The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) Read Online Free Page B

all the numbers for tomorrow’s presentation.”
    “No!” Luce is outraged. “But you already worked so hard to get the original numbers. How can she do this to you?”
    I’m tempted to tell her that I would have had it done by now if I hadn’t gone to Madame Antoinette’s with her, but I don’t want to make her feel worse than she already does. “She just got them herself.”
    Lucy stares begrudgingly at the folder I’m still holding in my hands. “Do you want some help?”
    “Thanks, but it’s okay. I know you have your own work to do for Celia.”
    “Not that I’m going to be able to get anything done tonight,” she says. “God, Steve is such a dick.”
    “I know. I’m so sorry, Luce.”
    She stifles a sob. “It’s okay.”
    God, I’m such a bad friend. I hate letting Lucy down—it makes my stomach hurt. But what am I supposed to do? If I don’t nail this, I’ll lose my chance at the promotion. “All right,” I say as I follow Lucy back to the door. “Goodnight.”
    The door closes and I’m tempted to open it again and say, “Screw Celia!” But I can’t. This job everything to me, my whole life. Lucy and I can hash out the whole Steve thing tomorrow. Once I’ve had my one o’clock rehash with Celia, I’ll be done with work and devote the rest of the day to Lucy.
    Feeling better about my situation, I race back to the desk and plop down, ready to work. But then again, I could probably use some wine to get me through the night. I’ve been dreaming about that Bordeaux all day, I should at least have a glass or two.
    I quickly pop the cork and pour a hefty portion into a wine glass.
    “Okay, now I’m ready.”
    As I look over the numbers, I get increasingly more frustrated. The numbers are ridiculously close. Mere dollars apart. I can’t believe I have to change everything for a few dollars difference.
    I take a gulp of wine. And another. I need to be completely desensitized to get through this night. Otherwise, I might do something I regret.
    ~*~
    Oh, God. Where am I? I must be in the hospital because I’ve definitely been hit by a truck. I blink. The sun is so bright. Am I outside? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I be asleep outside?
    I raise my head and realize there’s something stuck to it. A piece of paper. As I reach to remove it, I knock something over. It’s a glass. Of wine. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. I fell asleep? I fell asleep!
    I pick up the papers before the wine gets to them and then reach frantically for my phone. Dead. Crap! I rush to the bedside and nearly collapse with a heart attack when I see the time.
    8:45 glares back at me, mocking. Oh, my God. I’ll never make it. Not in a million years. The cab ride alone is fifteen minutes and I’m not even dressed. I never dried my hair last night, so I’m sure I look like a frizzy version of Medusa.
    Even so, I know I have to try. My career depends on this. My life depends on this. I have to make it.
    I devote thirty seconds to each task. Teeth bushing. Makeup application. Hair. Clothes. Finally, I stuff all the papers Celia gave me back in their manila envelope and toss them into my briefcase along with my laptop.
    There’s a sinking in my stomach when I realize I never finished re-doing the numbers. I’m actually not sure I even got started.
    Oh, God. I’m screwed.
    The last thing I have to do is put on my shoes and I’m dreading it with every ounce of my being. But I don’t have much of a choice. I open the closet where my shoes are laid out, side by side. Every one of them expensive, designer and horribly uncomfortable. I decide the Ferragamo loafer pumps are the best bet, even though they aren’t the best choice for this suit.
    As I slide my feet into the right shoe, I’m accosted with pain. Oh, my God. I can’t do this. I don’t think I can make it to the elevator, let alone stand for more than an hour to deliver a presentation.
    I bite my bottom lip to redirect the pain