Page 39 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

LUCA

I rarely have restful weekends, but they’re usually not this bad. My sleep is even worse than normal; I toss and turn all night. Whatever magic Juliet’s kiss worked has vanished. I’m listless throughout the day, too, my mind racing with things I don’t want to think about.

Things I don’t want to think about—and yet I can’t stop. Rodney’s words play on a loop in my head, broken up only by Juliet’s smiling face that pops in every now and then.

I think I might be losing my sanity. At any moment I’ll find myself fixating on a patch of yellow wallpaper, slipping slowly into madness.

The madness never comes, though. I just exist in a perpetual haze of brooding thoughts.

I walk through a house my realtor suggested, and it’s perfect—small but not too small for growth if I have a family someday, with a low-maintenance yard—so I start preparing to put in a bid.

It’s a welcome distraction, but Monday arrives sooner than I’m ready.

It shows up bright and early, and I wake with my heart already pumping too fast.

I just don’t know what it’s going to look like, having Juliet as my assistant. Because when I think of an assistant, I think of someone unobtrusive, quietly filling their role.

I don’t think Juliet has been quiet a day in her life. And imagining her otherwise feels…wrong.

My body is somehow both tired and laced with energy as I get ready for work, and on my way to Explore, my hands clench the steering wheel tightly while my lids droop. I’m a mess.

Don’t trail mud over the rest of your life every time you visit Maura’s grave.

The words haven’t left me, and neither has the mental image.

I try to banish them as I stride into the office, clomping heavily up the stairs and down the hall until I turn the corner and enter the work floor.

Most of the cubicles are still empty, but a few bleary-eyed employees have arrived; I nod at them, and they nod back. Then I make my way into my own office?—

Where the lights are already on, the stale air smells of strawberry shortcake, and Juliet Marigold sits on my couch.

The skirt is back, I notice, the one she wore the first day. Pink tweed that matches her jacket, under which a silky white button-up peeks out. Her shoes are heels in the same color, bobbing as she crosses her legs and twirls a lock of hair around her finger.

And I know, two seconds after I lay eyes on her, that if I’m not already insane, I will be soon.

“You’re early,” I grunt as she looks up at me. Her face lights up, and she stands quickly .

“Good morning,” she says with a bright smile. “I’m your assistant now. So I thought it would be good to be early.”

I give half a shrug, holding my breath as I walk past her and round the desk. I’ll need to acclimatize myself to being surrounded by strawberry shortcake all the time. “It’s not necessary,” I tell her.

Her shoulders fall, but she nods.

“Well,” she says, rallying once more. She approaches the desk and stands next to it, looking down at me. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” I say. I jerk my chin at the couch. “Sit and amuse yourself while I figure the day out.”

“And then you’ll give me some work?” she says.

“And then I’ll decide how we want to do this. But I just got here,” I say tiredly. “So let me breathe.”

My eyes aren’t on her, but I can see her serious expression as she nods in the corner of my vision. Then she returns to the couch and sits neatly, crossing her legs once more.

I do let myself glance at her as she reaches over the arm of the couch and grabs a pink bag I hadn’t noticed before.

From inside she pulls out a small silvery notebook and a pink pen with some sort of fluff on the end.

She opens the notebook and jots something down, her teeth digging into her bottom lip in concentration.

“I—” I begin, my voice hoarse as I watch her. “What are you doing?”

“Making a note,” she says. She finishes writing and then snaps the notebook closed.

I stare at her. “What—reporting me to Rodney already?”

A smile twitches at the corner of her lips.

“Of course not. I’m putting a reminder for myself.

In the mornings you need a bit to warm up before being able to appreciate my delightful personality and exceptional assistant skills,” she says.

She threads the fluffy pink pen through the looped binding of her notebook and sets them both on the couch next to her. “So now I know.”

“I’m just tired,” I say, looking back to my computer—which, I realize, I haven’t even entered the password for yet. “I don’t sleep well.”

She hums, sounding interested, but she doesn’t say anything else.

In fact, she’s more or less silent for the next twenty minutes, during which time I get everything organized for the day—my to-do list, mostly, things I need to check, people I need to follow up with, and so on. Finally, when I’m ready, I sigh.

“All right,” I say, looking at Juliet. “Here’s what we’ll do.”

Juliet straightens up, her eyes brightening again as she nods.

“Today you’re just going to follow and observe. My routine, my workload—” I break off and then grudgingly add, “Anywhere you see need for improvement.” Because like it or not, I think Rod was right: I need to get my act together.

I’ve never used an assistant before, and certainly never one focused on my relations with other employees, so I’m flying blind. I do have to admit, though, that if I’m being forced to use someone, I’m glad it’s Juliet. She’s comfortable to be with, in her own way—the ice is already broken.

More like melted, a little voice in my mind whispers, and the memory of Juliet’s kiss resurfaces—the way she tasted, the way she pulled me closer?—

“Stop it,” I mutter. I don’t even realize I’ve spoken out loud until Juliet speaks.

“Did you say something?” she says, tilting her head as she looks down at me. The motion causes a few locks of hair to fall over her face, shiny and soft-looking, and I’m grateful when she tucks them behind her ear.

Of course, that only reveals the curve of her neck, which is just as distracting.

Date that girl. It’s Rodney’s voice, his admonition popping most unhelpfully into my mind. I shake my head and ignore the heat creeping over my skin. Then I stand, and she takes a few steps back to give me room.

“Nothing,” I say, not meeting her eyes. “I didn’t say anything. Sorry. I’m...”

Standing. I’m standing.

Why am I standing? I don’t need to go anywhere. But Juliet continues to watch me, waiting, so I make something up as even my ears begin to burn.

“You need to introduce yourself to the staff,” I say, hoping she won’t notice how hoarse my voice is or how red my ears must be. “Come on.”

Introducing myself to a group of people is my nightmare, but Juliet just looks excited at the prospect.

“Definitely,” she says with bright eyes.

She gives a little nod, straightening up and turning toward the door.

“I should do that.” She looks like she’s about to head out, but then she freezes, twirling back toward me.

“Are they going to hate me? Will they think it’s weird that I was a janitor and now I’m your assistant?

” She swallows and steps closer, her voice dropping.

“I told you, I don’t want to be the employee who sleeps her way to the top. ”

“Seeing as we haven’t slept together,” I say flatly, “you haven’t slept your way to anything.”

She gives me a reproachful look, and I shrug.

“I’m not the person to guide you on that particular matter,” I say, and it’s the truth. “You got this job because you’ll be good at it.” I pause and then jerk my chin to the door, past which is the work floor full of people she’ll need to win over. “Prove it.”

Because she’ll need to prove it. Not to me, but to Rodney. And, yes—she’ll probably need to prove herself to the people who will be suspicious about how she went from janitor to assistant.

More than any of that, though—I think she needs to prove to herself that she has what it takes.

“All right,” she says with a nod. “That’s a good point. If I want these people to believe in me, it’s my job to instill that confidence.”

There’s clearly some sort of internal pep talk going on, because I watch as she squares her shoulders, takes a few deep breaths, and then marches to the door with several long, sure strides.

“Come on,” she says without looking back at me, and I startle before following her. But then she stops in place with her hand frozen on the door handle.

“What?” I say.

“I should warn you,” she says. “Your image needs to be softened, and I will be starting that process now.”

I blink down at the top of her head. She still doesn’t look at me, but I speak anyway. “I’m concerned about your word choice.”

And even though she’s facing forward, I can hear the faint smile in her voice as she answers.

“You should be,” she says.

I sigh. “Thanks for the warning, I guess,” I say as apprehension settles on my chest.

Then, without responding, she opens the door with a lurch and steps out, planting herself at the head of the work floor.

The sound of the door and the rattle of the blinds—and, I’m sure, the sudden appearance of someone new—causes a brief pause to settle over the room.

The pause is followed by a hush as eyes turn to her.

I scan the cubicles quickly; most of the expressions I see are skeptical, confused, and there are a couple raised brows, but I don’t spot anything malicious or angry.

That’s positive, at least. I drift off to the side where I can see Juliet’s face as she begins.

“Hi,” she says with a bright smile and a wave.

She doesn’t allow an awkward pause to develop, I notice.

She just dives right in. “My name is Juliet Marigold. You might recognize me; I’m the janitor who started a couple weeks ago.

” She gives a tiny, self-deprecating laugh.

“And yes, if you’re wondering—I was dressed like this at the time. ”