“Whenever you want, Riss. I’ll cut out of the office and be there. And maybe you can have dinner with Travis and me or something.”
What about Tory?
I didn’t ask.
I said, “I’ll text you, let you know.”
“Great. I’ll go up and get them down.”
I studied my memory banks and couldn’t remember so I could only hope that the boxes were closed and taped.
I also could only hope he didn’t go through them. I’d told him about that sketch and who’d done it. If he saw it again, who knew what he’d do with it.
And I wanted it back.
No, I needed it back.
“Right, um… talk to you later, Aaron.”
“All right, honey, have a good day.”
He was making me queasy.
Still, to keep him from turning into a jerk (or exposing he still was one), I said, “You have a good one too. Good luck with the case.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
I swallowed back another gag and said goodbye.
I didn’t wait for him to return my farewell before I rang off, ran out, got myself a sandwich from the deli, went back to the break room, and ate it while calling Joker and telling him my latest tales of ridiculousness from Aaron (though I left out the part where Aaron still had Joker’s sketch).
When I was done telling him and had precisely six minutes before I had to be back at my register, he remarked, “Gotta admit, this shit is kinda funny.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I mumbled.
“Ride it out, Butterfly,” he advised. “And the best way to do it is twist it from what it seems to you, a pain in your ass, to what it just is. Desperate acts from an asshole who fucked up his life by lettin’ go the best thing he had in it. You win by just bein’ you. He’s rubbin’ his own nose in his loss.”
That was a much better way to look at it.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” I said softly.
“No probs, Carrie. You gotta get back?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered unhappily.
“Okay, baby, see you tonight.”
“Tonight.”
“Later, Butterfly.”
“’Bye, sweetie.”
I shut down my phone, put it in my locker, sucked the rest of my soda up its straw, cleaned up, and went back to my register.
*
I dashed in the back door, tossing my purse to the side, where I heard it skid across the counter and fall to the floor.
I didn’t even pause to look at it.
I just shuddered to a halt at the side counter and dumped the huge bouquet of LeLane’s flowers I’d bought as well as the box of cupcakes I got from the bakery and then resumed my dash.
When I did, Joker rounded into the kitchen, saying, “Carissa, Elvira and—”
“No time, no time, no time!” I cried, waving my hand at him and not looking at him either as I sprinted right by him.
I rounded the corner from the kitchen into the living room and skidded to a dead stop on my Converse.
All my insides seized at what befell my eyes.
This being Elvira standing (in a fabulous wraparound dress and even more fabulous platform pumps) by my coffee table with my couch covered in so many bags, it was terrifying.
Except one wing of the sectional was occupied by a large black man (large as in tall and built) with a bald head and a perfectly formed goatee. He was lounging with his legs crossed casually.
I paid no heed to the black man.
“We had a budget!” I screeched.
“I know, I know, I know,” Elvira replied, lifting her hands up, palms toward me, pressing them my way repeatedly. “But, girlie, I don’t do cute. I got flummoxed. I lost it, ended up in Forever 21 and had a breakdown. It got so extreme, I had to call in Malik.”
On the word Malik she threw a hand toward the man on my couch and I looked to him.
“I’m Malik,” he said in a voice that slid over me like warm syrup. “Elvira’s man.”
I was in a panic, but still, regardless of Elvira’s exceptional style, her beautiful face, her fabulous skin, and her hairdo that I knew even without the stylist education I intended to get one day suited her absolutely perfectly, I took the precious time to be shocked at her man.
Not that she could land him.
Just that he was Hollywood handsome in the sense that I was pretty sure he was famous, because if there was anything right in this world, he simply had to be.
“Uh… hi,” I greeted shyly.
His full lips curled up, exposing white teeth.
My scalp started tingling.
“Malik can shop,” Elvira stated and I tore my eyes off her man. “He’s so good at it, I could retire. Example,” she swept her hand down her fabulous dress to flick out, indicating her more fabulous shoes, telling me Malik picked them, which said it all. “I won’t retire, because if I can’t shop, I might stop breathing, but just sayin’, he’s good at it.”
“I can see that, Elvira,” I snapped, walking to the back of the couch. “Since there are seven thousand bags in my living room!” I ended this on a yell.
“We can take back what you don’t want,” Elvira returned. “But now we got a lot to go through and you don’t got a lotta time. So, girl,” she rolled her hand at me, “get your ass over here.”
I got my behind over there, and I did it by putting a hand to the back of the couch and leaping over it, which knocked five bags to the floor.
Elvira’s eyebrows shot up. I heard deep laughter that was like vocal silk, along with a rough biker chuckle that was almost the best sound in the world (second only to Travis’s giggle).
I ignored all that and started dumping stuff out of bags.
Elvira joined me and we were laying out outfits (embarrassingly with matching undies but I couldn’t give in to the embarrassment of doing this in front of Malik, or the possibility he’d picked some of them for me, I had to focus) when I heard Joker say, “Mrs. Heely, gotta let you know that we’re probably gonna be a little late.”
At that, my head snapped to the side, my vision blurred with livid horror and I screeched, “Don’t tell her that! She’s gonna think I’m rude! You’re never late to a dinner party, even if it’s family! We’ll be on time if it kills me!”
Joker grinned at me and kept on, “Carrie just got off work and she’s pickin’ an outfit.”