Boss Meets Her Match

Logan looked back to where Clarissa was rummaging through the supply cabinet. Her eyes filled with sadness. “I just want her to have a date of her own someday.”

“She will. She’s a fighter. Like her favorite aunt.”

Logan laughed. “I’m her only aunt. Give me your number and we’ll arrange a time for this date.”

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_45da31cf-2fbb-54c0-996e-0b43292e20da)

“A LITTLE FARTHER off our beaten path,” Lena said as she slid into the booth at The Glass Onion. She and Sadie usually met in the Avondale area for their weekly Wednesday-night dinners.

“I was craving shrimp and grits.”

“They serve wine here?”

“Yes. So, you seem to be in a better mood than last week. Did your family let you off the hook after the what-was-his-name fiasco?”

“No. I have another date on Saturday. This time with a doctor that my aunt Paula set me up with.” She smiled. A pretty, vacuous smile. “I’m just going to spend the entire night making this face.”

They gave the waitress their order. Two shrimp and grits and a bottle of chardonnay. Sadie leaned back in the booth and looked at her.

“What?”

“I just feel like this is my fault.”

Lena shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”

“But it is, Lena.” Sadie leaned forward, her arms crossed on the table. “Do I need to get some shots and make you sister swear?”

Lena looked down at the table and spun her napkin wrapped silverware in a circle. Thing was, Sadie was right. But she wasn’t going to be the one to rain on her wedding. Sadie’s hand covered hers.

“Lena.”

“Okay. Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Sadie laughed, drawing the eyes of a couple of men sitting nearby. “I’d expect no less from you than complicated. Look. I’ve got some conflicted feelings about this too. You were always the one who wanted to find the guy and get married. Have kids and all that junk. Not me.”

“Yet, here you are, deliriously happy. Wedding planning. Instant family.”

“Yes. And I feel guilty about it sometimes.”

Lena frowned and leaned forward to take both Sadie’s hands in hers. “Look at me, Sades.” When Sadie’s dark blue eyes met hers, she squeezed her hands. “Don’t do that. Never. I am beyond happy for you. You are more than my best friend. You’re my sister.”

A weak smile trembled on Sadie’s lips. “But still. I just fell into this and now your family is driving you crazy.”

“And that’s my problem. Not yours. Your problem is that my mother is trying to hijack your wedding plans.”

Sadie sat back with a groan. “That’s the truth. Have you seen her Pinterest board? It’s like Catholic tradition met upscale elegance and had a country-kitsch baby. It’s a horror show.”

“Can you imagine how she’s going to be if I get married?”

“When you get married. Tell me about this date.”

Their wine arrived and Lena poured a healthy glassful. “I don’t know. He’s a doctor. Cuban by the accent, I think. Sort of cute. Seemed embarrassed that Paula ambushed us both.”

“Are you going to be nice? Not rip his throat out in the first five minutes like you did with poor what’s-his-name?”

Taking a long sip of wine, Lena arched an eyebrow. “Maybe,” she said.

But Sadie didn’t laugh. A small frown crossed her features. “Come on. Sister, truth—you can be very intimidating. And sometimes you use it like a weapon. Especially with men.”

“Men piss me off more than anyone else.”

She meant it to come out snarky, but even she couldn’t deny the undercurrent of anger in her words. She didn’t know why it was true. But it was. If it wasn’t some white dude trying to satisfy a Latina fetish, it was some jerk trying to assert dominance.

“Because you let them do that, Lena. You jump on anything. One misspoken word. One perceived insult and you come out swinging.”

“Now you’re being irritating.”

“I don’t care,” Sadie said, pouring more wine into her glass. “You told me a lot of things I didn’t want to hear. Your turn.”

“So what do you want me to do? Be nice when some guy asks me if it’s true that Latina women are hot in bed?”

“No. That guy you can eviscerate. But yeah, be nice. Give a guy a chance to prove himself.”

Lena looked up gratefully as the waitress brought their food. “Thank you,” she said. Unrolling her silverware, she concentrated on the shrimp and grits. Okay. Mean. Not the first time I’ve heard that. I’m not mean. I just don’t play games. She sighed and dropped her spoon to the plate. “I’m mean.”

“No. You can be. But you aren’t mean. Not the real you. It’s just a wall you put up. See who’s brave enough to scale it.”

“I’m a bitch.”

“A strong, independent woman who has overcome obstacles that would have crippled most men. Successful. Beautiful. Savvy.”

“I’m a mean bitch.”

“Lena. Stop it. Listen to me. You are not a mean bitch. You just play one on dates.”

That made her smile. It hurt to look at it, but it was true. She had left a long trail of bleeding men behind her. She ate a few more bites of shrimp. Thinking back, most of them hadn’t been bad guys but she always managed to find something wrong with them. Maybe it is me. Maybe I make up reasons to push them away. More like send them running away.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Sadie said. “Just like there was nothing wrong with me. You just haven’t met your guy yet.”

Lena shook her head. “No. That’s not it. I don’t think I can do the serious relationship thing. I’m too much of a control freak. I have to be in charge. But then I don’t like a man who lets me be in charge. And then I get furious when a man tries to be in charge. See?”

“That’s because being in charge isn’t part of a healthy relationship, Lena. Being equal partners is.”

Snagging her wineglass and leaning back in her seat, Lena mulled over those words. Equal partners. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I think I have a trust problem.”

“Trust as in ‘depend on’?” Sadie asked.