Mrs. Dennings never actually said thank you, but she didn’t call Cassandra and manage to get me fired, and I figured that was the best she was willing to offer.
Paige comes around the side of the building just as I’m walking up, a relieved expression settled over her features. Her pink-tinged cheeks blow up with air before letting it all out slowly like pinching the opening of a balloon.
“I’m so glad that’s over,” she says.
I don’t agree or disagree, but instead I look beyond her, afraid to meet her eyes. Because I’m not particularly good at this boss thing, especially when it comes to my best friend—another lesson learned.
“Are you ready to pack up and hitch a ride off this rock?” she asks, smiling now, having no clue about what’s plaguing my thoughts that have everything—well, mostly—to do with her. Luke is still kinda there, floating around in the back in my subconscious, uninvited.
I sigh, looking down at my feet.
“Paige, I need to talk to you.”
Her expression goes slack in an instant.
“Yeah, what’s up?” She waits impatiently and then softens her features when I look back at her, almost as if trying to help me out. My shoulders fall into a slump and I let out a deep breath, dropping my beach bag and towel on the concrete as I sit down on the low brick border surrounding the landscaping. Moments later, she sits beside me; I can smell her fruity passion perfume.
“Paige,” I begin, gazing out ahead at the palm trees on the side of the building, “you’re great at what you do and you help me tremendously, but—”
“You’re firing me?” Strangely enough, her face softens even more, when I most expected it to shrivel up and make me feel awful.
“What—no!”
She smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” Her hand touches my shoulder. “I was actually going to put in my resignation.” She gestures her free hand and adds suddenly, “It has nothing to do with you, girl, so don’t think that for a second.”
“Wait—you’re quitting?” Blindsided, it takes me a second to get anything out. “Paige, I wasn’t going to fire you. I just wanted to apologize for snapping at you—it’s not as easy being your boss as I thought it’d be.”
Paige chuckles. “I can tell,” she says, and then lays her head on my shoulder for a brief second. “But I meant what I said about never putting you in a bad position. I think it’s better I find another job before I get you fired.”
“So you’re really quitting?”
She nods and her hands fall into her lap. “Not right now,” she says. “I mean, I’ll definitely stay on board until Cassandra can find someone to replace me, but I’m just not cut out for this stuff. I don’t have the patience for it—well, for people like that.” She laughs lightly. “I have to admit, if it weren’t for you, I might’ve told that bitch off.”
I smile faintly.
“So what are you going to do when you leave?”
She pauses and says, “I’ve got something lined up—not that I’ve been planning to quit, but you know me. I’ll manage.”
This is true. Paige doesn’t really need to work to live like most of us do; she comes from a wealthy family in the real estate business and wouldn’t have to work a day in her life if she didn’t want to. But Paige likes to work. It keeps her busy and off the Lazy Citizens of America list, as she calls it. But mostly it gives her more of a reason to spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes and shoes and all things expensive and in style.
I nod, a small smile tugging my lips—this is all such a relief. Sort of. I hate to see her go. But I understand.
“So then you’re still on for Jamaica?”
She smiles. “Yeah,” she says, “but I was hoping my first time there would be more”—she twirls her index finger in the air, a concentrating look in her eyes—“enjoyable. I was excited about Hawaii, but it didn’t quite turn out like I envisioned it.”
“Yeah,” I say simply and look out ahead again as the rest is cut off by my sudden deep thoughts. “I guess I can’t blame you.” My voice is distant.
“It’s gettin’ to you, too, I can tell.”
I look over. “What—” I smile to show her that she’s wrong. “Oh, no, I’m just tired. I’m always like this after an event.” This is only half true—this time I feel much worse.
She hooks her arm around my back, her hand around my arm, and pulls my shoulder against her side.
“We’re gonna go on a real vacation sometime,” she says. “We can go anywhere. Just name the place.” She points at me briefly and interjects, “Of course, it has to be someplace sunny where I can wear my bikini—nothing cold and no deserts or anything like that.”
I chuckle. “We’ll figure it out,” I tell her with a smile in my voice.
Paige stands up, her small frame hardly shielding me from the sun.
“We should get our stuff packed,” she says. “I can’t miss this flight. My family reunion is tomorrow. My mom will kill me.”
I stand with her, taking up my towel and beach bag and repositioning them on my arm and shoulder. As I walk alongside Paige toward the hotel, from the corner of my eye I see a tanned, athletic figure in navy cargo shorts and a red T-shirt tramping through the sand toward me. Squinting in an attempt to get a better visual, I put my hand up above my eyes to shield my face from the sun. And when I see that it is, in fact, Luke, my face breaks into a smile that I instantly try to conceal from my best friend.