His Executive Sweetheart

Jillian said, “Speaking of speakers, how ’bout me? I am an author now, after all—more or less, anyway.”

Jane grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Maybe we could set something up for next month. You could talk about the column. Give a few helpful hints on wardrobe basics, tell them what items they just can’t be without this year.”

Jillian had her own business, Image by Jillian. She showed executives and minor celebrities how to spruce up their wardrobes; she gave makeovers and seminars on dressing Business Casual. She also wrote an advice column, “Ask Jillian,” for the Sacramento Press-Telegram.

Celia sipped her wine, growing dangerously mushy and sentimental as she listened to her two oldest and dearest friends talking shop. Really, she was glad she had come. It was just what she’d needed, to be sitting here by the fire at Jane’s, getting plotzed on Chianti.

And also, I need truth, she thought, with a sudden burst of semi-inebriated insight. Truth. Oh, yes. I need it. I do. I need to share the truth with someone—and who better than my two best friends in all the world?

So she said, “Well, the truth is, I’m in love with Aaron Bravo.”

Chapter Three

J illian, who’d been making a point about flirty reversible bias-cut skirts in light, floaty fabrics, shut her mouth right in the middle of a sentence. Jane turned to Celia and stared.

Celia took another large sip of wine.

“Get out,” said Jillian, after several seconds of stunned silence. A wild laugh escaped her, but she cut it off by clapping her hand over her mouth. Finally, she whispered, “You’re serious.”

“I am. I love him.” Celia looked into her glass again and wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I’ll become a drunk. Drown my sorrows…”

Jane reached out and snared the glass.

“Hey,” Celia protested, but without much heat.

Jane scooted over and set the glass on the coffee table, then scooted back to the nest of pillows she’d made for herself on the pretty lapis-blue hand-woven rug in front of the fire.

Jillian asked, “Does he know?”

Oh, no, Celia thought. Here come those pesky tears again….

Well, she wasn’t having any of them. She jumped to her feet and looked down at her friends. She swallowed. Twice. Finally, her throat loosened up enough that she could tell them, “He hasn’t got a clue.”

“Oh, honey,” cried Jillian. She reached up her arms. So did Jane.

With a tiny sob, Celia toppled toward her friends. They embraced. It felt really good, really comforting.

So much so that she didn’t end up bawling like a baby after all.

Once they’d shared a good, long hug, Jane gave Celia back her wineglass. “But don’t get too crazy with that.”

“I won’t. I promise. This is all I’ll have. I was only joking about becoming a drunk.”

“Good.” Jane folded her legs lotus-style and adjusted her long, soft skirt over them. “So. All right. Talk to us. Tell us everything.”

Celia explained about V-day.

“Wait a minute,” Jillian said. “So you’re saying, all this time you’ve been working for him and you were—what—fond of him and nothing more?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Fond? Is that the word that comes to mind when I think of Aaron Bravo?”

Jillian made a low, impatient sound. “What I’m getting at is, this is way too sudden, don’t you think? Out of nowhere, you’re in love with him? On Valentine’s Day?”

Celia nodded. “Yes.” Then she shook her head. “No.” And then she looked at the ceiling. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Well, that clarifies it for me.”

“Jilly, I can’t be sure if it started on Valentine’s Day. Maybe…I’ve loved him for months. Maybe years. But if I did, I didn’t know it until a week ago.”

Jillian started to say something. But Jane shot her a look. Jillian blew out a breath.

Jane said, “Go on.”

Celia poured out her woes. “He doesn’t notice me. Not as a whole person. And certainly not as a woman. I’m…a function to him. And it hurts. Bad. Which I know is totally unreasonable. My falling for him wasn’t in the job description. He hired a secretary/assistant. Not a girlfriend. He doesn’t need a girlfriend. He’s got his pick of those.”

Jane was nodding grimly. “Showgirls?”

“That’s right. Nice showgirls, too. I hate that. It makes it even worse, somehow. I can’t even despise the competition—not that there is any competition.”

“Does he seem—” Jillian sought the right words “—as if he could be interested, if you told him?”

Slowly, pressing her lips together and swallowing down more tears, Celia shook her head.

“You’re sure of that?”

Jane jumped in. “Oh, how can she know for sure? She’s not objective about this. Look at her. She’s gone around the bend over the guy.”

“That’s right,” Jillian said. “Of course, she can’t be objective.”

“I can be objective.” Celia protested. “I am objective. I’m sure he’s not interested in me as a woman.”

Jane scooted over and took her by the shoulders. “Look at me, Ceil.”

“Fine. Okay.” Celia met her friend’s eyes.

“Are you sure this is the real thing? Are you sure it’s really love? Are you sure it’s not—”

“Stop,” said Celia. “Yes. I’m sure. It’s all I’m sure of lately. This is love, I know it. I’ve known it since V-day. I can’t explain it. I can’t convince you if you won’t believe. But it is the truth. I’m in love with Aaron Bravo.”

Jane stared at her for a several long seconds more, her eyes narrowed, probing. Then she whispered, softly, “I see.” She let go of Celia’s shoulders and went back to her pillows.

Jillian grabbed the bottle and refilled her own glass. “I’m going to ask you again, because I don’t think you really gave this question a chance before. Could he be interested, if he only knew how you felt?”

“No.” Celia sank back against the wall again. “I don’t think so. I really don’t.”

“But you don’t know, not for certain. You’ll never know for certain, not if he never knows how you feel.”

“I’m certain enough.” Celia traced the rim of her glass with her index finger. “I just have to decide whether I can stand this anymore. Or whether I should just…spruce up my rеsumе and find another place to work.”