though.”
Adrian shook his head. Laughter creaked through his lips. “You sound sincerely afraid of me.”
I didn’t crack a smile. “I am.”
“I’ll take two vanilla lotions, a shower tower of soap…lavender, a fruit cocktail mask and—”
I stared up at Renee, my assistant and default member of the Sassy Sistahood. Times like this I regretted indulging her request to join the loop. Too much information for coworkers. Well, then there was Tracey, who I’d worked with and lived with, but that didn’t count.
It was too Monday for this, especially after the weekend I’d had. Sure I was flattered that Renee wanted to order everything on my little product menu, but how many times had I told her to keep that stuff out of the office?
My desktop rebooted. “Renee, you’ll have to e-mail your order to me or leave it on my answering machine at home.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I’m on company time now.”
Raking a long purple nail across her chin, Renee nodded. “Naomi is gone. I made sure of that before I came over. Don’t worry. I got your back.”
Had my back? This wasn’t sixth grade. I turned back to my computer. “I appreciate that, Renee, but it’s not just about Naomi. It’s me, too. I don’t want any confusion. While I’m here, my mind is on S&S products, not mine.”
In theory, anyway. I could harness my transactions, but truth be told, my mind did wander back to my dining room and all my new supplies every half hour or so. At least.
Renee pursed her blue-black lips and ran a hand through her brunette hair, laced with skunk stripes of blond. “Oh. Trying to be Miss Clean, are we? Well, I won’t bother to close all those files you leave open every night with all your notes and recipes then.”
I opened my mouth to say something and shut it again.
“Gotcha,” she said, extending her index finger.
What could I do but smile? I didn’t mean to do that, scribble in those digital notepads, but when an idea came to me, I needed to write it down…didn’t I?
Do not work unto man, but as unto the Lord.
My chest tightened. Wasn’t it enough that I’d stopped taking home all the pens and folders? This Christian thing. There was always something else to work on. So far, I’d only mastered pants up, man out and a few other basics.
“You’re right, Renee. I’ll have to try and hold those thoughts until my break or—” As I pulled up my e-mail and scanned the first one, my breath slipped away.
From: SassySistah3
To: thesassysistahood
Subject: Whose turn is it?/Devotional
I know you guys said I could skip because of the honeymoon, but I needed to do it. Here goes. This should tell you where my head is. I’ve been a wreck since we got here. He’s been on the phone or on the computer since the first night. I walked the beach today with a bunch of strangers. Did I marry the wrong guy? (Dana, don’t answer that.) Please pray for me.
Tracey,
The Loveless Laptopper
“And a voice came out of the heavens: “Thou art my beloved Son, in Thee I am well-pleased.” And immediately the Spirit impelled Him to go out into the wilderness.” (Mark 1:11, 12, NASB)
God confirmed Jesus’ identity as the Son of God. What has God promised you? What are you waiting for Him to shout to the world on your behalf? Who does God say you are? Think over these questions and post to the list. And if you’re really struggling, you know what to do, pick up the phone and call one of your sistahs!
(Rochelle and Dana, be ready for a call from me. Things are NOT going well.)
PS. Hi Renee. Thanks for coming to the wedding.
Renee popped a bubble. “Ooh, yeah. I read that one. Real messed up, huh? She should cut him some slack, though. Everybody’s got to work. It paid for that fancy wedding, didn’t it?”
“I suppose it did.” But was it worth it? Could a price tag be put on love, or as Tad put it, “spiritual intimacy?” I sighed, wishing my bad feelings about Ryan hadn’t proved true, at least not this soon. I stared at the clock, figuring the time until I’d be able to call Rochelle.
Renee fluffed her hair with her fingertips. “You could learn something from that Tracey and her husband. Start your own business. For real, like in the mall or somethin’. Your stuff smells way better than the sorry mess we sell here. Why do you think Naomi stays on you so tough?” She smoothed her hairspray-soaked fingertips down her sweater.
Yuck.
“Shoot girl, your stuff is better than Fingerhut. And Lord knows I loves me some Fingerhut—”
The phone rang and I smiled, praying it was for me. Renee was my girl and all, but I just wasn’t up for a two-hour discourse on the merits of Fingerhut. Contrary to popular opinion, being compared to the illustrious catalog company wasn’t my idea of a compliment.
I held my breath, hoping I’d say the right words to Tracey. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Wrong friend. Rochelle sounded tired, like her after-hours self. “Did you get that e-mail?”
“Just got it.” Tracey’s e-mail made me sad, too, but nothing usually taxed Rochelle’s pep during working hours. She was on until the door swung shut at six. Right now she sounded like roadkill. “Ryan will have a lot of making up to do, but I’m sure they can work it out.”
That or I’d be flying to Hawaii to get her somehow. Was cocoa butter returnable? Why didn’t these things ever happen on a weekend?
I turned to Renee. “I’m going to take this in the break room, okay? Mark me for thirty minutes. If anybody needs me, I’ll be in there.” The “break room” was actually just Tracey’s empty cubicle, but it sounded good.
Filing at her nails as if trying to free herself from a glittery purple prison, Renee nodded.
A few steps and a punch of buttons brought me back to Rochelle. “Hang that up for me, please?”
“Done,” she shouted over the partition, reminding of just how little privacy I had. I’d have to concentrate on being quiet, or not saying anything incriminating. My assistant played dumb, but she was far from it. She had the sense to turn down my job and forgo the pleasure of working closely with my boss, not to mention the ingenuity to hang around until now she knew so much about me I could never get rid of her. She probably had one ear glued to the other side of this partition. This time, I didn’t care.
I clutched the phone to my ear. “So what’s going on with you? You sound as bad as Tracey.” Worse.
“Jordan’s back.”
My head shook in disbelief. This shot the Tracey thing right out of the water. Off the planet, even. Jordan. Back. We’d prayed for it, but what would we do now? Jordan was a lot easier to pray for than deal with. “Since
