The Lineup(11)

“Miss Domico, it was for the fundraiser you told me to donate to.”

Ohh . . . thank God.

Wait . . . what fundraiser?

Twirling the end of my ponytail with my index finger, I casually say, “Remind me which one again?”

“Frankie’s I believe? You said it was on your desk. The day of the Briar Hurst meeting.” My stomach drops, recalling that morning and what I did. “I couldn’t quite find anything on your desk, but then I saw your computer screen.”

Oh.

God.

Nipples.

Winking fucking nipples.

My vision starts to tunnel, and my skin feels like it’s shrinking as both Emory and Lindsay laugh in front of me.

No.

Please don’t tell me I donated ten thousand dollars to go on a date with Jason Orson.

“I assumed it was what you were talking about. Was I wrong?”

Lindsay wipes her eyes. “Oh no, Jessica. You were so, so right.”

“I don’t think you could have been more right,” Emory adds.

Confused, Jessica looks between us. “Am I . . . missing something?”

Unable to comprehend what happened, I place my head in my hands and take deep breaths. Ten thousand dollars, how many entries did that gain me? I’m guessing a whole fucking lot.

“Miss Domico?” Jessica’s worried voice pulls me back into the present.

I give her a curt smile. “Wrong charity, but that’s okay, Jessica. It’s fine. I wasn’t clear.”

Mortification falls over her features. “Oh my gosh, Miss Domico. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe”—she sucks in a short breath, her eyes watering—“I can’t believe I made such a horrible mistake. I . . . I can pay it off. Take it out of my paycheck.”

Ten thousand dollars to Jessica is not pocket change. It’s probably half her rent for the year.

“No, it’s really okay. I planned on donating anyway. That’s why I had the tab up.”

“I think you’re being kind to me right now for an awful mistake.” Her lip quivers.

With anyone else, I probably would have fired them over such a thing. They don’t say I’m ruthless for no reason, but Jessica? No way can I lose her. She’s the reason I haven’t lost my mind working this job. God, she must be mortified to not only have made this mistake, but in front of two of my friends. I know what that’s like, trying to impress women senior to you.

I look her in the eyes and say, “It was a mistake, poor communication, and something that won’t happen again, right?”

“Yes, of course. Never. I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” A tear slips down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away. “I’m so sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll stay late for as long as you want with no overtime.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve worked more hours than anyone in this office besides me. I won’t take away your pay for your hard work. But next time, if something isn’t where I’ve said it should be, please clarify before you act.”

“Of course.” She steps back and takes a deep breath. Clasping her hands together, she asks, “Is there anything else I can get you ladies?”

“We’re good. Take the night off, Jessica.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.” She gives me a small smile, one that barely reaches her eyes, and then shuts the door to my office quietly.

“Jesus,” Lindsay says, pulling food out of the bags. “That was awkward as shit.”

Leaning forward, in a whisper, Emory says, “My ass cheeks were nervously clenched that whole time. Poor Jessica.”

“Poor Jessica?” I whisper back, not wanting her to hear me. “What about me? She fucking donated ten thousand dollars to Jason’s charity under my name.”

“Yeah, that part was great. I think you need to make Jessica employee of the month. I feel bad for her screwup,” Lindsay says, “but I don’t think it could have worked out more perfectly.”

“Now we just have to hope she gets picked,” Emory says with glee.

“That’s true.” Lindsay hands me my steak kabobs with a side of grilled veggies. “His date was a hot commodity. Every teacher at Cedar Pine donated twenty-five dollars for a chance, even the married ones.”

“My spin class was very enthusiastic about the opportunity,” Emory says. “I think your chances of winning are slim.”

“You think?” I ask, the dread building in my chest finally easing.

“Total long shot.” Lindsay dips a pita in some hummus. “There is probably a one percent chance you’ll win.”

“I can live with one percent,” I say, feeling much better.

She’s right. Thousands upon thousands of people most likely entered to win, so just because my donation was large, doesn’t mean I’ll actually win. Who knows, maybe there’s a mega fan who donated even more, giving them more entries to the contest.

I’m fine.

One percent chance.

I can’t be mad with those odds.





Bang. Bang. Bang.

No answer.

Bang. Bang. Bang. BANG.

“Open up, I know you’re in there,” I call through the metal door that leads to Emory and Knox’s apartment. “I have all night. I’ll wait. It’s not like I have a big meeting to prepare for. Nope, I don’t have to entertain my father or anything, I have all freaking—”