to help me keep Febe in line and protect her from this because she has to be there, and it can’t be a disaster because we won’t get the funding—”

“Cherry.” Stuart stopped her in her tracks. “You’re talking a mile a minute. Are you worried about the bet? Or the gala? I can’t quite tell.”

She grimaced. Of course he would get straight to the point when she was avoiding.

“Both?” Her voice wavered. She was more worried about the fact that she’d kissed Haylee. But she had no idea how to even tell Stuart that. Standing up again, Cherish paced the length of her living room, then into her bedroom.

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this story than you’re telling me?”