Getting Dumped (22 page)

“Oh,” Gretchen said, looking alarmed. “Well, sure. Is that — is that testing expensive?”

“Quite,” Collin said. “Of course, I can sometimes be compelled to assist someone who is a good friend of JJ here. Are you a good friend of JJ?”

Gretchen swung her gaze back to me. “Absolutely,” she declared. “The best.”

Collin smiled.

My knees went melty. I leaned back against the wall, glad it was there to support me.

Gretchen swayed a little, too. She lost her grip on the bottle of Master Cleanse and clutched the edge of the counter. She stared at Collin like he’d just shown her a pocket full of wheatgrass-flavored condoms.

I grinned smugly, glad to see I wasn’t the only woman under his spell.

“Of course, good friends tell each other things,” I explained to Gretchen. “Like where one might go if one were interested in purchasing a counterfeit designer handbag.”

“Hypothetically, of course,” Collin supplied.

Gretchen tightened her grip on the counter, her other hand still clutching the phone while the Master Cleanse bottle dribbled its contents on her hardwood floor. She looked from me to Collin and then back at me.

“I’m still going to kill her,” she muttered.

“Naturally,” Collin agreed.

Gretchen frowned. “Downtown Portland. Just a few blocks south of the Saturday Market, there’s this little shop where they sell lucky bamboo and these bookmarks with your name written in Chinese. You have to ask for the bags – they don’t advertise or anything – but there’s this whole back area just filled with them.”

I nodded, feeling a rush of anticipation. “What color is the building?”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “I have no idea. There’s a green awning though.”

“Are they only open Saturdays?”

Gretchen shrugged. “I think they’re open every day. I was just there last Wednesday after work, replacing the Chanel that little bitch ruined.”

“Thank you,” I told her. “That helps a lot.”

“Are you calling the cops on them?” Gretchen asked. “Because there’s this Coach gallery tote I’ve been wanting to buy for awhile—”

“I’m not calling the cops,” I told her. “Not yet anyway.”

Gretchen nodded and let go of the counter. “I’m still going to talk to Mindy—”

“Just leave me out of it,” I told her, taking a step toward the door. I glanced down at the floor where Prince was eagerly lapping up the contents of Gretchen’s spilled bottle. “And maybe consider taking your dog to the vet.”

THOUGH COLLIN HAD plans for the evening, he kindly gave me the gourmet salad dressing pilfered from Gretchen’s fridge. He assured me it was perfectly mold-free and quite expensive. I tossed it with a lovely spinach salad that I served with poached salmon steaks in horseradish chive sauce.

“This is so good,” Lori told me between bites. At her feet, Blue Cat waited patiently beneath the table for salmon to rain down upon him. “Why didn’t you ever want to be a chef?”

I piled another helping of roasted butternut squash on my plate and picked up my fork. “Two major careers by the age of twenty-seven isn’t enough?”

Lori grinned. “Well, you’ve sure as hell got the talent to do this professionally.”

“If I did this as my job, it wouldn’t be fun anymore.”

“Handbags are my job, and I still like those.”

“True, but not every hobby should become a job,” I pointed out. “Some things are better just saved for enjoyment without all the complications of money and other people’s expectations.”

My baby sister blinked at me. “Wow. You sound like Dr. Phil all of a sudden.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been learning a few things lately about career choices. About what people expect of themselves, of others, what really makes them happy.”

“And?”

“It’s not the same for everyone. And there’s no magic formula.”

“You got that right. I took a gamble turning down a college scholarship to pursue design, and look at me now. I love my career. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Exactly,” I said, forking up another piece of salmon. “And Adam went to school thinking that was his ticket to wealth and prestige, and instead he’s working in the same field he was trying to escape.”

Lori grinned and took a sip of wine. “So where do you and the landfill fit in with all that?”

“I’m happy working at the dump,” I said. “I know it hasn’t even been two weeks, but I’ve had more job satisfaction in that time than I had in five years of working in the field I thought would make me happy. I like crushing stuff. I like not dealing with snotty people in business suits. I like that no one cares if my shoes match my bag.”

“That’s so passé anyway. Only prissy girls match their bags and shoes these days.”

“True. But at least no one’s judging me for it either way.”

“So it’s a good thing you got canned.”

“I wasn’t canned,” I insisted. “I was
repositioned
.”

We both went quiet, the silence punctuated only by the sound of soft chewing and forks clinking against the plates. When the doorbell rang, we both screamed.

“Jesus,” Lori said. “Guess we’re both a little jumpy after the whole handbag thing.”

“It’s probably Collin,” I said as I got to my feet. “He said he might stop by later. I think he likes my cooking.”

“That’s not all he likes, babe.”

I laughed as I stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.

For the first time in my life, I found myself staring down the barrel of the gun.

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