Thank God this day is over. Brie is going to collect her commission check, stop at Whole Foods for fancy personal picnic supplies, and camp out on the couch eating good cheese and olives and binge-watching Broad City. She is headed to the office when Dita intercepts her in the hall. "Hey you, wanna grab a drink? It's on me."
Brie stiffens. Never in the seven years they've worked together has Dita bought Brie a drink. "Yes, but not tonight. I'm beat."
Dita yawns. "Yeah, me too. I'm going to go home and take a bath and eat an Ambien."
Brie pats down the walls of her cubby.
"No check?" Dita asks, pulling hers from her cubby.
Brie flips through a stack of envelopes on the counter. "Probably just an oversight."
Dita slips her check into her boot. "Or she can't afford to pay you your commission." She kisses Brie on the cheek. "Night, Chica. Love you, Girl."
Brie watches Dita clomp down the hallway. "Night," she says weakly, wondering what she meant about Marian not being able to pay her. Something is going on. Brie eyes the camera down the hall and feels Marian's eyes on her. She pulls her lipstick from her purse and feels like scrawling I'm the one who fucked your husband but instead she touches up her lips and heads out to her car.
In the darkness he is only a shadow form, but her footsteps set off the motion lights and the spotlight reveals him, sitting there on the trunk of her car in jeans and sneakers looking pleased.
She stops five feet away.
He says, "Somehow, I think we got separated."
She cycles through a gamut of expressions, from entertained to impatient to offended to curious. "Did you follow me?"
He tosses his head from side to side.
She smirks. "Okay..."
He reaches out his hand. "Hi my name is Danny. What's your name?"
He's cute like Patrick Dempsey and hot like Adam Levine.
She takes a pestered breath. "Brie."
"Brie Marie," he corrects her. "What was up in the seventies? I feel like half the women I know's middle name is Marie. Must be a Catholic thing."
Two interns click out from work like skinny style icons and he has himself a look. "What is this place?"
"Church of Scientology. Would you like to come in for a free personality test?"
He rubs his bottom lip with his thumb. "Come have dinner with me." He motions to the car parked next to her. "Come on, I'll drive. We have a reservation."
She looks at his car and tries not to seem impressed. "What are you, some sort of detective?"
He smiles. "No, I used some website to look up your license plate. The initial payment was only $4.95, but in the small print it said they're going to start charging me $19.95 a month if I don't cancel. Gotta read the small print."
Brie bites back a smile. "What does your small print say?"
He flashes her a practiced, open-mouthed smile that he has probably used all his life to get what he wants from women. "I don't know, I lost my glasses. You're gonna have to read me the menu." He hops off her car and walks over to the passenger side of his pretty black Porsche and opens the door for her.
Brie doesn't budge.
He smiles to himself as he closes the door and retraces his steps back to her. He is willing to play. "On second thought, give me your number and I'll text you the address. You can meet me there."
YOU ARE READING
Brie Baggio thinks she's ready... for marriage, kids, the whole shebang. She's pushing forty, and even though she's the Senior Anti-Aging Ambassador at Los Angeles's hottest med spa, Botox can't paralyze that nagging feeling that it's now or never...