18. SIERRA

CHAPTER 18

SIERRA

" C heers to your new job!"

We clink our glasses, braving the sloshing champagne that now trickles down my hand and down Rachel's arm. Giggling, she grabs a napkin from the table and gives it to me, even though she has the bigger mess now soiling her blouse. And I know her, if I don't grab it, she'll just hold it up for me until I do, further delaying her own cleanup process.

I grab it and shake my head. That's Rachel in a nutshell, the most giving person I've encountered in my life. A lump rises in my throat and something presses behind my ears. I don't know if the previous champagne flute is to blame but I suddenly want to burst into ugly tears, that's how much love I'm bubbling with for her.

"I'm so, so freaking happy for you." I sniffle into the napkin. "You deserve this and the whole rest of the world. And the universe too."

"Oh, geez. It's just a job offer, Sierra. Don't make my floodgates open now." That's when she finally plucks a napkin for herself and yep, she blots her blouse first before taking care of the trickle of tears down her face .

I reach over for a clean napkin and not so gently dab at her face. "Look at us, we're mess. We're supposed to be happy and celebrating, so what the hell is this?"

"You have no right to ask when you're the one who started it." At least a laugh comes out as she says this.

"I'm sorry, I just love you so much, pendeja."

"You have weird ways of showing your feelings, Sierra."

Grinning, I lean back against my chair. We came to this fancy downtown bar straight from work, ditching our responsibilities the second we read the email from HR offering Rachel the position of Publicity Talent Manager. Starting January, she'll transition to taking care of publicity accounts for the SPORTY brand, which in simpler terms means she'll manage campaigns with celebrities hired to promote our brand and products. How freaking cool is that?

If anyone deserves it, it's Rachel. She's worked twice as hard to get here as the rest of us, all while raising a son as a single mother. All she's missing is a cape.

"And here you were, freaking out that you wouldn't get it."

She shrugs. "You just never know with these things. They said they had several candidates in mind, including external. And you know how they can lowball externals a lot easier because they don't know better."

"But you got it." I smile. "And I told you so. Now, pay up."

Rachel snorts at my extended hand, but still makes a big show of fishing for her wallet to take out a five dollar bill. That's what she gets for betting against herself, the fool.

"Excellent." I snatch the crisp bill. "Next round's on me."

"Hah, that won't even cover half of it."

"Whatever. Just stop betting or you'll lose money for the Operation: New House."

"You're right." She rubs her hands. "I'm so excited for that, but even more that moving to the next school district means Adrian will enroll in a much better sports program. "

"Yep, I can feel my tears coming back up." I pat my eyes dry, not even kidding because I'm genuinely feeling so emotional right now. I guess it's the season of miracles, after all.

"Fine, let's change the topic then." As she props her bent arm over the back of her chair, Rachel asks, "What's the deal between you and Conor?"

Of course, this happens at the same time as I'm taking a sip of bubbly—and it goes down the wrong pipe. I hack horrible coughs that make half of the patrons turn our way.

"What are you talking about?" I sound like a chainsmoker with pneumonia as I ask.

"You guys don't seem to hate each other, but you were all weird in the elevator the other day." She offers my glass of water to me. "Here."

I take it and swallow water down in big gulps, both for relief and for stalling. "Any chance we could talk about literally anything else? Environmental policy? Politics back in our home country? How your famous brothers are doing this season?"

"Hmm, none of those sound appealing to me and I thought we were here for me?"

"I fail to see how that sentence is a fully strung thought." I sigh, though. Rachel has determination in spades and she won't drop a bone when it's already clenched tightly between her jaws. "Fine, the answer is I don't know. And I'm not being cheeky here, I really don't."

Rachel leans her elbow on the table and props her chin on the heel of her hand. "Was it my fault? Were you about to kiss under the mistletoe when I interrupted?"

"No." I fold my arms and melt a little on my chair. "If anything, he seemed extremely reluctant to kissing me again."

We both stare at each other, neither of us reacting to what I just admitted.

The soft jazz music wraps around me like a fake safety blanket. Any moment now, one of us is going to explode with sound and movement and drastically change the atmosphere of this bar. Not sure if for the better.

Rachel tucks her tongue against her cheek, still quiet as she watches me sweat through my cardigan across from her. Clearing my throat, I pick up my glass water again and take an elegant little sip.

" Again ?" She shrieks the word. Next thing, she smacks the table. "And you weren't planning to tell your best friend?"

"Well, in my defense Grammie's my best friend and she doesn't know either, so why should I tell you first?" I pretend to check my nails.

She ignores all that. "You kissed Conor Mahoney? You ? How was it? I demand every minutia right this second."

Groaning, I lower my face to my hands and run them up and down my face. "Oh my gosh, Rachel. It was the most incredible kiss of my life—and he doesn't want to do it again! Ugh."

"Backtrack, please. I beg." She snaps her fingers several times. "And give me all the details too."

"There's not that much to it, to be honest," I say and launch into the story of that venue visit. In retrospect, I was already crushing on the man before the kiss—otherwise, I'm pretty sure I'd have ignored superstitious threats. That was just the device I used to negotiate acquiring a kiss.

When I tell Rachel about how Conor asked me how I wanted to be kissed, her eyes all but pop out of their sockets. She leans forward, hands on the edge of the table as I tell her what I can of the kiss. It's not like I'm a writer and can use pretty words to describe something that was transcendent.

I explain as much with a shrug. "What can I say? The man knows how to use his lips. And tongue."

"I imagine he knows how to use the rest of his body too, huh?" Rachel's lips curve into a sneaky smirk because, unfortunately, a lamp hangs low over our table and easily lights up my reddening face.

"Probably."

"And you want to find out." Her smirk deepens.

"Maybe."

"Which from you means heck yeah."

"But what good is that when the man contorted himself to get as far from me and that mistletoe as he could?"

"Have you considered—oh, I don't know—asking him directly?" Rachel lifts her hands and gives an exaggerated shrug.

"What's the point? He said with his own mouth that it wouldn't be a good idea to kiss again."

"He could've meant at the office."

Crap, I hadn't considered that. One thing is kissing at that hotel, with no one we know to bear witness. Quite another would be making out in the elevator and have it, say, open its doors right in front of Richard's face. Or worse, in front of someone like Camila Puig who would immediately march us to HR.

"Oh."

"So, what are you going to do now?"

I pull at one curl and twirl it around my finger. "Nothing, I guess."

"What?" Rachel drags the word in disappointment. "You mean to tell me there's a hunk of a man you're into, and you won't take a bite?"

"Rachel, please use that amazing brain inside your beautiful head. If you were him, would you give me a chance after I consistently treated you like crap for two years?"

"Oops, that's a conundrum."

"And that's on top of my less than stellar trajectory with men." She knows all about it. Dates I ditched because I'd rather be studying or working, and then them ghosting me in return. Or worse, in high school, where I couldn't even find someone to go to prom with me because the popular kids got everyone thinking that the janitor's daughter was gross.

"Forget the past." Rachel waves a hand. "What matters is that you pounce on Conor before someone else does."

"I'm sure he has his pick of women—he's like everyone's biggest crush at headquarters, you know that. Why would he choose the most prickly girl of the bunch?"

"Maybe because he kissed you like he was going to die if he didn't give it his all?"

I roll my eyes. "He's an athlete. I'm sure if it had been Kaylee instead, he'd have gone all out too."

"You don't mean that."

"I half do and half don't."

She snorts. "I don't see him looking at Kaylee the way he looks at you."

I can't help how I lean forward. "How's that?"

"Like there's literally no one else in the room and he doesn't give a shit if anyone catches him watching."

"Oh." My insides flutter and my heart's strumming a song I'm unfamiliar with. Something warm and sweet like a Christmas carol that is just for me. "Is… is that so?"

"Well, since I'm going to stop being your teammate soon, I have a confession to make." I brace myself in case she's going to say that she has a legit crush on Conor too, but instead what comes out of her mouth is, "The rest of us have a bet going over the two of you. Kaylee and I think you'll get together at some point, but the men think you'll never let that happen."

I hang my jaw.

"Of course, I'm not saying this because I'd take a two-hundred-dollar cut once Kaylee and I win, but just so you understand that you don't have to walk on pins and needles around the office if you decide to pursue something with him. Which you should, in my opinion." She caps this off with a big grin.

"Richard too?" I feel my face scrunch up in mortification.

"I'm afraid he and I were the originators of the bet."

I groan and throw an arm over my face like the picture of drama. "Kill me now."

"What I'm saying is, there are no obstacles in front of you other than yourself. Get your man, Sierra."