Page 40 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Is my responsibility,” she said firmly. “He has time. We’re getting by with the money our mom left. This gives us time to grow our empire and become the badass boss bitches I know we are.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of my mouth, startling me at how good it felt to laugh like that. “We are pretty badass,” I admitted.
“You know it.”
I studied her face, searching for uncertainty. “Are you sure? Like … really really sure?”
She nodded. “It feels right. And if there’s anything Jem taught me, it was to follow my intuition.”
Just her name, said that simply, and my throat closed before I could stop it.
“Okay,” I said, my voice thick. “Then let’s plan it out.”
I stretched my hand across the desk. Cheryl placed hers on top of mine.
“If this becomes too much,” I said, “or not what you need—you tell me. You can back out at any time before we sign anything.”
“Okay,” she promised, squeezing my hand.
Then she grinned, bright and unstoppable. “This is going to be freaking amazing!”
My heart fluttered in my chest.
It was terrifying how much I wanted that to be true.
Cheryl stood. “I should get back out there.”
I groaned. “Unfortunately, these bills won’t pay themselves.”
“Better you than me,” she teased.
I tossed a crumpled piece of paper at her retreating back. “If this plan works, soon it will be your problem, too.”
Her laughter followed her out of the office.
I worked for the next few hours catching up on emails, paying bills, and pulling inventory documents. I didn’t miss the email Cheryl sent with a preliminary business plan attached.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach. There was no one else I could imagine doing this with. And if I was honest—if I let myself admit it—it would be nice not to carry this place alone. Yet, a small part of me wondered if I was letting Aunt Jem down by not being able to do this myself.
Soon after Cheryl’s email, another one came in.
From Marc.
Subject: Animal Yoga — Preliminary Guidelines and Outline
I stared at it like it had slapped me in the face. When I searched for the earlier email he referenced, my stomach tightened. Sent at 5:00 am.
Did the man ever sleep?
Of course, it was detailed. Of course, it had bullet points. Of course, it was practically a dissertation on “How To Do Yoga With Animals Without Getting Bitten.”
It was annoyingly competent.
Which was, unfortunately, on brand for him.
I typed a one-line response—short, neutral, adult—and pressed send before I could sabotage myself.
A loud sound blasted through the silence, and my entire body jolted, and my heart slammed against my ribs. I reached over to my phone to shut off the offending alarm.
