Lori

My phone’s ringtone jolts me out of a dead sleep, and for a split second, I consider hurling it across the room. I squint at the screen, “Zoe” flashing in bright letters, and just like that, my hangover doubles in intensity somehow.

“What?” I groan into the phone, slumping back against my pillow.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Zoe’s voice is annoyingly bright for— I squint at the clock on my nightstand—6:43 AM. “Just calling to check if you’re alive after last night’s little performance.”

My stomach drops to my feet as memories from last night flood back in.

“Oh god. Julian.”

“Yeah, Julian.” There’s that edge in her tone, the one she uses when I’ve really messed up. “He called me this morning.”

“Shit.” I press a palm against my forehead, trying to keep my skull from exploding from all the pounding. “How bad?”

“Well, let’s review, shall we? First, you drunk-texted him and me at midnight. Then you forced me to come pick you up to take you to his place around one. I'm told, you tried to recreate your first kiss, when I dropped you off and you started blabbering about why breaking up was the best decision and how he needs to move on with his life.” She says I'm one breath and pauses. “And...you also patted him on the head before you left.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?” I wail, rolling onto my side and squeezing my eyes shut. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. Best friends stop each other from drunk-dialing exes!”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Zoe’s voice rises. “I tried to take your phone at least three times! You threatened to bite me. Lori, you’re impossible when you’re wasted.”

The shame hits me, mingling unpleasantly with my throbbing headache.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I just…I saw him in the afternoon after work and he was so sad. It messed with my head.”

“I get it.” Her voice softens. “But maybe it’s time to close the Julian chapter for real, if you don't put up boundaries, he will keep coming back and we both know it's just another dead end?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard past my dry throat. What the hell was I drinking last night?

“Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh, rubbing my eyes. “Speaking of things messing with my head, want to hear about my work situation?”

“Always.”

“Remember how I told you I got paired with Marcel for the MedVax campaign?”

“The boss’s daughter? The one you called—what was it?—‘a stuck-up princess with a silver spoon so far up her ass she can probably taste it’?”

I wince. “I said that?”

“Yup, more than once.”

Wow.

“Okay, that might’ve been an overstatement. I was just… frustrated. She’s so complicated and annoying and I don't know, I'm just I'm already fed up. ”

“Complicated how?”

“She’s actually good at her job, which is infuriating. And she’s got this way with clients—people just eat out of her hand. But she’s also impossible and entitled and…” I trail off, an image of her from last night at the office flickering in my mind—her soft face in the low office light, the way that red suit clung to her the entire fucking day which makes you wonder if she has a home.

What am I even saying?

“Never mind. We have a client meeting in two hours, and I my head is pounding so fucking hard. Remind me again why it was a good idea to drink on a working night?.”

Zoe chuckles. “You started it and forced me to drink with you. By the way, you sound invested with this princess person.”

“I sound annoyed,” I correct, though my cheeks are heating up. “I’ve gotta go. Damage control to run with Julian...for the last time hopefully?”

“Already on it. Love you, chaos monster.”

“Love you too.”

An hour and a half later, I’m pacing outside the conference room, glancing at my watch every other second.

Our meeting with the MedVax rep starts in five minutes, and there’s still no sign of Marcel.

My phone buzzes, and I read the message with an exasperated sigh.

Princess: Running late. Stall them.

“Of course you are,” I mutter, typing back.

Me: I swear to god, Marcel, if you mess this shit up for me...ugh!

It’s another ten minutes before she finally arrives.

I turn, ready to unleash my frustration, and nearly swallow my tongue when I spot her. Her hair’s a mess, her makeup is smudged, and—wait. Is that tequila I smell?

Seems like I'm not the only one who was drinking on a working night.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I hiss, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her down the hall toward the bathroom. “Are you actually hungover for our biggest client meeting?”

Hypocrite, but I'm better at hiding it.

“I’m fine,” she protests, stumbling slightly as I manhandle her into the bathroom. “Just… rough night.”

“Join the club.” I yank open the door and drag her in. “Make up?” I extend my palm and she reluctantly hands me her purse.

I dig through the many compartments filled with notebooks, an ipad, her phone and finally the makeup m section.

“What happened to Miss Professional?”

She meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes red and raw.

“Maybe I’m not as perfect as you think.”

“Stand still,” I mutter, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips at her nearness as I start fixing her makeup. This is uncomfortable at all levels and I work as fast as I can just to get away from her heated, tequila smelling body.

“God, you’re gross.”

“Says the girl who reeks of excessive mint and chocolate. You're covering something too.”

I freeze, mascara wand in hand. “How did you—?”

“Birds of the same feathers,” She smirks, amused. “Ow!” She winces as I yank a brush through her hair.

“Shh.” I’m definitely being a bit rougher than necessary, but the fact that she somehow knows about my drinking has me rattled. “There. At least you look less gross now.”

She turns to face me, and suddenly we’re standing way too close in front of the mirror. Her gaze drops, flickers toward my lips for just a heartbeat, so quickly I might have imagined it.

Is she still drunk? Because there's no way she...

“Thanks,” she says cutting through my thoughts.

Her face hardens to the usual icy vibe as she straightens her shoulders. “Try to keep up in there. I know big words are hard for you.”

“Try to stay awake, princess. I know thinking is hard for you.”

We glare at each other for a beat, but then her mouth quirks up in a reluctant smile.

“We’re really bad at this working together thing, aren’t we?”

“Terrible,” I agree, my lips tugging up despite myself. “Now move your ass. We’ve got a client to dazzle.”

I follow her out of the bathroom, doing my best to ignore the way her ass sways from side to side in her black skirt.

***
Happy reading.