I know exactly what that means.

Come work for me.

He might have let me live in the dorms in college and of course have my own apartment . . . but he still wants me to be within arm’s reach. I’m his little girl, after all.

But though it’s something I feel torn about, I can’t tell him that now. Not again, when we’ve had the discussion several times already about how I want to pave my own way, not get by on his last name.

Knowing I don’t have time to argue, I take a different tact, striking a button I know he refuses to discuss with me. “Yep! So, does this mean you’re gonna finally find a lucky woman to share all this awesome success with?”

He immediately looks over his shoulder and then coughs before looking back at the camera. “You know what? I should start preparing for that meeting,” Dad says. “Have a great day, kiddo.”

With a wink, he’s gone and my phone’s screen blank. “Can you believe that, Sophie?” I say, not surprised by my dad’s reaction. He always gets skittish when I press him about finding a partner, and I sometimes use that knowledge to my benefit. “He wants the play by play on my private life, but as soon as I try to get the scoop on his, he turns into Casper and ghosts.”

Naturally, Sophie doesn’t answer, and I glance at my clock.

8:05 . . . less than an hour to get ready, pick up and Tiff, and rush to work.

“Holy shit!” I hiss, cursing Dad for calling me and wasting precious time. “I gotta get ready!”

I hop over the bed, nearly falling and busting my head on my dresser, and I’m in the shower in a jiffy. I only have time for a quick shave of my legs before I’m toweling off. I decide to use my fallback hairstyle of a slick bun because my condition and blow-dry routine is too time-consuming after Dad used up all of my spare minutes this morning.

I apply a light layer of makeup, focusing on my lashes and a matte red for my lips, a few spritzes of my woodsy perfume, and then pull on a white dress shirt and a tight black pencil skirt. Red heels complete the look, making the almost-uniform seem chic and stylish.

“All right, Sophie,” I tell her as I check myself over in the mirror.

I look pulled together and professional, like Professional Barbie with my blonde locks, big blue eyes, and boobs too big for my frame—thanks for that, Mom. But I know how to use those attributes to my best advantage too. People don’t often expect a brain like mine to be housed in this packaging, and I’m more than happy to let them underestimate me while I mow right over them, kicking ass and taking names.

“I need you to hold down the fort.” I grab my purse and work keys off the dresser and head for the front door while saying over my shoulder, “Try not to tear down the house while I’m gone, ’kay?”

She meows . . . but that could be a good or a bad thing.

It’s all hustle and bustle to get to Tiffany’s apartment with me nearly getting into a fender bender as I burn rubber across town. But she’s nowhere to be seen when I pull up to the curb, which is unusual for her because she’s always outside before I show up.

I wait a few minutes before rolling down my window and honking the horn while yelling, “Come on, Tiff, we need to go!”

When Tiffany fails to appear, I grumble angrily as I jump out of my car and walk up the first-floor walk, ready to pound on her door. I only make it a few steps before I hear booming bass and a voice yelling, “Shake your ass! But watch yourself.”

“What . . . on . . . earth?” I mutter as I walk up and pound on the door. “Tiffany!” I yell over the music, seeing several neighbors peek out from behind their curtains. “You’ve got three seconds to come out or I’m leaving!”

As if in response, the door swings open, and instead of Tiffany, I see Ace Young, Tiffany’s older brother, standing there in unbuttoned jeans and no shirt, a can of Coors in his hand.

Once upon a time, he’d been hot, and I’d told Tiffany so during one of his visits to our college dorm. Hell, the first time I saw him sprawled out on her bed, I’d thought she was hooking up with him and was thinking my girl had done good. I’d been delighted to be wrong, even though girl code dictated that he was look-don’t-touch level only.

But his glory days are gone.

What the hell is this fool doing, drinking this early in the morning? I think to myself but then decide I don’t want to know as the smell of his beer breath hits me. He looks like a total mess, his once flat as a board stomach now bloated and soft.

“Elle?” Ace asks, looking absolutely wasted and making me wonder what the hell is going on with him. Last I knew, he’d landed a good job up north and was seeing an awesome girl with wedding bells on the horizon. But a month ago, he mysteriously returned, much to Tiff’s dismay, sullen, tight-lipped, jobless, and very single, to crash on her couch.

And he’s been driving her absolutely crazy ever since.

“How’s it going?”

“Hey, Ace, where’s Tiff?” I say loudly over the still bumping music, ignoring his question because I don’t want to get drawn into a conversation. “We’re running late for work.” We’re not really late, but any cushion on the clock is gone and we need to go.

Ace begins to reply but is shoved aside as a familiar voice growls, “Move!”

Tiffany, my best friend and partner in crime since freshman year dorms, appears looking frazzled, her dark hair pulled back behind her in a messy ponytail and her dress shirt rumpled and buttoned wrong, leaving one tail long and one short. Never mind the fact that it should be tucked in to begin with.

With her bright, mischievous eyes and brisk demeanor, some people might think we make an odd couple. Friends are supposed to keep you out of trouble and give you sage advice when you’re about to do something stupid.

Tiffany’s the exact opposite.

I was already a small-time daredevil in my own right when we met, but she became my main instigator, always upping the ante on me with the dares.

She’s become something of a devil on my shoulder.

The Thelma to my Louise.

And I love her for it because we’ve had some great times. Some really great times.

It’s unlike Tiff to come out of the house looking barely put together, though, because she’s also the organization to my chaos, so I know whatever delayed her must have been one hell of a reason.

I open my mouth to ask her what took her so long, but she brushes past me, rushing toward the car, throwing over her shoulder, “Let’s go. I’ll explain in the car.”

“Bye, Ace,” I say quickly, turning to rush after Tiffany.

“See ya, Elle,” Ace replies, watching me through bleary eyes. Behind him somewhere, the music begs me and everyone in the building to ‘show me what you’re working with!’

Classy AF, Ace. Really.

Tiffany yells back over her shoulder, “Turn that shit down before my neighbors call the cops!”

He does at least look chagrined, and before we even close the car doors, the music quiets.

“What the hell was that all about?” I demand as we pull away from the curb. “Drinking this early in the morning?”

Tiffany bangs her head against the headrest, her eyes closed. “I’m going to kill him. He was up all night and then commandeered the bathroom for forty-five minutes this morning, doing God knows what, because he sure as hell wasn’t taking a shower.” Her nose crinkles cutely even though she’s talking about Ace’s stale body odor.