“No!” she cried. “At least not totally. I really wanted you to be creative director because of your diverse skill set, and look, you’ve brought out talent in our staff that they didn’t even know they had, you’ve got everyone working together on a huge project, and you managed to keep Carson from sabotaging the whole thing by outmaneuvering him every step of the way. You are totally management material. Still, I knew Carson would react badly, I didn’t know how badly and I’m very sorry for that, but fortunately he was enough of a jerk that Miguel finally saw his true self, too.”

“So are you guys going to be okay?” I asked.

“I think so,” she said. She smiled and it was hopeful. “I love my mother-in-law, but there is no question that as a single mother, she raised her family with an iron fist. Our counselor has helped Miguel realize that when he disagrees with me, he tends to respond to me as if I’m her, and he becomes defiant like a child instead of listening to me and talking about it like a grown-ass man. We’re working on it.”

I had no idea what to say. Sophie looked vulnerable and nervous. I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I think the fact that you’re both invested in working on it means you’re going to be all right.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I love him like crazy, but I am not his mama. Now, promise you’re not mad at me.”

“Nah, I’m flattered, I think,” I said.

I took a moment to consider what Soph had said. I had done all those things. I had managed a team, and we were crushing it. Maybe I wasn’t the lonely freelancer I’d always thought I was. I had to admit that I was grooving on the office vibe. I genuinely enjoyed the collaborative work and the challenges that came with being part of a large studio. I glanced at my friend and knew I owed her the truth as well.

“I’m relieved that it’s all worked out for the studio. Also, I have a confession of my own to make, too.”

Soph met my gaze. Whatever she saw in there must have warned her of an incoming bombshell, because she raised her finger in a wait gesture and downed half of her drink.

“Hit me,” she said.

“Lexi Brewer is the estranged younger sister of my landlord, Nick Daire,” I said.

“Shut up!” she said. “How did you come to know her—wait, through him?”