Page 44 of Best Kind of Trouble
“I’ll tell you where to meet me tomorrow to sign your employment contract,” she says coolly.
“You got it, Boss.” It’s not the first time I’ve called her that, but it doesn’t have the same playful ring as before.
It’s like I just traced that line separating us with a permanent marker.
I hang back and watch her walk away from me, but I fall into step behind her, trailing her the several blocks to her car to make sure she’s safe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BRIAR
Liam made it veryclearwhat he thinks of me, so I resent the way he intrudes on my thoughts the next morning while I’m pretending to meditate.
I keep seeing the smug tilt of his chin, the quirk of his mouth when he told me he didn’t care to hear which men had lied to me. And I keep reliving the half second in the Silver Star tasting room when our faces were an inch apart and I was certain he was going to kiss me—or worse, that I was going to kiss him.
It would have been the biggest mistake of my life, obviously. Not only did I promise Hannah not to date him, but he’s my new brewer. I’ll have to see him every single day. Kissing him would be the most foolish mistake I could make. Well, almost. The ultimate disaster would be sleeping with him. Especially knowing his dating history.
I’ve never been the kind of woman who can sleep with a man and have it mean nothing. For me, sex has always felt like giving away a piece of myself. Sometimes only a teaspoon of my heart, sometimes heaping cups of it. Heck, I don’t even have to sleep with someone. Sometimes I find myself giving pieces of my heart to near strangers—the mailman who has a limpbecause his son accidentally ran over his foot, the woman who runs at the same time as me every morning and belts out sad Taylor Swift lyrics.
It’s a personality failing, and I’ve tried to cure it over the past year by retreating into myself. But it hasn’t worked. Obviously. First there was Jonah, whispering all of his sweet promises and lies. Then Sophie and Hannah. Dottie.
And now Liam.
He’s been sweet to me several times over the past couple of days, which only makes this new feeling worse. He’s like a Sour Patch Kid of a person, only inverted. First he’s sweet and then he’s sour. Everyone knows you don’t want toendon sour.
Karma bats me with his paw, which feels metaphorically resonant this morning.
I draw in a deep breath, pushing down the conflicting feelings that kept me awake last night, then slowly let the air ease out.
“Today is a new day,” I tell Karma, who meows and glances at his food bowl. “Iama badass bitch.”
He gives me a glance that seems to say,if you say so. Now, be my food bitch.
My phone buzzes several times from incoming texts, but I ignore it. My stomach is quicksand as I fill Karma’s bowl, getting several paw swipes because I’m not fast enough. Finally, I run out of excuses to avoid the outside world and grab the phone off the floor beside my mat.
I don’t know which person I’m more afraid to hear from, but I’m guessing it’s not going to be great news.
There are two sets of messages. The first is from Melly:
Congrats on the brewery!
Your dad is SO sweet to give you a job like that.
Can’t wait to hear all about it, but I promise I’ll stay away from the scissors. [Laugh emoji]
We all did some dumb shit when we were kids, amiright?
When do you want to meet to discuss?
My skin prickles. I feel like I did as a teenager—a frightened animal cornered by a larger beast.
Unfortunately, my father told me I needed to give her access to the brewery, so I can’t say no.
I reply:
I’m reopening next week. You can come by any day between twelve and ten.
I’m busy next week.
