Chapter 12

TWELVE

ELLA

Ella had to hand it to Sophie—when she said clean slate, she really meant clean slate. Whatever Ella said to Sophie when they first met remained buried, and gratitude flooded through her that Sophie had let it go. Post-seizure, during the post-ictal phase, Ella always sludged through brain fog, extreme fatigue, and severe irritability. Everything pissed her off, and she had little control over her emotions. Like a black-hazed nightmare, she rarely remembered what she had said. A few years back, she’d viewed some security footage from their house for an unrelated reason, and cried when she heard the way she’d spoken to Thomas. Her stomach sickened with the thought that she might have treated Sophie in the same manner.

The rest of the week morphed into a solid working relationship. Ella stood hip to hip with Sophie reviewing creative, nibbled on granola in the cafeteria, discussed project tiers, and grabbed a quiet room to pore over dozens of pages of notes.

Earlier in the week, Sophie ordered Pad Kee Mao takeout from hands down, the best place in the International District. She had handed over a set of chopsticks, and explained why you couldn’t have the same social media message on all platforms. The TikTok crowd differed from Facebook, which differed from Instagram, she explained. The following day, needing air after four hours of back-to-back meetings, they walked over to Red Lava for coffee (Sophie) and crepes (Ella). While sitting near the corner window, Sophie let Ella in on why the SEO team was notoriously hard to pin down, that the creative director’s tell when she didn’t like something was to tug on her earlobe, and how last year the stuffy-ass VP got drunk at the Christmas party and did the actual Hammer dance. Surprisingly well , Sophie had added.

Last night, Ella stayed late with Sophie. Over a few slices of pizza, an unfortunate episode of ultra-bubbly cream soda spilling on Ella’s chest, and an explosion of tired giggles, Sophie showed her how to build a project template based on day duration instead of dates. When Ella clicked a button and cascaded information to the team, she felt like a total badass.

A hefty bump in the road jarred her from her thoughts as Thomas navigated through the Friday morning rush-hour traffic. He peeked at Ella in the rearview mirror. “Work or coffee shop?”

“Coffee, please.”

The SUV eased over and Thomas jumped out to open her door. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop and snugged her laptop case higher. “Want me to grab you something?”

“Not today. One more cookie and my pants won’t fit. The wifey is going to trade me in for a younger model.”

Ella rolled her eyes. Thomas was the fittest older man she’d ever seen. Sure, he was a driver for her family. But deep down, she had a sneaking suspicion he was some sort of government operative with John Wick-style fighting skills. “I’m going to walk to the office from here.”

“You sure? Fourth day in a row. I’m thinking I’m an embarrassment for you.”

His voice carried a smile, but she didn’t want to tell him that he was right. “Never.” She waved goodbye, knowing damn well he’d wait until she made the trek into the office building before he took off.

Thomas’s presence was embarrassing, but that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want him to drop her off. The quick jaunt to the café, waiting solo in line for coffee, and the walk to work was fuel for her dream of a new life. All week, she’d marched the sidewalk like other workers, juggling a mug, pastry, and cell phone, and felt connected to people in a way that had been missing for so long. She was part of an invisible commuter community, a fellow worker amid the daily grind. She tipped her chin at people she passed, or partook in the standard Seattle greeting—a flicker of eye contact to make sure she didn’t run into them and then completely ignoring the passerby. Finally, slowly, she felt like she belonged.

Ella stuffed a stopper into the hot drink, bit into a chunk of chocolate hazelnut croissant, and made her way to the office. As she passed, she grinned at a double-parked Thomas, stepped into the building, and rode the elevator to her floor.

After firing up her laptop and starting on emails, the door opened. Sophie . Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. How did one always look so effortlessly cool? Ripped black skinny jeans, Doc Martens, a T-shirt with a cat shooting a rainbow laser beam from its eyes, and a cardigan. No one else could rock a mismatched outfit like her.

“You’re seriously going to turn me into Pavlov’s dog if you keep doing this.” Sophie accepted the coffee cup and sipped. She flicked at the foam remnant on her lip and Ella pretended the motion didn’t have quite the effect on her that it did. “Yum. Freaking delicious. What is this? I think I taste cardamom, but it’s not chai.”

Ella couldn’t help but grin. She’d been bringing Sophie some type of flavored coffee all week. And she’d continue doing so for the rush she got seeing Sophie’s face light up. “Edible rose. Cool, huh?”

“Very cool.” She took another sip. “Seriously yummy. Thanks, Ella.”

She said my name . Ella had heard her name from Sophie’s mouth before, but not like this. Not layered with ginger and honey and sounding all dreamy. Snap out of it . After getting along for a week, Ella slowly realized the last several days that she’d developed a bit of a crush. She knew it was ridiculous. So much so that she was going to add this to her manifesto for why parents needed to stop controlling their adult kids—because the first hot queer woman who was nice to them, they’d go gaga after.

“Ella, Sophie!” Malcolm’s voice filled the room as he strolled through the office doors. “My favorite PMs assigned to the Devil’s ad.”

Ella glanced at Sophie. “Does he mean?—”

“Yep. Exactly as he said. He’d never play real favorites.”

Malcolm plucked out his AirPods and snapped them in the case. “Gather around, friends. New Gracie photo.” He dangled the phone in front of Ella and Sophie. “I think she’s trying to read in this one.” He pinched the screen to scroll tighter to the baby’s face. “If you look close, she looks like she’s concentrating, right? And right behind her, we have a framed phrase from Alice Walker, so…”

“Do you think maybe…” Sophie stared at the photo of the drooling baby.

Malcolm shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe she just had to poop?”

He overexaggerated a glare at Sophie and turned to Ella. “Hi, Ella, my favorite PM on the DD ad.”

Ella grinned. She really liked Malcolm as a manager. She’d never had one before, and wasn’t sure what to expect. But she’d pictured some stuffy guy in an obnoxious checkered tie, barking orders from a desk like her dad probably used to do. Even though Sophie was the one training her, Malcolm was their leader, and he perfectly executed a hands-off/hands-on approach. A few times a day he’d swing by her desk, ask her and Sophie if they needed anything, then leave, trusting them to do their job. “Don’t need me getting in the way, messing anything up, but I’m here if needed,” he’d said her first week.

He snaked a leg around a rolling office chair and pushed it near the women. He plonked down, crossed his legs, and tapped the corner of his crisp white Jordans. “Give me a five-minute status update.”

Ella remained quiet until Sophie gave her a gentle nod. “Go ahead.” Her voice was encouraging and warm—exactly what Ella needed.

No matter how informal Ella’s mind knew this meeting was, her insides didn’t agree. Her tongue turned heavy, and she exhaled a low, very unsteady breath. “The leadership team signed off on the strategy. The core target is eighteen to thirty-five, of course, and the sub-targets within that are millennials and Gen Z. The creative lead approved the first-round messaging but hasn’t presented it to the director. First-round web landing and banners are developed, and the social cadence accepted.”

Ella cleared her throat and glanced at Sophie. Her eyes had softened and her lips were curved up. She looked… proud. The feeling of validation settled somewhere deep, somewhere untouched in so long, and Ella committed that look to memory. “The last we heard, though, the copy team were struggling to come up with consolidated messaging,” she continued. “We’re hoping to complete that by tomorrow, or Monday at the latest, for preliminary approval.”

Malcolm lifted his brow, glanced hard at Ella, then Sophie, and back to Ella. “Well, my job is done here.” He chuckled and pushed himself back from the desk. “Great job, you two. Really. Keep at it, and Sophie will get on that cruise ship knitting circle after all.”

“Rude.” Sophie grinned through the word and watched as Malcolm rounded the corner. When he did, she rested a hand on Ella’s arm. Ella froze, the touch making her belly jump. “Malcolm’s the best manager in the world. But trust me when I say he doesn’t hand out compliments very often. When you get them, hold them close.”

I’m straight-up beaming. Out through her chest, up her neck, and square on her cheeks. Ella tried and failed to pull in her smile.

Later that afternoon, Ella stretched and rolled her neck after a two-hour-long project-timeline working session with Sophie. The doors to the east burst open and nearly slammed against the wall. George stomped in with two employees clipping at his heels, carrying an armful of red-and-black pastry boxes.

“Christ. He’s the least subtle human in the world,” Ella said to Sophie, who didn’t really respond but drew her lips into her mouth like she was suppressing a smile. The agency was his place, after all—one would think he’d treat the infrastructure gentler.

“Devil’s Doughnuts crew meet in conference room A-14.” He cupped his hands to amplify, which was not needed as his baritone voice already shook walls. “Time to double-click into this campaign.”

Sophie grinned at the remark, scribbled a quick note on a Post-it, and shoved it in her desk drawer.

“Does this happen a lot?” Ella asked as she snapped shut her laptop.

Sophie unplugged the docking station cord and stood. “What? Free doughnuts?”

“No. My dad being so extra.”

Sophie snickered. “Um…”

Ella followed the sweet smell of fried dough down the hall and into the conference room, which was already buzzing with excitement. Red-and-black boxes sprawled over the bare U-shaped table, and the executive assistants hurried stacking paper plates and napkins.

Several staff members gazed at the selections, then puppy-dog-eyed her dad, no doubt waiting for an invitation to eat.

“All right, everyone,” her dad bellowed with a clap.

If he were a kindergarten teacher wrangling kids, clapping would be acceptable. Great, even. But being CEO, the loud snap was jarring.

“During yesterday’s leadership briefing meeting, it came to my attention that the creative team is stuck on messaging.” He crossed his arms across his hefty chest and pointedly glanced at each member, who glanced away. The tone wasn’t completely scolding, but even Ella shrunk against the sound.

“Sophie,” he barked.

She straightened her spine. “Yes?”

“How many weeks until launch?”

“Five.”

His head snapped to Ella. Oh God, don’t call on me. Please don’t do it .

“Ella.”

He did it .

“How many weeks until creative presents to leadership?”

Ella swallowed. “Four.” Saying it out loud drove home the message. The team had absolutely no time to waste, considering the magnitude of ads on multiple platforms. All the bickering and power matches occurring needed to end, and everyone had to focus.

Co-workers shifted in their seats as the time constraint settled across the room. The air turned heavy before George smiled. “All right. Time to light a spark. Everyone, dig in.” He waved Vanna White-style to the pastries. “Sample, share. Get high on sugar. I don’t care if you’re the creative partner, project manager, web producer, or designer. Cancel the next two hours, brainstorm, and come up with some decent shit so we can hit this deadline. Capisce?”

Ella cringed. She’d told him before that he sounded like a dick using the word, but he couldn’t understand why. George rubbed his palms, then hovered his meaty finger over the boxes. Finally, he plucked one from the center and took a hefty bite. “Good. Creamy. ”

Sophie’s face held the same expression as Ella’s: Ewww . Ella leaned into Sophie’s ear. “Thank God he’s not part of the creative team.”

A giggle squeaked out from Sophie’s lips before she put her hand to her mouth and expelled a horribly fake cough.

“You can use that line.” He chuckled from deep in his belly.

The team stared in response. Ella glanced at everyone, inspecting if they were passing along whatever judgement they may have for her dad on to her. But most eyes focused on her dad or the doughnuts. Another excruciating minute passed of George droning on about the need to “roll up sleeves” and “pass the baton when needed” and “take care of the low-hanging fruit” (whatever the hell that meant). Finally, he grabbed a second doughnut and waved everyone to the table. Soon, chatter filled the room.

Sophie tugged at Ella’s sleeve and stood. “Come on, let’s grab one before all the good ones are taken.”

Facing Ella was a spread of the most spectacular doughnuts she’d ever seen. And the variety… Who developed this and were they some sort of gluten genius? Chunks of brownies on top, a full candy bar sticking upright with an edible golden spring, fruity colored cereal, bacon and maple glaze…

Ella reached for a red velvet one with black icing and shaved chocolate. She sunk her teeth into it, the sugar practically making her teeth sweat. The shaved chocolate hit Ella’s taste buds, sending a sweet spike through her veins. It had been forever since she had a proper doughnut like this, made with craft and precision. Probably not since she was a teenager and she and her dad took an impromptu day trip to the Edmonds Farmers Market and hopped on the Kingston ferry for specialty doughnuts on the pier.

Sophie bit into a chocolate one with whipped berry filling. “Oh God. Delicious.” She gestured to the chairs in the corner. “Let’s take notes if the team says anything interesting.”

“Think the team will come up with some good stuff?” Ella asked as she scooted up to the table.

“Puff the magic powdered doughnut?” a voice called from behind.

Sophie pulled up a chair next to Ella, licked the powder from the corner of her thumb, and hovered a pen over a notebook. “Um, let’s hope they have some better than that.”

Ella wiped her hand on a napkin and began capturing the conversation like a court reporter. The room soon erupted in a collage of animated conversation and elevated voices.

“A spindle of doughnut holes? A hole in one?”

“Aye, matey, grab yourself a fried golden nugget and…”

“Aye, matey?” Someone in the room laughed. “We’re not building a pirate ship.”

“Safe space, safe space! Rule number one. Don’t be an asshat and no knocking ideas.”

“Stick a pitchfork in me, I’m done. Delicious and moist.”

“Nope. We can never use ‘moist’ with an ad.”

“What is it with that word?” a guy in the back called out. “Spongy?”

Sophie pulled her shirt over her mouth and giggled. “Just when you think it can’t get any worse.” She bunched up a napkin and stood. “I need coffee. Be right back.”

A full doughnut down and Ella grabbed number two. God, it was so good . Devilishly good, which was too cheesy of a line, otherwise she would’ve offered it. A designer put on music and the space shifted into a happy hour-like atmosphere. A few team members sketched on the whiteboard, two guys bunched up napkins and tossed them into a wastebasket like basketballs, another group threw their feet up on the chairs and stretched.

Maybe, just maybe, her dad knew what he was doing. He had left without announcement, leaving the group alone with the food, and without the pressure of the CEO watching their progress. It was possible this wasn’t only about getting the team together to brainstorm. Everyone was stressed, overworked, and snapping at each other like bickering siblings. Right now was the first time in two weeks where people laughed.

Sophie returned, a sparkling water tucked under her arm, and juggling two coffee cups. “Here.” She handed Ella the water. “Stay hydrated. The last thing we need is for either of us to slip into a sugar coma.”

Ella downed the water, then re-poised her fingers to transcribe.

“We bake it, and you will come,” a web producer called out. When the room turned silent and stared at her, a solid three seconds passed before her face screamed red and she slapped her hand across her mouth. “You all are seriously perverted. Damn sickos.” She laughed and fanned her face. “I was talking like the Field of Dreams, jerks.”

Ella laughed along with the woman, deep in her belly, and her body shook. The sugar was probably soaking in, and her stomach gurgled with dough. The afternoon fuchsia sun lowered a smidge and danced across Sophie, who was laughing, too. That full, devastating smile had been buried under pursed lips and worry lines. But now, the dimples were on display, the lip ring shone under the light, and… oh boy . She was really, really cute.

“What do you think, Ella?” a designer called as he cut a lemon-crusted doughnut in half.

She flushed with heat. “Oh no… I’m not a creative. I strictly work on project plans.”

He whooshed her words away with a wave of the hand. “Forget that. Come on, first thoughts that pop into your mind.”

First thoughts, first thoughts . She took another bite. The chocolate was smooth, pillowy even, and she swore she saw stars. Heavenly . “Heaven in my mouth.”

Sophie’s eyes lifted. “Whoa. Where did this tigress come from?” She laughed. “Sorry, sorry. Too easy.”

Ella lightly smacked her on the arm. “So unfair. Fine, you try.”

“EEK. I don’t know.” Sophie licked the top of the frosting. “Juicy devil land? Strawberry heaven? One-way ticket to sugared hell? Sugar hole? Oh! A glazed hole in one, no, someone already said that.”

“Oh my God, make it stop,” someone called from the corner, then ducked from a torpedo-launched napkin aimed at their head.

“I want to lick my glazed fingers,” Ella called out, layering with the others the not-so-subtle sexual innuendos.

“Ella wants to lick glazed things. Sophie wants a sugar hole.” One of the creatives slumped in the chair with a grin. “I don’t know… this conversation has gone to hell in the best possible way.”

“Devil’s Doughnuts: A one-way ticket to the best possible hell,” someone in the back yelled.

A blush swept Sophie’s cheeks as she laughed. Maybe it was from the room heating up, or the coffee, but her giggle was high-pitched, and squeaky, and completely adorable. But then she snorted, and Ella lost it, her belly jiggling from hearty laughter.

This was fun. Fun. Ella could not remember the last time she had actual fun. Hour one melted into hour two, and the sun bored through the window as it lowered. Rustling papers, and a smattering of really terrible drawings and phrases, filled the whiteboard. Some shifted in their seats while a few hopped on the counter, dangling their feet. Others had their heads on the table, fighting off sugar-induced naps.

Sophie pulled a leg up on the chair and rested her chin against her knee. Her laughter slowed to a soft grin, and her eyes turned glossy. She stared out the window, like in a trance, and her tongue swept her lip. The way the flecks of hazel in Sophie’s green eyes sparkled, and the tiniest uptick of her lip, made Ella want to know her thoughts.

A few people left the room, suppressing yawns as they lagged to their last meeting of the day. The conversation winded down, and soon only Sophie and Ella remained. Ella looked across the space, with napkins, crumbs, and plates scattering the conference area. “I’m going to throw up.” She held her belly, the sugar gurgling her insides. “I ate so much.”

“Ugh, me too.” Sophie groaned and rested her forehead on the table. “I need milk to neutralize the monstrosity, but I can’t even think of adding any more to my stomach.”

A yawn tore through Ella. She stood and tossed plates and napkins into the garbage. “All this sugar has knocked me out. I’m soooo tired.”

“Same.” Sophie joined her in cleaning and combined the doughnuts into one box. “I know you don’t drink coffee, but want to grab a Coke or something?”

Ella grabbed a sanitizer spray from the corner and wiped the counter. “No, I can’t have caffeine. It’s a seizure trigger, so I try to avoid it.” Definitely too much sugar. She wouldn’t normally have divulged that so casually.

A little nod, a quirk of a smile, and no follow-up questions was Sophie’s reaction and Ella appreciated it. Sophie probably didn’t care. Not that she actually didn’t care… but she was probably disinterested in what it was like to have epilepsy. Which was good. So far, Sophie hadn’t treated her any different, except maybe being a little nicer, which Ella contributed to their truce.

Sophie stretched on her toes, her arms reaching for the ceiling. Her shirt lifted, and the smooth white lower belly at the corner of her hip stuck out. Ella bit the urge to bury her fingers into the dip in her hip, just to see if it was as soft as it appeared.

Oof. Too much sugar, too little sex, and a lifetime of repression. That was what this was… this burning want to have Sophie lift her arms just a tiny bit higher, just a little longer. She wiped the counter down one last time, forcing herself to focus. She was here for one reason only: finish this job so she could move on.