Page 3 of The Love Audit
Luckily for me—or unluckily, depending on your outlook—her alarm rang, signaling the beginning of dinner. She shooed me out of the kitchen, but not before pressing the brown paper bag containing the remainder of the cookies into my arms.
My parents were already seated at the dining room table when I entered. Dad was holding one of my mother’s hands in both of his while gently pressing kisses into her palm, making her giggle. This was the image I’d had of my parents for as long as I could remember, except for a few tense years when I was a teenager. In my younger, more naive years, I’d assumed that I’d find a relationship like my parents had, but then I grew up. I spent my twenties learning that men like my father were extremely rare. My mind briefly drifted to Claudia excitedly showing off her daughter’s picture-perfect family, and I wondered if I’d die single and jobless.
I cleared my throat loudly as I sank into my seat, making my mother pull her hand out of my father’s grasp and turn to me.
“Jasmine, baby.” My mother reached out and squeezed my hand. “Don’t keep us in suspense. What happened in your meeting? Did you meet Edward Mason?”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat again and took a sip of water, remembering my manners. “I mean, yes. I met him.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. CEOs usually meet with their department heads when they acquire a new company,” my dad said. “That’s actually a good sign. Usually in mergers like these, a redundancy team or HR is responsible for thinning the herd.” I loved that my dad reduced me to cattle, because I wasn’t nervous enough about the future of my career.
“He did say that he was impressed with my work.” I pasted on a smile and pushed my salad around with my fork.
“Of course he did,” my mother added. “You’re a brilliant girl. I just wish you hadn’t wasted all that talent on public relations. With your grades, you could have gone to law school, or medical school, or—” My mother never missed an opportunity to express her disappointment in my choice of career.
“Come on now, Cece.” My dad covered my mom’s hand with his own and chuckled. “Our daughter only has dinner with us a couple of times a month as it is. Take it easy on her.”
“I’m not being hard on her. I’m just saying…” My mother let out a heavy sigh. “I know she’s made her choices; I just worry. I’m a mother. That’s my job and my right.”
“And you’re a great mother, Mom.” I smiled and pointed the cherry tomato I’d speared on the end of my fork at her.
Dad winked at me before adding, “Okay, baby girl, what else happened at your meeting?”
“Well, Edward Mason gave me thirty days to save my department,” I blurted out in one breath before shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth.
“Thirty days!” my mother gasped. “This is exactly what I mean when I say that you should have pursued something more stable. Public relations is a revolving door. Do you have a plan B?”
“I’m hoping I won’t need one.” I pushed the rest of my salad around on my plate again before putting down my fork and turning to face her. “I am actually very good at my job.”
“No one is saying you aren’t, sweetie,” Dad said in a calm voice before quickly raising an eyebrow at my mother, “but things don’talways go the way you plan. Why don’t you let me put a little money in your account?” Then he added, after seeing my scandalized expression, “Just in case.”
I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. My parents meant well. They always did. But this day had been stressful enough without the two people who were supposed to believe in me preparing for me to fail. Desperate to change the subject, I searched for something to say.
“I saw Derek Carter today.” The silence that engulfed the dining room was unnerving. The kitchen staff who’d been clearing our salad plates paused. There were no sounds of silverware touching plates or even the sound of breathing. It was like someone had hit the mute button on our dining room. “He must work for MasonCorp.”
“Oh,” my mother remarked when she regained her composure. “Did you speak to him?”
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “I haven’t had anything to say to him in thirteen years. Why would I start today?”
My parents nodded, but their faces were expressionless. The Carters were always a tense subject, but I didn’t think mentioning the son of their former business partners would have the sobering effect that it did on the rest of our dinner. We finished our meal in near silence, and I almost regretted mentioning Derek Carter at all.
At least they didn’t ask about my job again.
Most women would agree that the feeling of taking off your bra after wearing it for hours is one of the best feelings in the world, but after the day I’d had it was almost orgasmic. By the time, I ran through my nightly routine, including five steps of skin care and heatless curlers, I was completely exhausted. However, I wasn’t anywhere close to falling asleep.
I needed to hit the ground running at work tomorrow if I planned to keep my job, but for once, I was at a loss. I had hoped my nightly shower would help. That’s usually where my best ideas showed up, but instead, I let the scalding hot water beat me into submission while I tried to force thoughts of Derek Carter out of my head.
Cassie’s initial assessment of the man I’d practically grown up with wasn’t wrong. Derek was fine. In fact, he was more handsome than I remembered, if that was even possible. He was always meticulous about his appearance, and that hadn’t changed, but the years had somehow refined his looks and made him seem more distinguished. He had the same dusky bronze complexion and golden-brown eyes lined with the kind of thick, black lashes that women spend millions of dollars on mascara to achieve. His glasses only accentuated them, giving him a look of refinement and wisdom.
Then I remembered the feeling of confusion and abandonment I felt when he disappeared from my life when our parents dissolved their company and their friendship. I was so angry at myself for even letting Derek Carter park himself in my brain rent free after all these years and at the worst possible time. I stretchedout on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and the minutes ticked by, bringing me no closer to any sort of plan to save my job.
My eyes drifted toward the bag of cookies Claudia gave me on my dresser. Eating any food this late wasn’t generally a good idea, but after today, I’d earned at least one cookie, especially if they were as good as these were.
Twenty minutes later, I reached into the bag for what I told myself was definitely the last time only to find my fingertips sliding around in a layer of cookie crumbs. The disappointment I felt was increased by remembering Claudia telling me that the only way to get more of these yummy berry cookies that could have only been baked by Jesus himself was to voyage to a tiny town in Florida.
I refused to believe the only thing standing between me and more crispy, buttery deliciousness was a thousand-mile voyage, and I began to scour the outside of bag. On the bottom, in fine print, I found my answer. There was no website, but there was something even better.
The small town where the cookies were made was called Miller’s Cove. The name immediately sparked something in my memory. My brain shot back to the conversation I’d overheard while waiting to be called into my meeting with Edward Mason. The name of one of the dead projects was Miller’s Cove. It couldn’t be a coincidence. I pressed the few remaining cookie crumbs onto my tongue while hoping the universe sent me these delicious cookies and a possible way to impress my new boss.
