29 ⦿ in which i mess up

"You did what?" Brett screeches, her mouth hanging open in shock as I calmly sit down at my desk and meet her eyes.

"I kissed him," I tell her, simple and matter of fact.

Brett's cheeks redden and she yanks her choppy blond hair behind her head, using the trademark black elastic on her wrist to secure her messy ponytail.

"He's going to mess you up," she says, shaking her head. Then, "Again," she adds, for good measure.

"You didn't see him yesterday. Things were actually good between us."

"One good day versus the last five years of crap?" Brett holds her hands in front of her, palms up. Her left hand dips low and her right hand stays where it is, mimicking a scale. "Yeah, real even," she says, dropping her hands to her sides.

"I'm giving him a chance," I defend, scowling at her.

Brett shakes her head. "Have you even googled this guy? I have. He's dated actresses and models and socialites, Char. It's a never-ending parade of women. This guy wouldn't know a real relationship if it bit him in the ballsack." She gives me a pitying look. "Guys who hurt you once are going to do it again. That's why you break up with them before they get the chance."

That's been Brett's mantra ever since college, when she dated dickhead Warren, the senator's son, who told her that she wasn't the kind of girl he wanted to introduce to his parents. The succession of boys she dated after him was no less impressive: Xavier, the tortured artist who was too "artistic" to be monogamous; Dan, a day trader who had online girlfriends in almost every continent; Steve, the guy who recorded over her college graduation video with a football game; Mark, the theatre major who hooked up with a stagehand and the director after the opening night's performance of Othello - with Brett in the audience.

"Not all guys are like that." Changing the subject, I grumble, "Why do I have a bad feeling about Liza's visit?"

"Probably because that girl is a struggling two and she's trying to date a nine," Brett responds offhandedly.

I can't hold back my smile. "She's a what?"

"A two." Brett gives me a wicked grin, then hops up on the corner of my desk like a secretary from Mad Men, and crosses her legs. "You know, like on the hotness meter." She grabs a peppermint from the little bowl next to my computer keyboard.

"She's not that bad." I don't even know why I'm trying to defend this client who I thoroughly dislike, but part of me feels a little sorry for her. "I bet she could be a six if she really tried."

Brett's eyes light up. "I have an idea."

I glance at my watch. Ten more minutes before Liza's supposed to be here. "Shoot."

"So you know how I was googling Wolf?" She unwraps the striped candy noisily and pops it into her mouth.

Balking, I hold my hand up. "Nuh uh. Brett, I don't want to hear anymore about his 'parade of women', thank you very much. I figured he had a past, but as long as it's not part of my present, it's not my business."

"It's not about Wolf!" Brett exclaims, slipping off my desk to sit opposite me in the chair. She leans forward, puts her elbows on the table, and whispers, "It's about Diana."

"Diana?" Now there's a name that I haven't had a reason to think about for years. A vision of a blond goddess swims before my eyes and I expel a breath in resignation. "Don't tell me, she's still part of his life?"

My stomach clenches. It's hard to erase years of history. And Diana is gorgeous, even if she didn't strike me as Wolf's type. I can readily believe that the two of them dated again sometime in the past five years.

Brett's forehead creases. "Not that I'm aware of." She crinkles up her wrapper noisily and lobs it at me.

Catching it, I don't hesitate before tossing it in the trash, rolling my eyes as Brett crows, "She shoots, she scores!"

"Well," says Brett, giving a quick glance to the open doorway to make sure Liza hasn't crept up on us. "I was thinking, what if we hired Diana to help us out with Liza? And not just Liza, but any of our other clients."

"Context, B." I raise an eyebrow at her. "What does she even do for a living?"

"She's an image consultant." Brett leans back in her seat, grinning madly at me. "She'd be perfect for us."

She'd be perfect for any man or woman with a pulse, but that's besides the point. I still have no idea what an image consultant is, but whatever it is, I don't want her working with us. With finality, I say, "No."

Her face falls. "You didn't even hear me out."

"It sounds like a bad idea. You don't even know this woman. I do." Using my fingers to tick off all the reasons I don't want Diana involved, I start off, "One, she's catty and mean. Two, she's not a team player. Three, she'd only use this as an excuse to get back in Wolf's life, if she isn't already."

Brett breathes deeply; I watch as her shoulders square and her chin juts out in a familiar, stubborn way. "Charlotte, you knew who she was five years ago. You're not the same, apparently you think Wolf's changed too. Isn't it entirely likely that Diana outgrew her Diana-ness?"

I get the feeling that her sudden burst of inspiration isn't as impulsive as I thought. "You had this idea last night, didn't you?"

Brett flushes, having the decency to look at least a little bit chagrined. "I did," she admits, biting her lower lip. "But it's a good one, Char." Then, her gaze turns calculating. "I thought you said we were partners."

"We are," I say, defensive. "Of course we are." I'm a little peeved she's implying otherwise.

"Then why won't you listen to me when I tell you I have an idea?"

Okay, fair point. "It's not that simple, Brett." My eyebrows draw together in remembered memory. "I don't like this woman. I don't trust this woman. And she sure as hell doesn't like me."

"I think you're being unreasonable."

"Just drop it! I said no!" I don't realize how harsh my voice is until I see the look of shock skitter across Brett's face.

"Wow." She stands up and gives me a disappointed look. "Now I know what you really think. I'm just good enough to play receptionist and schedule appointments." Her voice grows tremulous and I can see that her eyes are wet. "You're the idea person. Not me."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," I start to say, desperate. I stand up, but she's already moving to the door. "Brett, please, I didn't—"

"Yeah." Brett's face is sad. "You did."

Maybe if I'm being honest with myself, part of me did mean it like that. We are partners and I'd never consider doing anything she wasn't on board with, but likewise, I had this expectation that if I was against something, Brett wouldn't try to badger me into it.

"Brett"—I feel tears spring to my eyes—"Wait."

"Nah, I've gotta go sit at my desk and answer your phone calls." Merciless, she presses on. "Can I get you some coffee, ma'am? I know you asked me this morning but I'm so dim that I forgot to do it."

"Shut up," I say with savagery, rounding my desk to stand in front of her. "You do as much as me. It's your couple-matching algorithm. Your website."

"Your private office. Your big desk," she counters, unforgiving.

Maybe I don't deserve to be forgiven. Brett's always done the behind-the-scenes stuff, the kind of stuff that wouldn't require her to interact much with our clients other than casual hello's and how are you's. I've gotten a little used to making unilateral decisions when it comes to the clients themselves.

The elevator dings. Startled, we both flinch at the noise, then stare at each other. Our argument is effectively put on hold as Liza emerges from the elevator. Dressed in loose-fitting tan slacks and a white Ralph Lauren shirt, she looks like the epitome of the two Brett accused her of being. A beaded handbag swings from the crook of her elbow and her heels clack against the tile floor as she approaches us.

"Hello," she coos, beaming beatifically.

"Hi." Brett's voice is low, sullen. I only pray Liza doesn't hear the tone.

"Hello, Liza." I offer her my hand, tilting it so she sees the wedding band glinting on my ring finger. A little obvious, but it does the trick.

Her face lights up. "Charlotte!" Her grin is blinding, probably the result of a recent teeth whitening.

I give her an awkward half-smile. "So what can we do for you?" I stress the we to include Brett, but she's already edging back to her desk outside my office door.

"Well, I just wanted to say that I had a lovely time with that young man—what was his name?—oh yes, Dash, but you see, I was hoping for someone a little bit more my speed?"

I see Brett roll her eyes behind Liza's head. My irritation mounts. "What was wrong this time?" I ask between gritted teeth, smile still in place.

Liza waves her hand airily. "Oh, I don't know, he was just a bit young for me."

"You said you liked that about him," Brett comments from her desk. Her face looks piqued as well, although how much that has to do with Liza and how much it has to do with me, I can't be sure.

"Who doesn't want to date a twenty-two year?" Liza responds with serenity, as though the topic is deeply philosophical. "But I'm twenty-seven. I can't see a real future with him."

"So," I say, trying to puzzle out why she's here, "you're here to...?" I trail off at the end, hoping she'll fill in the blank and put me out of my misery.

"Well, I was hoping for someone else." Liza shifts her weight from foot to foot. "I don't want to date an out of work actor, Charlotte. He was nice, but for what I'm paying you, I hoped that you would match me up with someone more financially and socially my speed."

There's only one way I can make this up to Brett. I take a deep breath and plunge ahead before my head can catch up to my heart. "Liza, my partner, Brett, had some ideas about how we can proceed."

Brett's eyes flare in surprise, but I shoot her an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up when I turn my back on Liza. "Why don't you two go sit in my office and start discussing?" I continue, oblivious to Brett's panicked expression. "I'm just gonna grab a chair from the waiting room for myself."

Liza's eyes flick to Brett, unsure. "Um, okay, I guess." She vanishes inside my office.

Brett almost races to me, her eyes narrowed. "What are you playing at?" she asks in a loud hiss. "I don't talk to the clients."

From her accusing tone, it's obvious she thinks I only did it to make her uncomfortable. With a reassuring smile, I say, "It's your idea. You should be the one to tell it to her."

Brett's eyes fill with tears again. "Char," she begins to say, then stops, looking like the words have gotten choked in her throat.

"You can do this, B."

"I was just asking you to hear me out," she says miserably. "I didn't want you to throw me into the deep end."

"Baby steps, B," I reply, grabbing one of the unwieldy cushioned chairs from the waiting room. "Get in there."

Still looking unsure of herself, she slinks into the room. I follow behind, still clutching onto the back of the chair. After an awkward moment where Brett refuses to sit behind my desk until I widen my eyes and glare at her, mouthing sit, we get rolling.

"So, uh"—Brett falters, giving me a pleading look which I pointedly ignore—"I hear what you're saying Liza, and there's just one problem with what you're looking for."

I scrape my chair along the carpet to sit at an angle between Liza and Brett, evenly distanced between the two.

"What is it?" asks Liza.

Brett takes a deep breath, and suddenly I have a horrible vision about what she's going to say.

A second later, I'm proven correct.

"You, Liza"—Brett laces her fingers together and rests them on top of my desk—"are a two."

My heart begins to thump. Oh my god.

"Excuse me?" Liza's mouth drops open.

"What she means to say is—" I start to say, hoping I can salvage the situation, but Brett cuts me off with a menacing frown.

"No, I do mean it." She gives Liza a comforting look. "You're a two."

"What is the meaning of this?" Liza twists in her seat to look at me.

"And there's nothing wrong with being a two," Brett continues over Liza's squawking gasps, "except that you expect to get a man who's a nine, and well, that's just not going to happen."

My chest hurts. It's actually spasming. Shouldn't my life be flashing before my eyes? Shouldn't I have shooting pain in my arm? Which arm is it, anyway?

"We're in the middle of bringing another member to the team," Brett says. "An image consultant. She'll work with you on evolving your style. Wardrobe, conversation, first impressions, all that good stuff."

Liza looks shell-shocked. I can't say I blame her. My own heart is hammering out of control and I still feel a sentence away from a heart attack. Weakly, I say, "Liza?"

Liza swallows. "Wow."

I'm about to apologize for Brett's severe lack of tact when Liza's face cracks into a hesitant smile.

"No one's ever been that blunt with me before," says Liza. She still looks dazed, but not totally pissed, for which I'm thankful.

"If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got," Brett says diplomatically.

I frown; she read that quote from the Henry Ford poster on my wall.

Brett looks pleased with herself. "We value your satisfaction." She grins. "And we want to do whatever we can to help you find your other half."

"I appreciate that," says Liza. "My mother keeps hounding me to get a makeover, anyway. This will get her off my back." She gives us both a twinkling smile. "I'm actually...kind of excited?"

"Great!" Brett enthuses, a sentiment which I echo with a hollow "Fabulous".

"We'll get things in motion, then." Brett slaps the flat of her hand down on the desk.

"Oh, who's the consultant?" asks Liza.

I know what Brett will say before she opens her mouth. I beat her to it, giving Liza a wooden smile. "Diana Carnegie."

Author's Note: WHAM BAM. A bit of drama in this chap - what do you guys think of Brett? Do you think she was right in what she said to Charlotte? And do you guys think Diana has changed since we last saw her?

Leave me your thoughts! I'd love to see some comments and votes from you guys (: Much love to all my readers, I appreciate your support so much!