JOANNA

I instructed Oli—for what seems like the millionth time since moving in with her—before leaving for work this morning to not give Maverick or

 Goose any table food, no matter how much they beg. She always promises she won't, but considering how much they follow her around now, I know better.

She typically goes into work around one, which gives Maverick and Goose only a few hours alone before I get home. I love how happy they are to see me when I walk in the door every day. It eases some of the pangs of guilt and sadness, with the fact that they were just as disposable to my ex as I was.

Allergies.

Scoffing at the request and the audacity Manny had—as I was rushing out of the apartment we shared together for six years, after he dump-fucked me before confessing there's someone else—replays in my mind: "Joey, uh, can you take Goose and Maverick? She's allergic to dogs."

Studying the picture of Maverick and Goose as puppies on my desk, I pick up the frame, tracing their cute faces. We're better off without him.

Setting the picture frame down I sigh, bringing my attention and focus back to the stack of files sitting on my desk waiting for me to review. Even though I've been in a bit of a funk the last few weeks, I love my job. I really do.

Numbers don't lie, they don't exaggerate and they definitely don't manipulate you—unless manually imputed to do so. They're solid. Dependable and most importantly, they don't cheat on you.

When I was a kid, I never understood the hate my classmates would have with Math. Granted, there are some teachers who were and are better at explaining and instructing than others with how to understand what we were learning. I used to make a game of what we were covering. It made better sense that way to me. Naturally, choosing a career field dealing with numbers day in and day out was the most appealing to me.

Going back and forth on which task I should dive into first, the blaring light on my phone receiver catches my attention. Check my voicemail first–wins.

January through the well-known date of April fifteenth, is the busiest time for most accountants like me. It's not unusual for me to work sixty hours a week—sometimes more, but with my new self-love goals, I'm making it a point to only put in an extra hour a day and if I need to, take work home with me if absolutely necessary. It's part of the whole setting better boundaries for myself.

Reading more is another goal—and not just the normal studying of forty hours that is required for me to do each year to keep my license current because laws are always changing. So I've recently picked up on reading novels.

And even though we've gone over meal planning with the boot camp, I'm determined to be mindful of my eating habits. I've never been good at restricting myself from specific food groups so why bother? My focus is more on portion control like eating three Oreo's instead of a whole row of them.

Moving from one message to the next, I chug on my forty eight ounce water bottle, wishing it was my usual midday Dr. Pepper instead. Especially, because I'm pretty sure the new daily headaches I've been getting the last couple of days are from caffeine withdrawals.

The other downside to drinking more water is the ridiculous amount of times I have to go to the bathroom. I've already gone three times in the last hour since being at work. Supposedly it gets easier or your body becomes accustomed to it, which is hard to believe at the moment.

A knock on my office door has me raising my head, setting the phone down on the receiver.

Mark, another accountant, smiles. "Hey, Joanna."

"Hi, Mark."

He's one of the nicer colleagues I work with and one of the few who seemed genuinely happy when I landed the biggest account for a high profile client our company has acquired since its inception.

He walks in, stuffing his hands in the pant pockets of his three piece, navy blue suit. "Just came to check on you, since you're usually in the conference room before anyone else..."

Shit. Remembering the meeting—with the new client that starts in fifteen minutes—I shoot out of my chair and in the process knock down my water jug. Water splashes onto my charcoal pencil skirt.

Dammit! Grimacing and groaning from the soreness in my entire body with all the recent exercising, I look around frantically for anything that will help soak up the water, but I don't even have a box of tissues in my office.

"It's not that bad," Mark assures me. It clearly looks like I had an embarrassing accident. I rip my blazer from the back of my chair and tie it around my waist, hoping the arms of my jacket block the enormous wet spot.

"How's this?"

He tilts his head to the side, chewing on his lip. "Um..."

"Nevermind, it'll have to do." I wave my arms erratically, hissing from the continued pain, I keep causing myself and collect what I need to bring to the meeting.

"I was going to ask if you're nervous, but maybe that's not a good idea, now." He says next to me as we walk quickly—well, I shuffle in my high heels, through the maze of cubicles to get to the conference room.

"To be honest, I've been too busy to be nervous, but now I'm going to look like a complete idiot in front of not only the client but everyone else who doesn't think I deserve to be over the account to begin with."

Mark grasps my elbow, effectively stopping my fast paced march. His bright blue eyes dim with concern and worry. "Joanna, no one's going to think you're an idiot. You're human, not some number crunching robot." The image makes me smile.

"Take a deep breath," he tells me with a small grin. I do as he says, inhaling and exhaling. "You've got this. And don't worry about the client. Think of her as just another client, and not about her celebrity status."

The client, Stacie Lane, is a country singer who made it big after a friend uploaded her singing a cover of a song in a karaoke bar on social media. It's crazy how quick some people's lives change in a blink of an eye. I read she's a native of Chicago, but only visits a few times out of the year and mainly lives in California now.

Typically, you want to have your financial advisors local, but her manager approached the CEO of the company I work for, sharing their interest in having us as her financial advisors. It's not our place to question, especially if the client is willing to pay the fees and costs associated with meeting on a yearly basis or more, depending on the clients portfolio.

Though she's very private about her personal life with the occasional fling here and there—the rumors circulating on social media that she's looking to move back to Chicago must be true.

Squaring my shoulders, I take another deep breath and exhale slowly. "Thanks, Mark."

We round the corner and I groan internally when I see George, another accountant, heading for the conference room from the opposite end of the hall.

His greedy eyes travel down the front of my outfit and he begins chortling. His normally red hued face deepens in color. "Pressure get the better of you, sweetheart?"

Mentally, I picture wrapping the ugly ass, mustard yellow tie he's wearing around his beefy neck and strangling him with it.

"I'm sure you'd love nothing better, George. But you should know by now, I thrive under pressure." I stand toe to toe with him outside of the conference room door.

"Combust more like." He retorts. "Try not to fangirl in there, kitten."

Dumbass. I don't even listen to country music.

"Joanna."

His face puckers with confusion. "What?"

"My name is Joanna. Or Ms. Lozano." I fold my arms. "And I would appreciate you referring to me as such, unless you want me to address you with nicknames as well? I'd be happy to introduce you to Ms. Lane as gulch. No? How about boozer, juicehead or lush?"

Recognition of the names crosses his overindulgent features. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

I glance at Mark, who smiles before he holds the door open for me. Everyone stands when I step through the door including the client. I try not to fidget or appear nervous when my boss's gaze lingers on my blazer tied around my waist.

Focusing on Stacie, she's even more beautiful in person. Her svelte figure is enhanced in the scoop neck, little black dress she's wearing. She smiles wide as I extend my hand out to her. 

"Ms. Lane, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Joanna Lozano." I shake her hand. "I apologize for my tardiness. I spilled some water on myself just before the meeting was to begin."

She looks down briefly and shakes her head with a smile. "No apology needed. Accidents happen. I'm really happy to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things from your boss and I'm even more impressed considering how young you are...I must admit I was expecting someone older." I don't have to look around to know where the snicker came from in the room.

Stacie's face flushes and attempts to back pedal but only makes things worse. "I mean, you know, typically maturity comes with experience and I'm guessing you're not married or have a family—which usually implies stability—therefore ensures peace of mind to clients." Her eyes widen. "I'm sorry, this isn't coming out how I mean..."

George's weakass attempt to pass off his chortle as a cough only ignites the fire inside of me even more. Before I can defend myself, my boss, Philip steps in.

"I assure you, Ms. Lane, you are in capable hands. Joanna's integrity and impeccable work speaks for itself."

"I appreciate that." I smile at Philip, who nods in return. "Let's get started, shall we?" I gesture for Ms. Lane to take a seat and I sit across from her. Taking a deep breath and shifting into work mode, I start handing out copies of the reports I've put together around the table and begin going over her finances.

_____________

Despite the shaky start, the meeting went well and ended with Ms. Lane apologizing profusely and with an invitation to dinner, but I politely declined. I didn't need to add fuel to the rumors that I'm a brown-noser.

Feeling exhausted at the end of the day, I finish organizing what needs to be priority for tomorrow, when my phone buzzes a couple of times, reminding me I had set it to vibrate for the meeting.

Oli: Hey girl! You alive?

Oli: I thought you'd have called me right after the family group text about Manny went out...

My stomach sinks as my posture straightens in my chair. Nope. I don't care. I'm not going to get worked up over nothing.

Oli: Or at least after the message from Coach came through...

Oli: Still nothing?

Oli: Okay, if you don't respond in thirty seconds, I'm calling Tia Pepita.

I groan and type a quick message.

Me: You better not call my mom, Oli. Give me a sec.

I click out of the text and open the family group message from Anita, another cousin. The contacts include Oli, my brothers and my mom.

Anita: ¡Hola familia! In two weeks Alex and I will be getting married! *several heart emoji* We wanted to let you all know—so there are no surprises—Manny reached out to us and let us know he will be there, and he is bringing a plus one. After some consideration, Alex and I came to an understanding and agreement that it is okay for Manny to come and be there. He is family after all. We know there are still some hurt feelings, but we want our day to be a day of moving forward with love.

Fighting the urge to dry heave, I skim the rest of the message. And then chuckle at my brothers' responses:

Nacho: I'll bring the shovel.

Pato: I'll bring the tarp.

Chuy: I've got duct tape

Memo: Seriously? You idiots do remember I'm a cop, right?

Nacho: Come on, Memo, how else are we going to get away with it, güey? (dude)

Mamá: ¡Muchachos! ¡No jueguen así, por dios! (Good grief, Boys, don't joke like that!)

Tapping out of that message, I open the one from Coach.

Coach Grump: Good afternoon ladies, quick reminder about your food journals that are due back to me Friday. Please be as honest as possible. Also, come with a couple of ideas on what you want to add or take away from your current eating habits. See you in the morning.

My phone lights up with Mamá flashing on the screen. 

Dammit, Oli.

"¡Hola, mamá! Estoy bien, lo siento que te molesto Oli." I rush my greeting, telling her I'm fine and apologize for Oli bothering her.

But of course she dives right into lecture and guilt trip me in Spanish about giving her a panic attack for being so busy I can't bother myself to send a quick response.

I roll my eyes at her being dramatic. "Are you still working?" She asks, switching to English.

"Yes, but I'm getting ready to leave."

"Ay, it's too dark outside, mija. Let me see if one of your hermanos can come get you."

"No, don't call my brothers. You know I work late during this time of year, mamá. No te preocupes, I'll be fine." I reassure her, telling her not to worry.

"Bueno, since I have you on the phone..."

Here we go.

"About Anita's wedding...and now you know Manny will be there, too..."

I take a deep breath, sinking back into my chair. Recalling the day Manny and I introduced our cousins a little over a year ago; we thought they'd make such a great couple. And they do. It's been a whirlwind romance. Never did I imagine my cousin's wedding becoming a source of stress or anxiety inducing just at the mere thought of it.

"Anyway," my Mom's voice brings me back to the present. "You know Doña Chela? Well, her nephew just moved here for school. Es un doctór." (He's a doctor)

"No, mamá. I'm not bringing anyone to the wedding."

"Pero, mija—"

"No. Mamá." Forcing my voice to be more firm. I have to, otherwise I could end up engaged to someone I haven't even met yet even if only through rumors.

"Okay. No voy a decir nada más." She surprisingly agrees to end the topic and tells me she loves. "Te quiero, mi vida."

"I love you, too, mamá." I hang up and begin typing a quick text to Oli.

Me: You're so dead.

Oli: I folded your laundry. *heart emoji* *upside down face emoji*

I chuckle. Of course she did.

Me: Fine, you get to live another day.

Me: I'm going to stop at the store and grab more sports bras and some other stuff. Do you need anything?

Oli: Yeah, can you get me some Taki's, chicharrones, and some juice please?

I laugh out loud, shaking my head.

Me: I thought you were going to give up Taki's and chicharrones?

Oli: No way, girl. I'm following your method. I'm going to challenge myself on portion control and try to make them last at least a day. *smiley face emoji*