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However, it gave me my best friend back, so there's that.
I thought Breslin was going to pass out when she saw me in jail. And then I thought I was going to pass out when Asher of all people ended up posting my bail. A bail I couldn't even pay him back for because I blew most of my savings during my reckless shenanigans, and I knew I had a better chance of finding a genie in a bottle than my Na
I was facing a felony, and I knew I was most likely going to be sent away until I needed dentures.
There was rock bottom...and then there was me. And I couldn't blame anyone but myself for it.
Preston might have lit the match that sparked my self-destruction three years ago, but I was the one who chose to keep the fire burning until it turned into an inferno.
Thankfully, I had luck on my side, because Landon and Breslin helped me find a great lawyer who was persistent enough to insist they run prints on the purse and the bag of cocaine to prove it wasn't mine, and track down surveillance from the club showing Gabriela—who left her passport in that purse—taking my car keys and jumping in the driver's seat before we took off.
That, along with it being my first offense, my lawyer mentioning to the court that I was one of the hostages in the infamous Woodside campus shooting, reminding the court I was never found behind the wheel, and me breaking down because I was both grateful no one was hurt, and truly sorry I messed up, granted me leniency.
I got off with one year of probation.
I stayed with Breslin, Asher, and Landon at their home in New Orleans for the duration of it, and if I hadn't been grateful for all of them before...I certainly was then.
They had every right to turn their backs and leave me with my mess—it's what I deserved. But instead, they helped me clean it up and get back on my feet.
I owe them everything.
“You're sweet,” my boss says, interrupting my thoughts. “Even though we both know I don't deserve your kindness.”
Her statement confuses me. “Why—”
She levels me with a look. “I kissed you after the holiday party last month.”
I'm pretty sure my face matches the pink tips of my long locks. “I thought you were too drunk to remember. But I promise I never told anyone, including Juan.” My palm flies to my forehead. “Dammit, that's a lie. I told my best friend Breslin, but she would never say anything, not even to her boyfriends Asher and Landon. Although—”
“You're kind of adorable when you're nervous.” She laughs. “Now do me a favor and breathe before you pass out.”
I take her suggestion and fill my lungs. I'm torn between wanting to do a happy dance because she thinks I'm adorable and wishing the ground would open up and engulf me because of my tendency to ramble when I'm seriously into someone.
“I remember the kiss, Kit,” she says and I swallow hard. “But it was a huge mistake that never should have happened. I'm your boss.”
The disappointment that slams into me is potent. Figures, just when I find a girl who is not only gorgeous, but also smart, hardworking, and not a user or manipulator—I can't have her.
Jess is everything I want and the kind of girl I should be pursuing.
Man, this situation blows.
I plaster a smile on my face. “It's totally fine. I get it.” I hike my thumb in the direction of the door. “I should probably go back to my desk and schedule Pretty Kitties' posts for this weekend.”
“Kit,” she says when I reach the door.
“Yeah?”
“I won't be your direct boss anymore after Vegas.”
Before I can say a word, she reaches for her cell phone that's vibrating and brings it to her ear. “I have to take this, it’s the new boss, but have a good weekend.”
I wave like the gri
“Hey, you. I meant to return your call after the meeting, but I was talking to Kit, the girl I was telling you about.” She giggles. “She's incredible, Jared. You're really going to like her.” She gives me a wink. “I know I do.”
When she gestures for me to give her some privacy, I realize I'm still standing there gri
I quickly close the door behind me and fall against it.
Smooth, Kit. Real smooth.
“I like it black and sweet, just like my men,” Juan declares as he walks past me to the copy machine.
“Huh?”
He presses a button. “It's how I'll take the cup of coffee that's going to save your ass from looking like a clingy, hot mess.” He snaps his fingers. “Now peel yourself off her door before she opens it and you fall on top of her.”
I walk over to him. “I'm not clingy.”
He raises one perfectly waxed eyebrow. “Right, and I own a minivan and live in a mansion with my wife Cathy who cooks me and my three children di
I rest against the copy machine. “I don't know, Juan. That's an awful lot of detail to not be true.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Probably because it's based on my actual fantasy. Only Cathy is Charlie Hu “I'm not clingy,” I repeat as I make my way to the small coffee room. “You kind of are,” Marge calls out from her cubicle. “I asked if she wanted half my sandwich once and she acted like it was a marriage proposal. The girl brought me flowers and lunch the next day.” “I was hungry,” I defend above the laughter of my co-workers. “I was trying to be nice and thank you.” That only makes them laugh harder. With a groan, I pull out my cell phone and call Breslin. I need an objective opinion and I know she'll give me one. She picks up on the second ring and I don't waste any time. “Am I clingy?” “What—” Woof. “Are you kidding? We went for a walk two minutes ago, Picasso,” she tells her golden lab puppy who I realize isn't a puppy anymore based on his deep bark. “Sorry, what were you saying?” “Am I clingy?” Woof. Woof. “Crap, he's peeing all over Asher's lucky jersey. Stop it, Picasso. Mommy spoke to you about this, we don't pee on Dad—” “What the hell, babe? Again?” Asher yells in the background. “I thought you said he graduated from doggie academy with honors.” “He did,” Breslin says at the same time Landon says, “It's not his fault you left your jersey lying around. You know it's his favorite target. You're practically taunting him with it.” “I'm go “I'm sorry. I'll call you back when it's not so hec—” “Now he's taking a dump on it and smiling at me,” Asher roars. “Why do you have to be such an asshole, Picasso?” Woof. “He's not an asshole,” Breslin says defensively. “He's smiling because he's relieved now,” Landon adds before the line disco I try to suppress my laughter as I finish making Juan's coffee and head back to my cubicle to get some work done. Three hours later, I've scheduled a variety of posts to go off on various social media sites for the weekend and personally responded to over five hundred emails, messages, tweets, inquiries, and Facebook comments on Pretty Kitties' social media pages.