Rock Chick Revolution (Rock Chick #8)(110)

“Righteous,” I whispered back.

He gave me a squeeze then let me go, but grabbed my hand. We carried our coffees out of his office, down the hall and into reception.

However, he stopped us there, somewhat close to Dawn’s desk.

With a bright smile pinned on her lips, she looked up at him. “Anything you need, Ren?”

“We’re goin’ across the hall to check out Ally’s space.”

“Right,” she chirped.

“And one more thing,” he started, and she tipped her head to the side, eyes avoiding mine but glued to Ren, all ears.

Bitch.

“I’m livin’ with Ally, so obviously I will not take kindly to you bein’ rude to the woman who shares my home,” Ren stated. Her face froze and my body jerked in surprise. His hand tightened in mine and he kept going. “But just to say, no matter who walks through those doors, rudeness will not be tolerated. You can take that as a verbal warning. Next time, it’ll be written. Do you understand me?”

Her face was getting red, from embarrassment or anger, I had no clue.

I also didn’t care.

Inside my head, I was doing cartwheels while outside I was struggling with gloating.

Her voice sounded strangled when she replied, “Of course, Ren.” Her eyes came to me and she tried to cover by stating, “I’m sorry if something I said was misconstrued as rude, Ally.”

Misconstrued.

Hardly.

“Apology accepted, Dawn,” I replied magnanimously.

Ren was done and I knew this when he tugged me to the door.

But I was me. Ally. So I went with him.

But I also turned back and gave Dawn a huge smile. I lifted my coffee to my lips then out, making a smoochy face in a modified blowing of a kiss.

Dawn glared.

I grinned.

Ren pulled me through the door.

It closed behind us and he walked me to the door across the hall while muttering, “Was that necessary?”

“Totally,” I answered.

His eyes on the door, his lips quirked again then they stopped doing that and he whispered, “What the f**k?”

He pushed down the handle as I heard why he was asking that question.

There were voices coming from inside.

He opened the door, pulled us through and we both stopped and took in the activity.

Daisy was on hands and knees on the floor, arranging big carpet sample squares.

Shirleen was at a wall, taping up paint chips; or more accurately, taping up more paint chips to the dozens already taped there.

And then there were Buddy and Ralphie who’d joined our tribe during Sadie’s Rock Chick Ride. They were a g*y couple who clicked right in like they’d been there years. Ralphie was male-model gorgeous (but better groomed). Buddy was bald, African American and a nurse at Swedish Medical Center. They had a tape measure and they were measuring the floor.

“How’d you get in?” Ren asked instead of saying hello, and all eyes came to us.

“Did a stint in juvvie ‘cause of the skills I got to get us in,” Daisy answered.

I decided that I needed to discuss this with Daisy so she could teach me those skills, then she motioned to me.

“Good you’re here, sugar. I’m thinkin’ oatmeal. But I really like this gray. It says class to me. We want warm, but we want classy. We also want professional. It’s a difficult balance and the walls and carpet are the foundation so we gotta get it right.”

I looked down at her adjusting her carpet samples then I looked through the space and that feeling swept through me again. The good one. The excited one.

The happy one.

Two offices along the back, both with room-length windows to the outside, and both had windowed walls facing reception. The conference room down one side, also with a glass wall facing reception. An opened door sharing a wall with the outside hall and one with the conference room that I could see was a small kitchenette, which could take a little fridge and a coffee pot. It also had a small sink.

Perfect.

Utterly.

“Ally?” Daisy called.

“No oatmeal,” Shirleen said before I could answer Daisy. “Beige,” she stated, ripping off a paint chip with six shades of beige on it. “That’s the only thing that goes with oatmeal.” She tossed the paint chip over her shoulder and it fluttered to the floor. “Boring,” she went on and ripped another paint chip off, this one more shades of beige, sent it sailing and decreed. “No.” Again with the paint chips, one (beige again), two (greens), three (blues), four (grays), as she repeated, “No, no, no, no.”

Daisy was waving her hands around her head fending off the raining paint chips, snapping, “Shirleen, quit throwin’ them chips. You’re gonna give me a paper cut.”

“Sweet ‘ums!” Ralphie squealed, making an excited approach then reaching in and clasping his fingers around my wrist.

He pulled my hand from Ren’s grasp and yanked me further in. As I gave a smile to Buddy, who was smiling back at me, Ralphie pushed me, adjusted me and stopped us facing the blank wall across from the inner offices.

He lifted his arms in front of him, hands up and fingers splayed wide, floated them out and stated in a weighty voice, “The Majestic.”

I turned my head to look at him. “The what?”

“The Majestic,” he repeated. “You must come to the gallery and see this painting we have. It’s perfect for this space. Utterly.”