Page 12 of Ten Rules for Faking It
His dad cleared his throat loudly. “You remember the deal, right?”
Chris started the car and put it in Drive to head back to the station.It’s on my mind 24-7, so yeah, Dad, I remember.Eighteen months turning around this off-the-map station, almost twelve of which had passed. At the end, Chris’s dad would let go of the reins.Feels more like a vise.Chris would be head of communications for all his father’s companies. He had plans to unite the divisions of each company. It was exciting. Or would be. The best part, and most ironic, was that he’d have farlesscommunication with his father. And maybe, though not likely, earn a drop of his father’s respect. He knew he was a lucky man to have the opportunities he did. But they didn’t come free of charge.
“These things take time,” Chris said carefully. The ratingswereimproving in some areas. After they’d narrowed their demographic and played to it, they’d seen a large spike.
“Along with strong leadership. The 10:00 a.m. show is the lowest ranked and the quietest spot of the day. Letting Ari try her hand won’t hurt anything.”
“You can’t just fire two people because your daughter woke up wanting to play deejay today.”
“That’s not the only reason, Christopher. It would serve you well to remember who you’re talking to. A good leader knows when to cut his losses, and I personally think you should cut the segment. People want music, not chitchat. Get rid of them. Both of them. The producer and the deejay.”
[4]
Everly was considering how many episodes ofVeronica Marsin a row qualified as too many when her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Trying to move as little as possible while reaching for her phone, she half slipped off the couch, managing to stop herself from falling by bracing one hand on the table. One more reason to live alone. She glanced at the screen as she righted herself back into her comfy position.
STACEY:Backyard. Bring the list.
Head resting on the arm of the couch, Everly smirked and typed out a response.
EVERLY:Clarify.
STACEY:Get your ass out here.
EVERLY:My birthday. Can’t go out. Rules are rules.
STACEY:Don’t make me come in there. Bring your damn rules. Or I’m going to invite a bunch of my fun friends to your house now.
Everly sat up, laughing out loud, while typing.
EVERLY:On my way.
STACEY:Atta girl.
EVERLY:No one says that, dork.
STACEY:Just did.
The grounds of the house had been expertly manicured to create a community garden in the fenced backyard. When Everly went through the gate, her throat thickened and she stopped on the concrete path to stare.
Stacey had tied purple and black balloons to one of the wrought iron bistro set chairs. A pink bakery box from Baked—home of the best chocolate ganache cupcakes on earth, owned by one of Stacey’s friends—sat in the center. A gold, dress-up tiara sparkled on top of that box, the late-evening sun bouncing off the fake jewels. It took her a while to open up and feel close to people, but once she’d let them in, the nerves took a back seat. Every now and again, even in a close relationship, they snuck back, overwhelming her with the reminder that she was not as isolated as she sometimes believed.
“Are you coming over here or not?” Used to her, Stacey stood, hands on her hips, smiling. Her blond hair was loose and wavy, like she’d just let it out of one of her haphazard buns. She’d changed from this morning and now wore a pair of cutoff jean shorts and blue T-shirt that read:SARCASM LOADING.
“Seriously. You are really bad at this,” Stacey said, walking over and taking Everly’s arm, pulling her toward the table. She yanked out a chair, nudged Everly—not so gently—into it, and sat across from her. A car drove by, music pumping loud, breaking into the quiet.
Everly worked on not bursting into tears. Growing up in a house where emotions swung like a pendulum, she’d learned to hold back her own. Weigh and carry them before deciding whether it was worth sharing them. She knew that part of her problem getting close to people—menin particular—was a defense mechanism. Expecting nothing was infinitely safer.
“You didn’t have to do this, Stace.” Her voice came out rough. She felt bad when people did nice things for her. She could never wrap her head around the idea that she deserved it.Stacey would kick your ass for thinking that. You deserve whatever you’re willing to give, and you’d do this for her.
Stacey picked up the tiara, inspected it closely, tilting it so the sun bounced off the fake jewels. Then Stacey placed it firmly on her own head. Everly burst into laughter instead of tears.
“You’re awesome,” Everly said, noting the gift bag on another chair.
“I know. And before you complain about any of this, you’re thirty, it’s your birthday, and just because it started out shitty does not mean I’m okay with letting it end that way. Everyone deserves cake and presents and a little spoiling on their day. You’d do the same, and have, for me.”
Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Everly could only nod. Stacey reached out a hand, reminding Everly that she still held her notebook.
