Olive Oil and White Bread (23 page)

Angie's eyebrows furrowed as she stood. “Jeremy?” she said, confused.

“My nephew? You met him this morning.”

“Yeah,” Angie blinked several times. “Yeah, I know who he is. Why are you going to show him my ideas?”

“For when I retire, silly,” Guelli said, rather slowly, as if he was talking to a child. “Jeremy's going to take over the business. Didn't I tell you that this morning when I introduced you?”

Angie felt like she might throw up. “No,” she said, barely above a whisper. “No, you didn't mention that.”

“Bah.” Guelli waved a dismissive hand, one that said
no big deal
. “I introduced him to a dozen people in about ten minutes. I must've forgot. Yeah, Jeremy's my brother's kid, just out of college with a business degree, really bright kid.” He went on as he gathered up his things and turned off the lights. “We've been talking about it for months, him and I. Younger blood will do this company good. He's got some great ideas, but—” he held up his briefcase containing all the information Angie had so painstakingly collected and winked “—nothing like this. This is great stuff. Thanks, babe.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

He left Angie standing there, in his office, in the dark. She felt as though she'd been ambushed. How had she not seen this coming? She liked to think of herself as a pretty attentive person, as somebody
who was well aware of the world around her. How had she missed a family member taking over the running of the company? And why on earth had she ever thought an Italian, old-fashioned male chauvinist like Vincent Guelli would even entertain the idea of leaving his beloved company in the hands of a female? What a stupid thing to hang her hat on. Moronic. Naïve.

Her knees buckled, dropping her back down into her chair. The office was dark. The building was quiet and Angie had the sudden, discomfiting feeling of being utterly alone.

The only sound was the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock.

Angie's voice was little more than breath. “Fuck.”

The clock ticked on.

Twenty-One

Jillian walked into Starbucks and inhaled the warm, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She was almost always there before Shay, and today was no exception. They'd set up a standing twice-weekly coffee date: Wednesday afternoons and Saturday mornings. It had started during Shay's breakup with Laura, something to help keep her sane and focused, and it had continued on even after Shay had recovered and begun dating again. It was good for both of them to have a touchstone of sorts.

The same barista, Jen, was there every time. She was cute in a pixie-like way, but with a very subtle edge demonstrated by the silver hoop at the end of her eyebrow and the teasing glimpse of a tattoo at the base of her neck, sometimes covered by her dark hair and sometimes not. Her sexual preference was no mystery at all, since she flirted mercilessly with Jillian every time she came in, today being no exception.

“Grande nonfat Chai latte,” she'd announced before Jillian had even opened her mouth. With a grin, Jillian nodded, holding eye contact. “Coming right up. Love that jacket, by the way.” With a wink, Jen was off to make the order.

There was something pleasing—and flattering—to be so recognized by an attractive woman. Jillian didn't try to deny that. Why should she? What was wrong with liking attention? She certainly wasn't getting much at home.

The guilt immediately oozed in, as it always did. Jillian knew Angie was exhausted. She worked too much. She tried too hard to keep up with the standards that Dominick set—though he had no idea at all
that there was a competition. She'd been cramming her brain full of research and ideas, and though Jillian admired this hard work, she didn't understand it. She had insisted to Angie over and over that it wasn't worth it, that Guelli obviously had no idea what an asset she was to his company, and that she should concentrate her efforts elsewhere, take all that research and excitement and find someplace where it would be appreciated. It wasn't like Angie loved the place, either.

Sometimes Jillian thought she might be getting through. Other times, it was like she was talking to a shoe, that's how much response she got. And all the while, Jillian felt herself slipping down Angie's priority list. Work came first. Work, clients, and money. Clients called at all hours; that damn cell phone was rarely out of her sight and she never turned it off. Jillian entertained fantasies of smashing it to bits with a hammer, baking it to ash in the oven, burying it in the backyard under mounds of dirt and grass.

“Here you go, beautiful,” Jen said, handing over Jillian's drink and effectively pulling her out of her own head.

“Thanks,” Jillian said, flashing a grateful smile. As their fingers grazed, Jen gave her a sexy little wink.

Jillian's smile widened as the feeling of flattery washed over her. She found a table in a faraway corner near a window.

She didn't have to wait long for Shay.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said as she hugged Jillian and plopped her bag on the table. Fishing out her wallet, she went to order her coffee, and was back in a few minutes. “So. What's new? And why are you blushing like a schoolgirl?”

A shake of her head, a dismissive wave of her hand, and a comment about it being warm in the shop convinced Shay that she was fine and let her get back on track, away from contradictory thoughts about Angie and the barista that were cluttering her mind.

“How's Angie?” Shay asked as she sat. “Still working like a dog?”

Jillian made an exasperated face. “Always. I can't seem to get her to understand that she should be happy in her job. Her boss is turning over the reins to his nephew before long and Angie is beside herself. She wanted to manage the business, and now that's not going to happen,
and she's so disappointed. Tell me, Shay, what's wrong with actually liking your job? I'm not sure she sees that as possible. It's like she thinks if she just hangs in there, it'll magically get better.”

“Have you suggested she look for something else?” Shay started to sip her coffee, then thought better of it and blew on it instead. “There have to be more companies like hers.”

“There are. Quite a few. But she's stubborn, and she hates change. Look at her parents. They've had the same jobs forever. I think her dad worked at the same place for forty years or something ridiculous like that before he retired.”

“She's a hardhead, that's for sure.”

“The most frustrating thing is that she's all over the place. One minute, she's become a freak about money. It's so weird. She acts like we don't have any—we're fine—and that she's the only one bringing it home—she's not, obviously. No, I don't make as much as she does, but I do just fine, thank you, and I take care of our health insurance. The next minute she'll do something that's the complete opposite of what somebody worried about money would do. She actually bought a Lexus a few weeks ago. A freaking Lexus! She thinks it will help her project a more successful image to her clients.” She shook her head. “I don't know what's going on with her.”

Shay took a deep breath. “How's the drinking?”

Jillian shrugged. “It's not worse, but it's not really better. She's so stressed lately. And angry. That's new. She seems angry. Sometimes a drink calms her down. Sometimes it revs her up. I don't know.”

They sipped their coffees in silence. Seemingly out of suggestions, Shay changed the subject. “And how's my baby Boo?”

At the mention of her beloved pooch, Jillian's eyes lit up. “She's adorable, as always. A little stiff in the mornings, I think.”

“She's getting up there,” Shay said. “Those old bones and muscles aren't as limber as they used to be. What is she now, eleven?”

Jillian agreed. “Yeah. I hate to think about it. Why can't our dogs live as long as we do?”

“Not a day goes by for me that I don't have a client ask me that very question.” Shay gazed out the window, her voice growing almost wistful. “I think dogs are much too valuable to stay in this world for
very long. It must be exhausting, constantly handing out all that love and devotion and loyalty. I think they move on to the next place so they can recharge.”

Her eyes glassy, Jillian agreed. “That's beautiful. I like it.”

“It's the only explanation I've got,” Shay said, shaking herself with a chuckle.

With a glance at her watch, Shay mentioned she needed to stop by the office.

“What?” Jillian scoffed. “It's your day off. You're supposed to avoid that place like the plague on your day off.”

“I know, but Melissa had a couple things I promised I'd help her with.” Shay looked everywhere but at Jillian, which made her friend laugh loudly.

“Oh, Melissa needs help with a ‘couple things' does she?” Jillian made air quotes with her fingers, her tone gently teasing.

Shay shook her head, unable to hide a shy grin. “Come on! She's new. She isn't sure how it all works at the clinic, so I told her I'd go over some things with her.”

“And does going over things with this new vet include doing so over a meal?”

Shay cleared her throat. “It may.”

“I knew it!” Jillian pointed an accusing finger at Shay, her delight palpable. “You're dating her, aren't you?”

Playful defeat colored Shay's face. “Maybe a little.”

“This is good news,” Jillian pronounced, meaning it. Shay'd had a terrible time recovering from the loss and betrayal of Laura. It had been over a year before she'd even considered going on a date, and when she did, she'd told Jillian she was uncomfortable and self-conscious the whole time. She stopped about three months ago, telling Jillian she just didn't feel ready.

Melissa Saunders had come on board at the veterinary clinic where Shay worked about a month and a half ago, and Jillian only had to hear Shay talk about her once to know she was ready.

“I'm so happy for you, Shayneese.” Jillian covered Shay's hand with hers and squeezed.

“It's really nothing right now,” Shay told her, packing up her things.
“We're just hanging out, moving
very
slowly. She had a bad breakup last year, so I know exactly what she's going through.”

“Well, I'm still happy for you. Having somebody to hang with—besides me—is a good thing. When you're ready to introduce her, I'd love to meet her.”

“You'll be the first. You know that.” Shay stood, bent across the table and kissed Jillian on the forehead. “Catch you later, babe.”

Jillian watched out the window as Shay walked to her car. She held her head up, a subtle smile decorating her face, and there was a little bounce in her step. It was slight, and somebody who hadn't known Shay for more than twenty years probably wouldn't have noticed it. But Jillian did, and it filled her with warmth and love for her friend. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then stood up and gathered her things. As she deposited her garbage in the garbage can, she glanced up at the counter.

Jen tossed her a last wink.

2005

Lonely No More

Twenty-Two

I feel like I'm drowning
.

The thought came to Angie out of the blue as she drove back to the office after an appointment with a client. It was sudden, and it was frightening.

At work. At home. She couldn't keep her head above water. She was going under. It was just a matter of when.

She thought about work, how it was the same shit, only worse and worse each day. Mr. Guelli had retired last year; Jeremy was running the show.

“Little bastard,” she muttered as she braked for a light.

As if a twenty-five-year-old being handed a thriving business wasn't enough to make Angie grind her teeth with envy, Jeremy had decided a bunch of new requirements and procedures should be put into place. Some made sense to Angie—hell, they should do, they were her ideas—like regular, weekly sales meetings and more visits by suppliers. Others were making everybody cranky and irritated. Weekly quotas were his newest baby, and in many sales companies, they were perfectly practical. But in this business, sales came and went with the seasons. It didn't matter if you wrote only a few orders in October because in November and December—when companies were buying holiday gifts for employees and customers—you were going to crush it. Jeremy didn't seem to get that. He chalked up the complaints of his veteran salespeople to general laziness and his uncle letting them “get away with too much for too long.”

He was also requesting quote sheets. Any time a salesperson quoted a price to a client, they had to write up the details and e-mail
them to Jeremy so he could keep track of what was being closed and offer his help as needed. That part made Angie roll her eyes. Offer his help? He was a baby. “I've been in sales since Peach Fuzz was in grade school,” Hope had spat angrily when she read the memo over Angie's shoulder. “Peach Fuzz” was the current nickname she had for Jeremy. It was much less colorful than her previous ones. “That little egomaniac had better stop insulting us.”