Page 2 of One Taste
I reach for the coffee pot and empty mug she so kindly set out for me beside it. “Not all of us are professional party girls.”
“I’m pretty sure your twenties are meant for partying, Grandma.” Her lips tip up into a sardonic grin. “Did you have to hand in your fun card when you became a big shot?”
This. This banter and sarcasm are what I’ve missed the most about being so far away from her. Texts and calls aren’t the same as this person to person interaction. I hadn’t truly realized how empty I felt until the moment Brielle wrapped her arms around me at the airport.
“Blow me and pass the creamer, bitch.”
The neurons in my brain begin waking up as the smooth, rich flavor of coffee slides down my throat and I notice the stack of boxes next to the front door.
Brielle follows my line of sight. “The moving company arrived with your boxes about forty-five minutes ago.”
“I can’t thank you enough for letting me crash with you until I figure out what my next move is.”
A huge smile stretches across her face. “No thanks needed. There was no way you were coming back to this coast and not staying with me. We have so much time to make up for. It’ll be nice to not have to cram our girl time into one weekend in between family dinners at your parents.”
I can’t even remember the last time I was in Jersey for more than a few days since heading out to the West coast seven years ago. What started as grad school and an internship turned into opportunity after opportunity and I couldn’t turn them down. Succeeding and making something of myself has always been my number one priority. My desire to be self-sufficient and live the best possible life has been my dream.
“Still.” I smile back. “I know how much your closet means to you.” The second bedroom of Brielle’s apartment has been her closet. The woman seriously owns like a department store’s worth of clothing and shoes.
She shrugs a shoulder. “It was time to do some purging. Plus, it forced me to organize my stuff into seasons. Boxing my summer stuff and storing it in the basement isn’t the end of the world.”
Draining my mug, I place it in the sink and head toward the boxes. “I guess I better get these unpacked. Especially if I want to find something to wear to my interview tomorrow.”
“Is that the one atNBC?” She asks following behind me.
Landing that interview withNBCis huge for me. It’s been all I can think about since I got the news. My last employer has a friend there and pulled some strings for me when my contract ended with them. I was only there to help them with their re-branding launch and when it was all said and done, the company was so pleased, he called in a favor for me. The assistant to the VP of sales. Don’t let the assistant part fool you. It’s a big stepping stone to moving up the chain. It’s akin to Anne Hathaway getting moved up to assistant number one inThe Devil Wears Prada.“No, that’s not until next week.”
“I’ll grab the wine, you grab the boxes.”
“Seriously, Brielle? Wine? I just woke up.”
“So what?” she calls out from the kitchen. “You had your coffee, what else do you need?”
Sebastian
Igazeout the windowof my office watching the busyness of New York City below as Madisondrones on and on behind me. My sister’s monotone voice sounds the same asthe adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons.Whomp-whomp-wha-whomp.
It’s only nine o’clock in the morning for Christ’s sake. Why is sheso worked up anyway? It’s too early for this shit.
I see her movements reflected inthe window, and Istiffen. Her bitching makes me tense.
“You need to take this seriously, Sebastian,” she stresses, crossing her hands over her chest. “You can’t keep acting like a petulant teenager without a care in the world. You are the face of this firm now. It’s time to grow the hell up. You need to stop with the nonsense.”
This has me spinning my chair around and shooting her a glare.I have to grow up?It’sironic my little sister—who looks like the poster child for bratty girls across America with her sour puss and crossed arms—is telling me to grow up.
I haven’t even had time to finish my coffee yet and she’s given me a headache.
“Why, Madison? So I can be like you? You walk around wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. One of these days your goddamn head is going to explode.”
She huffs and places her hands on her hips.Classic brat move.Yet, I’m the one who needs to grow up?
“I’m not wound tight.” She grimaces. “It’s called being a fucking adult, and you need to try it. You’re twenty-nine years old, Sebastian!”
She’s pissed—beyond pissed.
“It’s called getting laid so you’re not so pissy all the time.” I retort and her eyes flare with rage. “You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll learn how to relax a little.”
Her glare turns from fiery to downright glacial. “I’ll relax when you stop running our father’s business—his blood, sweat, and tears—into the ground. He retired, and he had enough confidence in you to take over, so he could reduce his stress levels and focus on his health. You should start acting like the man he thought you were.”
