Page 16 of So Not My Type
George glanced between Ella and Sophie. Sophie swore she could see his wheels spinning, probably in the common father-adult daughter dance, weighing what he should and should not say. “Well, a guy can take a hint, am I right?”
Ella remained silent and thumbed her frames back up to the top of her nose, a low blush sweeping her neck. She tugged on her fitted button-down shirt, a surprising change from last week. Although the moment itself was tense, Ella looked more relaxed. Skinny jeans and a long cream-colored shirt that somehow made her skin look, well, creamier.
Sophie set up her station and vowed to keep her eyes on the prize. They were inching towards thirty working days left to complete the Devil’s Doughnuts campaign, then… the cruise. A vacation. Saltwater. She, they, could do this.
“Ready to get back at it?” She had absolutely zero time to waste, and like it or not, she needed Ella’s help to execute on time.
Ella nodded, flashed a fiery, quick side-glance. “You have no idea how ready I am.”
SIX
ELLA
Ella slept hard. So hard that the banging on her door jolted her awake so quickly that she almost hit her head on her Victorian oak headboard. Her mom burst into her room and Ella tugged the comforter to her chest.
“Jesus Christ. Privacy much?” She seriously needed a place of her own.Three months. In three months, she’d have enough money. She would trade in her 15 x 20 walk-in closet, two sitting chairs, wraparound desk, and wrought-iron coffee table for a studio any day of the week. All she needed was a bed, her paint and easel, and her favorite lipstick. She was so close, she could almost taste freedom.
“Sorry, honey.” Her mother’s hand flew to her chest, gripping the top of her rose-gold silk robe. “You’re normally up by now, and I was worried.”
Worried.If ever a word existed that her mother muttered the most, this would be it.
Her mom tucked a frosted blond lock behind her ear. “It’s not a good look for your father if you show up late to work.”
Disappointment.That would be next on the list.
Ella snatched her glasses off the counter and squinted at the clock. 5:37 a.m. Her mom had a point. But the reason she’dbeen up at four every morning was from nightmares about lost emails or missed meetings—not because she needed the time to get ready.
And besides, how did her mom know she was up at four every morning? Actually, it didn’t matter. Her mom had a freakish ability to know everything. Ella had even checked for nanny cams a few years back in her room, until she realized her mom wasn’t really that terrible.
Ella cleared her throat. “Out. Please.” She pointed to the door. Her mom pinched her lips, then pivoted on slippered feet and closed the door.
Ella flopped back onto the king-size bed and wrapped the cushy linen around her head.Wednesday.Hump day. Halfway-there day. By noon, the weekend would be closer than farther, and then she could take a couple days off from the Sophie firing squad, badgering her about timelines and experience and how many project schedules she’d built.
Part of her wished she could call Jasmine. Not actuallyJasmine, but a someone. Their relationship may have ended in a disaster, but they had clicked and it had been so nice having someone to share things with. Ella had fallen,hard—until she had discovered who Jasmine really was.
Ella shook her head. Nope, today she would not go there. The lingering effects of getting hurt, losing trust, beingbetrayed, was a nasty, chronic disease. Sometimes, if she thought too hard about when she discovered Jasmine had cheated, and the way it tore her insides to shreds, she’d lose hope about finding a relationship.
Today, she couldn’t afford to be less than perfect. She shot out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.
The shower eased some tension. After taking her medication and finishing hair and makeup, she fastened on her smartwatch, threw on jeans and a soft sweater—not cashmere, never makingthat mistake again—and thudded down the winding stairs. The savory scent of fried pork filled the air, and she followed the salt-cloud to the kitchen.
Her mother was sitting at the breakfast table in the corner overlooking Lake Washington. She was leaning forward with her new bifocals perched on top of her nose, staring at the laptop screen. Papaya and cantaloupe sat on the side. She bit into an avocado toast with crumbled prosciutto and glanced up. “Is it casual week? You’ve been dressing awfully… down.”
Ella shifted in her clothes and moved to the fridge. “I work at a marketing firm. Everyone dresses down.”
Her mom lifted a coffee mug to her lips. “Not your father.”
Solid point. Whywashe always dressed up? He clearly didn’t make the staff dress like that, and he was the boss. Maybe she’d ask him later today, but she was still heated from how he’d cornered her on Monday morning. He’d droned on about the pressures of work and how she might feel more comfortable in a part-time capacity. Thank God Sophie appeared to not hear any of their conversation, or Ella would have officially lost it on him.
“Are you hungry?” her mom asked. “I sent Lydia away, but could call her back and have her prepare something. Maybe poached eggs? Brioche toast with jam?”
Ella grabbed a green juice and shook her head. She was perfectly capable of making her own food and did not need a staff member to cook it. Besides, when she lived on her own, she’d need to do these things herself. She rummaged through the massive pantry and pulled out a croissant and butter. “What are you working on?”
Her mom stuck a fork into a piece of cantaloupe. “Reading through a few emails for the Seattle Cocktail Wars.”
The narrative in Ella’s head that her mother never worked wasn’t fair. Granted, she didn’tneedto work, and she’d never had a formal 9-to-5, but she threw herself into a couple of keyphilanthropist events throughout the year. Seattle Cocktail Wars—where the top greater-Seattle service industry professionals competed against each other in field-day-style competitions—was her favorite.
Ella spread the butter on the croissant and tore off a chunk. “Did Dad leave for work?”