Page 9 of Strictly Business

Jade smirks, clearly relaxing a bit more with each passing second. “I’m a woman of many talents,” she says with a shrug.

“Back to your cheating ex,” Sophie interjects. “Why the hell did he get to stay in the apartment anyway? Why were you the one who left?”

I press my lips together, the question hitting me like a punch in the gut. Because I couldn’t stand to look at our room anymore. I couldn’t bear to think about all the times we’d been together, wondering if she had been in our bed those days. I couldn’t stay there, not with him, not with the memories haunting me. So, I packed up, grabbed Pumpkin, and left.

I press my palms to my face, fighting back the emotions. “I really don’t want to talk about this,” I murmur, sinking onto the pull-out couch, which creaks under my weight.

“Good.” Jade plops down beside me. “Because we’re not talking.” I lift my head, giving her a confused frown. “We’re getting drunk.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

She tilts her head. “Staying in isn’t doing you any favors, babe. You need to get your ass in a sexy dress, the shorter, the better, and come out with Sophie and me and get shit-faced drunk.”

Sophie lets out a breath, running a hand through her blonde hair. “We all have work tomorrow, Jade. Maybe getting drunk isn’t the best idea, considering it’s a Monday.”

Jade shoots Sophie a glare, tilting her head in challenge. It makes me laugh, because no one can say no to Jade. Not even Sophie, apparently, as she lets out a sigh. “Okay, maybe a few drinks won’t hurt.”

Jade grins and lets out a whoop. “See? Even Virgin Sophie is on board. Come on, Amara. Say yes.”

“Excuse me.” Sophie frowns. “Do I need to remind you I’m in a relationship? I get constant sex.”

Jade scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure,” she drawls. “Missionary position and all.”

“I like that position,” Sophie replies, her voice quiet, brows knitted together.

Jade tilts her head, pressing her lips into a smirk. “Sure you do, hun,” she says, before turning back to me with a glint in her eye. “So, what do you say?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Jade’s grin widens as she nudges my shoulder with hers. “You love us anyway.”

And I do. I thought keeping everything to myself was the best option, but I should’ve known that telling them would makeme feel better. Just having them here, bickering and joking, is already helping me forget what happened with Liam…almost.

“It’s your choice, Amara,” Jade adds, her smile settling. “If you want to sit in this dusty, crusty, musty apartment and cry at cheesy rom-coms,” she gestures toward the TV, where Bridget Jones is still playing in the background, “just say the word and I’ll run—well, not run, because…ew, I don’t run—I will strut downstairs, head to the nearest grocery store and pick up every single flavor of ice cream I can find.”

God, that sounds depressing. All I’d need isAll by Myselfplaying in the background, and I’d be starring in my own rom-com. Except it wouldn’t actually be funny. Or romantic.

I chew on my bottom lip, glancing between the girls, who are both waiting for my answer. I love them for being the kind of friends who would sit with me while I cried into a pint of ice cream without hesitation. But that’s not what I want.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’ll go.”

“Fuck yes!” Jade claps, jumping up with a grin. “That’s my girl.”

Sophie pulls out her phone, shifting as she starts typing. “How long are we staying out?” she asks. “I need to let Sebastian know when we’ll be home.”

Jade rolls her eyes dramatically. “You want to invite him and handcuff him to your wrist all night too?” She shakes her head, laughing. “Just tell him you’ll be home late. Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back unharmed and untouched,” she teases.

Her eyes meet mine, glinting with mischief. “Now, let’s find the hottest, skankiest dress you own.” I don’t even have a chance to protest as she pulls me toward the pile of crumpled clothes in the corner.

I groan, letting out a long exhale. What the hell did I just agree to?

Chapter four

Nicholas

My palms are damp, sticking uncomfortably to the polished wood of my desk. I grip the edge tighter, like it might somehow anchor me… or at least stop my hands from shaking.

Focus. Get it together.

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