No, she did not.
Did she need to know Laurel's secret ingredient for butter-cream frosting?
Right back with the no.
Did she need to discuss Parker's latest entry in her Crack-Berry?
Dear God, no.
So why the hell did anyone care what filter she planned to use or which camera bodies she'd decided to strap on?
They did theirs, she did hers, and everybody was happy.
She pulled her weight. She put in the time, the effort, the hours the same as the rest. She . . .
She cut the damn mat wrong.
Disgusted, Mac tossed the ruined board across the room. She grabbed another, checked and rechecked her measurements. But when she lifted her mat knife, her hand shook.
With considerable care, she set it down, then took two steps back.
Yes, she knew when she'd acted the bitch, she thought. And she knew when she had to get a grip on herself. As in right now. She knew, too, she admitted with a sigh, when she owed two of the people she loved most in the world an apology.
Even if they had been snotty-and they damn well had-she'd been snotty first.
She checked the time and sighed. She couldn't do it now. Couldn't get this weight off, not when Parker was currently escorting clients through the house.
We're full service. We can tailor every detail to reflect your needs, and your vision of the day. Here's our crazy bitch of a photographer who'll be documenting that day for you in pictures.
Wouldn't that be perfect?
She stepped into the powder room to splash cold water on her face. They were her friends, she reminded herself. They had to forgive her. That was the rule.
Steadier, she went back into her studio.
She let her machine take her calls and gave her current task all her concentration. When she'd finished she decided the client would never know the package had been created by a bitch in the throes of a massive attack of self-pity. Once everything was loaded in her car, Mac drove to the main house.
True, they had to forgive her, but first she had to ask. That was another rule.
Out of habit, she went in the back. When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Laurel working at the prep counter. With a hand steady and precise as a surgeon's, she monogrammed heart-shaped chocolate.
Knowing better than to interrupt, Mac held her silence.
"I can hear you breathing," Laurel said after a moment. "Go away."
"I just came in to eat some crow. I'll be quick."
"Make that very. I've got another five hundred of these to finish."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for acting that way, for saying those things. Things I didn't mean in the first place. I'm sorry for walking out on the meeting."
"Okay." Laurel laid down her brush and turned. "Now, the question would be why."
Mac started to speak, found her throat snapped shut. The sudden barrier had her eyes filling. She could only shake her head as tears spilled over.
"Okay, okay." Laurel crossed over, folded Mac into a hug. "It's going to be all right. Come on. Sit down."
"You have five hundred chocolate hearts to monogram."
"It's probably more like four hundred and ninety-five at this point."
"Oh, God, Laurel, I'm so stupid!"
"Yeah, you are."
Quickly, efficiently, Laurel had Mac sitting at the counter with a box of tissues and a small plate of as yet unadorned chocolate hearts.
"I can't take your candy."
"It tastes a lot better than crow, and I've got plenty."
Sniffling, Mac took one. "You make the best."
"Godiva should tremble in its boots. What happened, honey? Was it your mother? Light went on," she added when Mac didn't speak. "Right after you did the outraged stalk."
"Why can't I suck it up, Laurel?"
"Because she knows every button to push when it comes to you. And no matter how much you suck up, she's got more."
It was, Mac had to admit, the heart of the target. "It's never going to change."
"She's never going to change."
"Meaning that's on me." Mac took another bite of chocolate. "I know it. I do. I said no. I said no, and I meant no, and I would've kept saying it even if Del hadn't taken the phone and hung up on her."
In the act of getting down a glass, Laurel glanced back. "Del was there?"
"Yeah, he came by to tease me about Carter-which is a whole other area of what the hell am I doing-and she called from Florida wanting another couple thousand so she could stay another week and finish her recovery."
"I'll give Del credit for hanging up on her, but he should've come back here to tell us."
"I asked him not to."
"So what?" Laurel demanded. "If he had any sense, he'd have done what you needed not what you asked. Then you wouldn't have wallowed all night and woken up the bitch."