She nodded. “We’ve been going for a few months.”
Months? My eyebrows rose. I reached for my drink. I had a feeling I was going to need it.
“Go on.” I took a big chug.
“We’ve been having some issues,” she said. “Mostly I felt betrayed that when we started the company, we were on equal footing, but over time, Miguel seemed to respect Carson more than me. Carson spent years slowly creating a wedge between us. It was so subtle, I didn’t even notice. You coming to work for us was a tipping point. I knew Carson wouldn’t handle not getting the promotion very well, and I knew he would try to turn Miguel against me completely, but I felt as if I had nothing left to lose. The situation had become untenable.”
She took a huge breath, and I asked, “So you used me?”
“No!” she cried. “At least not totally. I really wanted you to be creative director because of your diverse skill set, and look, you’ve brought out talent in our staff that they didn’t even know they had, you’ve got everyone working together on a huge project, and you managed to keep Carson from sabotaging the whole thing by outmaneuvering him every step of the way. You are totally management material. Still, I knew Carson would react badly, I didn’t know how badly and I’m very sorry for that, but fortunately he was enough of a jerk that Miguel finally saw his true self, too.”
“So are you guys going to be okay?” I asked.
“I think so,” she said. She smiled and it was hopeful. “I love my mother-in-law, but there is no question that as a single mother, she raised her family with an iron fist. Our counselor has helped Miguel realize that when he disagrees with me, he tends to respond to me as if I’m her, and he becomes defiant like a child instead of listening to me and talking about it like a grown-ass man. We’re working on it.”
I had no idea what to say. Sophie looked vulnerable and nervous. I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I think the fact that you’re both invested in working on it means you’re going to be all right.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I love him like crazy, but I am not his mama. Now, promise you’re not mad at me.”
“Nah, I’m flattered, I think,” I said.
I took a moment to consider what Soph had said. I had done all those things. I had managed a team, and we were crushing it. Maybe I wasn’t the lonely freelancer I’d always thought I was. I had to admit that I was grooving on the office vibe. I genuinely enjoyed the collaborative work and the challenges that came with being part of a large studio. I glanced at my friend and knew I owed her the truth as well.
“I’m relieved that it’s all worked out for the studio. Also, I have a confession of my own to make, too.”
Soph met my gaze. Whatever she saw in there must have warned her of an incoming bombshell, because she raised her finger in a wait gesture and downed half of her drink.
“Hit me,” she said.
“Lexi Brewer is the estranged younger sister of my landlord, Nick Daire,” I said.
“Shut up!” she said. “How did you come to know her—wait, through him?”
“Yes, she approached him about helping her with the housing development because she was getting squeezed on all sides from other developers, utility companies, and local government, and Nick agreed on the condition that she hire me to design all of the materials for the development, you know, the name, logo, brochures, etc. She was calling it Green Springs before I got involved.”
“Sounds like a place you go to die,” Soph said.
I laughed. “You’re not the first to say that. Anyway, Nick is bankrolling a lot of the project, including the gala, and I thought you should know.”
“Nick, huh?” she asked.
“Uh-huh. Also, we slept together,” I added.
Soph blinked at me, slowly, as if it was taking great effort to absorb my words.
“That is way more than one confession,” she said. She reached for her drink and finished it. Then she raised it in the air and signaled to our waiter to bring two more. “And now everything is ruined because he is going to break up with you after three months, then you’re going to leave me—oh my god—I told you to stay away from him. Why didn’t you listen to me? Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?”
“Breathe, Soph,” I said. “For what it’s worth, our fling is over and I’m not leaving.”
“You’re not?” She sounded doubtful.
“No, I need to see this project through the gala at the very least,” I said.
“That’s two weeks away.” She reached across the table. “If you need a new place to stay, we’ll find you one. Please don’t leave, Annabelle. I feel as if your life here has just begun. You can’t leave.”
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up with an apologetic smile. If it was Nick, I didn’t want to miss him. It wasn’t Nick. I stared at my phone in astonishment.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Oh, sure, I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t fine. “The BD just texted that he’s blowing through Phoenix and wants to see me.”
* * *
Greg DeVane, ex-husband number two. It had been a few years since I’d seen him, and we hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Meaning I’d hauled his stuff to his mother’s house and let her deal with his five bass guitars, two amps, and a fish who wouldn’t die.
In my defense, I had just discovered that he was cheating on me, and I didn’t handle it well. After that, it was a swift visit with our attorneys and our marriage of two years was—poof!—over.
Greg was as opposite from my first husband, Jeremy, as a person could get. While Jeremy was an engineer with OCD tendencies, Greg was a long-haired musician who always maintained a chill vibe. He played bass with an up-and-coming band, Breaking the Curve, who’d spent the last few years on the road as the opener to several national touring acts. As far as I knew, the BD lived on a tour bus ten months out of the year, and just what the heck was he doing in Phoenix anyway? I had no idea.
We weren’t enemies. I have an inability to stay mad at my exes. But we had never really recovered from our breakup, mostly because he’d cheated on me, and while I could forgive him for falling in love with someone else, because that just happens sometimes, what I couldn’t forgive him for was not doing me the courtesy of ending things with me first.
I mean if he knew he wanted to leave, and clearly he did, then he should have left me before he had his tawdry fling with the groupie girl. Oh, that sounds like I’m bitter about her. I’m not, not really. I just never understand women who hook up with married men. By sleeping with him, you just proved to yourself that the guy is a cheater; why would you then want him? It makes no sense.