She called back, but this time, she spoke before he had the chance to. “What do you mean ‘no’? And before you hang up on me again, remember who signs your paycheck.”
There was a heavy sigh. “No means no. No work. Period. No calling about work. No thinking about work. No, no, no, no, no.”
“I can’t call my friend while I’m on vacation?”
“You’re just calling because I’m your friend?” The way his voice rose at the end of the sentence painted the perfect visual of his eyebrows raising at the same time.
“Don’t be so skeptical. Of course you’re my friend.” And he was. Heck, these days it seemed like he was her only friend. Not that she was without blame in that department. But one long day ran into another, and before she knew it, all those promises to “get together soon” fell to the bottom of her to-do lists.
“And you’re not calling to ask me if I went over the invoices, or if I sent out the two new proposals?”
“No, absolutely not because that would be work and I promised not to work this entire week.” Although she may have had her fingers crossed behind her back when she made that pledge because yeah, that was totally something a normal thirty-year-old woman would do.
“And because you know I’m your outrageously reliable and talented assistant who would never forget to place the order for the Juarez master closet.”
“That too. But since you brought it up…”
“Nice try but no way, Boss Lady. Oh sorry, guess I can’t call you Boss Lady now that we’re friends.” He hummed into the phone. “Lady Friend? No,” he said, answering his own question. “That sounds like something your generation called that ‘time of the month.’”
“I’ll have you know that was my mom’s generation, maybe even my grandmother’s, but certainly not mine. And it’s our generation. Exactly how old do you think I am?” Not really wanting to hear the answer to that question, she quickly added, “And besides, it wasn’t Lady Friend; it was Special Friend.” Paige cringed as she added, “Or Aunt Flo.”
“I know you didn’t call me on the first morning of your vacation to talk about menstrual slang.”
“I told you, I just wanted to chat.”
“As your friend?”
“Right.”
“Out of curiosity, are we Friends friends or Seinfeld friends?”
Paige frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Well, on Friends they were true friends. Like, you just know that after Monica and Chandler moved to the burbs, they all still hung out.”
“I’m pretty sure they said Joey was going to have his own room.” She tried her best to act nonchalant about knowing this nugget of Friends trivia, but truth was, Paige was a bit of an expert when it came to the iconic sitcom, just one more example of the useless knowledge her brain seemed to catalog and store. But hey, if Heads Up! ever became a TV game show, she could probably triple her IRA.
“Exactly. But Jerry and Kramer were friends by situation, in their case geography.”
Most people might have found the turn in their conversation a bit odd, but for Paige and Sammy, a quick tangent to analyze nineties television was just par for the course. Sometimes it amazed her that they ever got any work done at all. Then again, perhaps that’s why they were so successful.
“So, am I your Joey or your Kramer? And for the love of Central Perk, please do not say I’m your Ross.”
Paige laughed. “Samuel, my friend, you are most definitely my Phoebe.”
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I can live with that.”
“Good, now that we have that settled…”
“If you’re about to slip some work in, don’t. You’re there to relax.” There was a pause during which the proverbial light bulb turned on. “Oh my God, it’s killing you, isn’t it?”
“Little bit.”
He laughed. “You just have to get through the detox phase.”
“Detox? I’m on vacation, not in rehab.”
“For you, Boss Lady—I mean, Bestie—they are one and the same. You’re strung so tightly, it’s going to take more than a few in-flight cocktails to bring you down to cruising altitude.”
She sighed. “It’s just so…quiet.”
“Well, you are there to celebrate Singles Day.”
Paige had known she would eventually regret filling him in on that little nugget. But still, enjoying being single didn’t mean she wanted to be alone. Not all the time anyway. “Yes, but not in solitary confinement.”
He laughed again, but this time when he spoke, his tone had softened. “Tell you what, we can chat as friends as long as there’s no mention of work.”
Considering her options were either that or going downstairs for more nonexistent conversation with her host, she decided to take the deal. “Agreed.”
“Oooh, this will be fun.” There was a rustling followed by the unmistakable sound of her office door creaking open. “Let me get a libation,” Sammy said. “It’s a smidge early for a martini, but since the boss is away, what the hell. I’ll even throw in some cranberry juice to make it feel more like breakfast.”
“Samuel.”
“Chill. You know I’ve got shit under control.”
He was right. She never had to worry about the office when she left it in Sammy’s hands. Although until now that had never been for more than a few hours, and even that was when she was so sick she couldn’t stand up.
Bottles clanked. “So how was your first night?”
She waited until he’d finished shaking the ice before giving him all the gory details.
“Dear Lord,” he said between sips. “Sounds like your worst nightmare. And you’re trapped there on an island.” He gasped. “It’s your personal Alcatraz.”
“Very funny,” she said over the laughter that had erupted over his own joke. “Are you almost done?”
“With my drink? Just started.” Somehow she knew he’d made himself at home on her white sofa. Probably had his feet on the coffee table, if she had to guess.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “Is there any redemption? Is the view nice at least?”
“More than nice.” She paused for a beat before adding a bit of a tease. “Outside and in.”