Page 66 of This Could Be Us
I have to laugh at that. “I don’t remember macaroni and cheese at the party last year.”
“No, she saves that for the company picnic.” Perri shudders. “You know I already don’t eat just anybody’s food. Everybody don’t keep a clean house. You know what I mean?”
“You sound like my mama.” I chuckle. “She never ate at the office potlucks.”
“Smart woman. Seems like the Callahans would want to pull out all the stops for their executives, but no.”
“The sweet taste of nepotism,” I say, recalling Soledad’s assessment of the food at last year’s party. Was it only a year ago? I knew I didn’t imagine the pull between us as soon as we met, but I also knew she would never do anything about it. She’s not that kind of woman.
Hell, I’m not that kind of man, but when I’m around her, the lines blur and I forget the boundaries that have always been a hallmark of my life.
After I left the pavilion Saturday night, I couldn’t focus on my reports. I couldn’t sleep. That damn scent she wore had somehow made its way onto my clothes. Just a hint of it, but it stole my focus and made me hard. A late-night run through the neighborhood didn’t help. A cold shower didn’t help. Watching videos she’d posted on her socials made it worse. I know she’s self-partnering, not dating. I wasn’t lying when I told her I don’t want to disrupt the process she needs to go through.
I just like being around her. She makes me feel lighter. After all the anxiety and responsibility I’ve lived with for so long, “lighter” is an addictive feeling. I don’t have to date her to get to know her, to be around her. I’m disgusted by the compulsive way I replay in my head our interactions at dinner on Saturday, though. The way I turn over every word, looking for hidden meaning.
Maybe Cousin Eileen’s mediocre and cheese presents another opportunity.
“I had a great meal this weekend,” I offer, studying the report on the iPad in front of me.
“Oh, yeah?” Perri asks.
“It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, actually.” I pick up a sheaf of papers from the stack she laid on my desk, considering it instead of meeting Perri’s eyes. “It was at an event. I wonder if they’d be available to cater the executive Christmas party?”
“Hey, it’s worth a shot.” Her smile is sly and delighted. “But you’d have to convince Delores.”
Which is how I find myself stopping Delores on her way out of our directors’ meeting that afternoon.
“Hey, Delores. Can I ask you something about the executive Christmas party?”
She studies me with one lifted brow. “What about it?”
“Hiring your cousin every year kind of smacks of nepotism.”
“Why do you care?” She starts down the hall and I match her steps. “Nothing matters to you except the bottom line.”
“It’s the principle of it,” I lie. “And have you eaten the food?”
“Oh, I have.” She grimaces. “It’s bad.”
“Well, why keep subjecting your highest-ranking employees to the worst food?”
Delores’s thick brows bend into a frown. “Why do I get the sense that you have something in mind for the Christmas party?”
“I mean,” I say with a casual shrug, “I did have a great meal at the Harvest Festival this weekend, and thought if we ever want to serve food that’s actually edible at the holiday party…”
“Who is it?” she glances at me, her eyes narrowing, assessing.
“Soledad.”
“You mean the wife of the man who stole over six million dollars from the company?”
“I mean theex-wifewho gave us the means to recover said six million dollars, yes.”
“Oh, my God.” She stops in the middle of the hall, catching my arm to stop me too. “You like her.” Her eyes are wide and shining with some mischievous mixture of shock and delight.
“So do you,” I say, casting a self-conscious glance toward the break room with the door open and employees heating up their lunches inside. “And would you keep your voice down?”
I start walking down the hall again, not waiting for orwantingDelores to join me, but she does, matching her pace to mine.