Always the Last to Know(90)

“Yes. Are you, though? You and Doofus were serious, weren’t you?”

“I thought so. His two other girlfriends might disagree.”

Juliet’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that entitled little penis scum. Shit. Did you—” She lowered her voice. “Did you get checked by a doctor?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, thank God. I also found his other girlfriends on Facebook and told them. They seemed really nice. One was really broken up.”

“Let me know if you want a building to fall on him.”

Sadie grinned. “You’re okay, Jules, you know that?” She looked around, eating the other shrimp. “Anyone I know here other than Mom and Caro?”

“Probably not. Come on, let me introduce you to some folks.” She led her sister to the younger women of Stoningham and introduced them. Sadie mentioned to Emma London that she’d almost taken an internship with her grandmother’s company one summer, and before Juliet knew it, Sadie was one of the gang, laughing, asking personal questions without restraint, getting answers. No doubt she’d be having them over for margaritas before the week was done, because that’s how things always worked for Sadie.

Juliet went up the (not-anywhere-near-the-nineties) staircase to the rooftop, a feature so impressive that even the late great tastemaker Genevieve London had admired it. She took a deep breath and tried to shed the anxiety building in her.

But no.

“Juliet,” came a voice, and it was Dave Kingston. And shit, Edward Decker was there, too. Both partners from DJK. Edward rarely spoke, and while he nodded during her yearly review and approved her raises, Juliet never knew exactly where she stood with him.

“So glad you could make it,” she lied, air-kissing them as Arwen had air-kissed her. “Are you having a nice time?”

“Very nice,” Dave said. “Listen, Juliet.” Her heart curled in on itself. “We’re a team at DJK, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course!”

“So this . . . chain of command thing. It’s not necessary, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Arwen mentioned you ‘put her in her place,’” Edward said, using air quotes and looking ridiculous doing it.

Shit. If Edward spoke, it was dire. “I did what, exactly?”

“Said you made it clear you outranked her in front of her . . . partner.”

“Uh . . . no. Her friend asked if I was an architect, and I . . . I just explained that I was both a project manager and—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “Titles are so misleading, anyway, don’t you think? We like to color outside the lines at DJK, and we’re a meritocracy. The optics aren’t great if you’re . . . well. You know.”

“No, Dave, I don’t,” she said, starch in her voice. “Arwen does work for me. I have eleven years more experience than she does, and it would be irresponsible for us not to provide her with oversight and mentorship.”

“Still, there’s no need to throw her under the bus,” Dave said.

“How did I—”

Edward interrupted. “The attention she’s brought to the firm is in everyone’s best interest, Juliet. Let’s make sure she stays happy, shall we?”

The prickling panic had started in her feet. “Of course. Understood.”

“Good.”

Juliet glanced over at Arwen, who was pointing out something on the Sound to Cecille. She told on you, Juliet’s brain informed her. You spoke up for yourself, and she tattled, and the bosses are on her side.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to check on something. Please enjoy the party.” She forced her cheek muscles to retract in what might pass for a smile. The panic was in her knees now, and breathing had become a problem.

Down the staircase into the sky room, down the next staircase, hello, hello, are you enjoying yourself, good, wonderful, make sure you try the cream puffs, they’re so delicious, you’re welcome, nice to see you. Down the next staircase, take a left, here come the tears, but it was okay, here was her bedroom, close the door, check to make sure no one was in here, and they better not be, this was her bedroom, into the closet, close the door, safe, safe, safe.

She was crying. Faint, she ordered herself. Faint. Go to the hospital, even, and make everyone feel fucking horrible for taking Arwen’s side. Maybe Juliet had some tragic wasting disease that would excuse her from everything except sitting in the sky room and coloring with Sloane, and Brianna would love her again, and the disease would last until the girls were grown and then she could just slip away, looking at the clouds over the ocean, and wouldn’t that be fan-fucking-tastic.

Or maybe she’d just quit her job, pack her suitcase and head for Montana. Dedicate her life to saving others as a smoke jumper. The girls would miss her, but they could visit. If she died, at least it would be for a good cause. Oliver would be fine without her. He’d remarry in a matter of weeks. The thought made her sob.

Maybe she needed a therapist. That would be an hour a week she just didn’t have. Other than Mom, there was no one she could talk to, and Mom had enough on her plate. Sure, people accepted her invitation to the party and made small talk and hugged her, but when was the last time someone asked her how she was and really listened?