Just Three Words (Soho Loft Romances) (15 page)

“Go get her,” Brooklyn said, addressing Sam. “Drag her out of bed if you have to. I don’t care if she was out late.”

Okay, the concept of walking into Hunter’s bedroom and throwing the covers off her barely dressed body didn’t sound like a wise idea at all. Not good for the whole avoidance tactic. Nope. The kitchen kissing had trumped any kind of expectation of rational, mature behavior. This was the panic zone, where it was every girl for herself. “She’ll be here soon. It’s just now eight-twenty. Relax, coffee fairy.”

“I’m texting her.” Brooklyn fell back into her chair dramatically and the office once again lapsed into silence. Samantha busied herself in deposit slips, Mallory tick-tacked away on her keyboard, and Brooklyn stared at the wall, which meant she was doing that creative thing. At long last, the door slid open and Hunter made her way in.

Brooklyn stood. “Finally. Can we discuss this now?” she asked Mallory.

“What are we discussing?” Hunter asked easily. “Morning, guys.” Her hair was in a low ponytail and she sported an army green button-up that she’d left untucked atop black leggings and lace-up boots. She looked fresh and chipper, as if she’d just had the most restful sleep of her entire life, which just irked Samantha further, as she’d clocked
maybe
forty-five fitful minutes.

“We’re discussing why we’re halting all work on the Foster account,” Mallory said, already heading into the kitchen where they could meet around the table.

“Well, that’s news,” Hunter said, dropping off her stuff and picking up the Americano. She held it up in Brooklyn’s direction questioningly.

“You’re welcome,” Brooklyn said sweetly, heading to the table before stopping and regarding Sam curiously. “You’re in my seat. Why are you in my seat? This is strange. You like everything to be exactly the same.”

The reason for the seat switch was that her own seat was across from Hunter and the concept of staring across the table at her during the meeting, or the opposite, forcing herself to look away, was too daunting to deal with and too difficult a problem for this morning. But she wasn’t about to explain that to the room. Instead she shrugged. “I’m trying something new. Spontaneity.”

Her friends exchanged looks. Hunter sent her a small smile and shrugged in a way that seemed to say, “Good morning. Last night was no big deal.” But that wasn’t a sentiment she shared. Because while she wanted the world to go back to normal, desperately she did, one cannot simply unkiss her best friend. And as her thoughts began to take off on a panic-laced tangent, Mallory’s words roped her back into the here and now.

“Foster Foods filed Chapter Eleven late yesterday.”

Samantha ran that sentence back through her brain one more time. It still didn’t add up. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“No fucking way,” Hunter said, leaning back in her chair. “So they’re done. Gone?”

Brooklyn placed a hand over her mouth in devastation. Mallory held up one finger. “Not exactly. Apparently some really bad business moves have dropped them on their ass financially, but Royce Foster isn’t going down that easily. They’re working on restructuring their debt.”

“What does that mean for us?” Brooklyn asked with the hopeful eyes reminiscent of a Disney princess.

“It means…we’re on hold. We may lose their business altogether, and if so, that means we need to replace it. It means I need to hustle. Brooklyn and Hunter need to dazzle on the creative so much that our current clients can’t get enough of us, and Sam needs to make some money magic happen so we can stay in the loft despite the crazy rent hike. That might mean a whole new monthly budget. Starting from scratch.”

But the larger problem settled over Samantha and she met Mallory’s gaze grimly. “We’re not getting paid on those outstanding invoices, are we?”

The subtle shake of Mallory’s head caused Sam to inhale at what a blow that would be. They’d been floating Foster’s bill for several months now on good faith, thinking they’d just gotten caught up in the paper clog of a large corporation’s accounting department. But she’d been counting on that money. The four of them spent the majority of their time working on Foster projects. And now with the rent so much higher, she didn’t know how in the world they were going to have done all of that work for free.

“This is bad,” Sam said to Mallory, and then proceeded to explain to the others the outstanding invoices, the true state of things.

“How is that possible?” Brooklyn asked, infuriated. “We did that work. We deserve to be paid.”

“It’s possible we still might be,” Mallory said. “But it probably won’t be for a while.”

“So you’re saying we need to step it up a little to split the difference?” Brooklyn asked.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Brooklyn sighed. “Okay, but can I just say that this sucks? I think we’re going to need afternoon Pinkberry to survive this. The S’mores kind. I nominate Hunter to go get them midafternoon. The counter girls love her and then we get extra toppings.”

“I second this idea. That’s why we keep you,” Mal said to Brooklyn.

“Just earning my keep, boss.”

Hunter stood and gave a nod and easy smile. “I accept my mission.”

See, that right there annoyed Sam. The cavalier attitude. The mission to make girls swoon. It was whatever. Samantha resisted a visible eye roll but she definitely participated in one internally. As Brooklyn and Mallory headed back to their desks to work on the accounts still in play, Hunter lingered in the kitchen with Samantha a moment longer.

“Maybe we could talk later about last night?”

Samantha felt her cheeks redden, suddenly on the spot. “Um, sure. Of course. If you want to.”

“I do.”

Samantha stole a sideways glance across the office and dropped her voice further. “But not here. I don’t want to involve…”

Hunter’s eyes widened instantly. “No. Definitely not. We can talk tonight. Just us.”

“Perfect. I’ll be home.”

Hunter nodded. “And I’ll be home, too.”

“Great. Both home. So we can talk.”

“And we will,” Hunter said.

“See you then.”

Hunter hesitated. “I mean, I’ll see you around the office first. And I’ll be getting you Pinkberry later, so…”

“Right,” Sam said, jumping in. “We’ll both be around, probably.” God, this was the most awkward ever. Sam hated it.

“But…tonight is best. Yeah.”

Hunter turned on her heel and headed back to her desk, cursing herself and her inability to speak to Samantha like a functioning human. Maybe it was because Sam was in her relaxed mode today. She wore a navy blue skirt and red short-sleeved knit top with her hair down and luxurious. She looked great, and thereby Hunter was apparently relegated to sixteen years old and tongue-tied. But damn it, she wasn’t even like that when she
was
sixteen. Where the hell were her moves? She’d been a stammering, staring idiot.

Four hours later, she put herself to the test at Pinkberry.

“Hunter, right?” The girl behind the counter grinned widely. It was the same girl from last time. Blond, shoulder-length hair, with a stud through the top of her ear and a smiley face tattooed on her right wrist.

“That’s right. And you’re Kayla.” Hunter was great with names. It was a skill she’d picked up early in her flirting career. This seemed to make the girl infinitely happy.

“How is your day today?” Kayla asked.

“I’ve had better, but it’s starting to look up about now.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She inclined her head, employing the head tilt/direct eye contact combo that always seemed to elicit a blush. “Definitely.” Wait for it. One, two, three, and full-on blush. Perfect. She could feel her confidence crawling its way back to her.

“So what can I put together to make your day even better?” Kayla asked.

“Three medium S’mores for my friends and a Watermelon Cooler for me. Light and refreshing on a warmer day, you know?”

Kayla stared at her for a moment before snapping to attention. “Right. Yes. I definitely know.” She wiped her forehead. “It is warm in here, isn’t it?”

“I meant outside.”

Kayla looked stricken. “Of course.”

“But I’m starting to feel the heat you mentioned.”

A second blush. Perfect. Kayla gave her head a little shake. “I’ll get your order ready.”

“Thanks, Kayla. You’re my favorite. Oh, and my friends wouldn’t mind extra chocolate chips. I mean, if you have any to spare.”

“Anytime, Hunter. Just ask for me next time. I’ll get you set right up.”

As Hunter walked from Spring Street back to the loft with the bag containing four small frozen yogurts, she did so with a confident stride. It turned out she wasn’t broken after all. She just seemed to lose her power around one particular person. Not a major crisis. Just something she would work on.

*

“All I’m saying is that you don’t
have
to follow me into every room. You probably have stuff to do.”

Elvis stared up at Samantha in response, his stubby little tail thwacking back and forth. “Listen, you’re very handsome. I concede this. But I already scratched your ears and your stomach and tossed that fake newspaper for you like eight times since I’ve been home from work, and it was kind of a hard day. We lost a major client, Elvis. You feel me? So what more can I do for you?”

Elvis upped the ante and now it appeared that his entire body wagged.

“Yes, you’re adorable and I really, really like you, but I don’t know how to help you further. Your mom should be home soon.” She turned and walked through the door to her bedroom, Elvis still at her heels. This dog came with a lot of pressure. He had apparently developed some sort of affinity for her, and his attention, while complimentary, was not something she was used to. She didn’t know quite what he needed, but she was tempted to offer him a cocktail. Lord knows she could use one.

As Elvis looked on from the spot he favored on her bed, she changed from her work attire into her denim capris and a heathered pink T-shirt, and scrunched up her toes in celebration of no work shoes. She then went about making some pasta and pesto sauce in the kitchen, the same kitchen she’d had her world rocked in just hours prior. She tried not to dwell on the world rocking.

Mid-stir, the door slid open and Hunter strolled in, her messenger bag diagonal across her body. “Hey,” she said to Samantha.

“Hi. Want some pasta?”

“I definitely do. That smells amazing. What is it?” Hunter bent down to greet Elvis, kissing his face, and slid her bag off her shoulder. “Solve all of the world’s problems today, Elvis? You’re helping Samantha cook, I bet. You excel at cooking.”

“He’s okay. Honestly, he could do a little more stirring and a little less staring.” She inclined her head to the pot. “And that is pesto sauce. Ennis specialty. My mom passed it down.” Okay, good. This was feeling fairly normal, and she so needed normal right now.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Grab some plates.”

Hunter did as she was told and set the table for them both. “So that was crazy today. The Foster deal.”

Samantha shook her head. “I just wish we’d had more warning. I would have been more conservative with last month’s receivables, you know?”

Hunter shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Money magic. My mind just doesn’t work that way.”

Sam set the bowl of pasta on the table next to the salad she’d thrown together. “But mine does. Keeps things interesting.” She shrugged. “I like the black and white of it. The structure. It’s something I can control.”

“You like to be in control of things, that’s for sure.”

“What? And you don’t?”

Hunter leaned back in her chair. “I think we can both agree that I’m a little more go with the flow.”

“That’s true. You do your laundry on whatever day of the week you want. It’s barbaric.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.”

Samantha sat a bit taller. “Sunday is for washing clothes. It’s the perfect day for it.”

“Of course it is. And on the seventh day, God did laundry. Everyone knows this.”

Sam laughed. “You’re teasing me again.”

“I have to. You know this.”

“That part’s true.”

As they settled into dinner, Sam was smiling because things seemed to be falling back into place. She and Hunter had reclaimed their easy rhythm, and it felt so comfortable that Sam relaxed for the first time in sixteen hours. Plus she’d poured them each a glass of Merlot, so that helped. And God, the sauce had turned out great. She should open a sauce shop. Sam’s Sauce. She’d rock sauce sales.

As they ate, Hunter glanced over at her thoughtfully. “I dare you to change it up.”

Samantha raised a curious eyebrow. “You dare me to change what up?”

“Do your laundry on Thursday this week.”

“You mean take a walk on the wild side with you?”

“You might like it, Sam.” Hunter smiled and Samantha felt it right in the center of her stomach.

“Maybe. But I also happen to like my life as it is. My routine helps me stay focused. Keeps my life together.”

Hunter stared back at her in challenge and Sam made note of the fact that Hunter’s eyes were probably her most expressive feature. Big and the softest brown imaginable. She also had the most elegant neck, slender and smooth, leading down her body to curves that could not be ignored. As tough as Hunter seemed, as cool and charming as she often was, there was something innately soft and feminine about her that Samantha loved. Hunter came with a lot of layers.

“Is that a no to the laundry challenge?”

Oh.

Right.

There had been a conversation in progress.

“Fine. I’ll swap up my laundry day, but what do I get in return?”

Hunter stared back at her knowingly, a small smile playing on her lips. And just like that, Samantha felt the color enter her cheeks at the unspoken insinuation. Her world skidded wildly off center once again. Damn it.

“We should probably talk about last night,” Hunter said. The teasing smile faded from her lips, the deal temporarily forgotten in favor of the larger issue.

“Okay.” That was about all Samantha could manage. The room now felt small and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself, with her hands, so she began to straighten up, clearing things from the table and setting them across the island to wash.