Inez Holly turned to face her. “The teacher in me wants to point out that you just did. By the way, great lipstick, but you should probably . . .”
“Oh, yes.” Apply lipstick to bottom lip as well as top lip, then ask meaningful question. That done, Dani forged on. “I was wondering—well, you’re quite inspirational to me. I hope to be where you are in some years’ time. I’m working toward it, but it’s not always easy, and I was wondering if you might have any advice.” Which was the sort of open-ended question Dani usually abhorred, but she thought it best to leave Inez Holly with options. She might prefer to share advice like “Always wear matching underwear in case you get hit by a truck” over the personal, in-depth secrets of her career so far.
At least, Dani had assumed she might. But that assumption, like so many she’d made lately, proved wrong. “My advice?” Inez Holly arched an eyebrow. “I’d say . . . anything you want to do, you can. Hurdles were made to be jumped, glass ceilings were made to be smashed.” She leaned in closer. “But all that can be exhausting, so make sure you take care of yourself, too. There’s great value in the things that bring you joy.”
Dani blinked, taken aback. “Things that bring me joy?”
“Outside of work,” Inez Holly added pointedly. “Don’t forget that part. I know your type. I was your type.”
Dani suspected she should feel chastened right now, rather than pleased by any comparison to Inez Holly.
Regardless, the word joy circled her mind, refusing to be ignored. She could hardly write off the very advice she’d asked for, even if it was somewhat unexpected, so she let the word settle and noticed the memories it produced. Apparently, joy was dinner with her ridiculous sisters, bingeing Netflix shows with her nonsensical best friend, arguing with her ludicrous grandmother. Repotting her plants, dyeing her hair for no discernable reason, being with Zafir—
She cut that last thought off for now. Whacked a fence around it and resolved to deal with it later. Then she asked, “Is it a bad sign if all the things that bring me joy seem to be vaguely absurd?”
“Certainly not,” Inez Holly said serenely, and waggled a mauve gel manicure in Dani’s direction. “Once every two weeks, I drive an hour to my favorite salon to get my nails done. I don’t give a damn what else is on my to-do list; this is nonnegotiable. Major or minor, if something keeps you human when pressure makes you feel like a volcano, hold on to that thing by whatever means necessary.”
“I see,” Dani said quietly, letting those words sink in. “I—thank you.” It was a shame she couldn’t be more eloquent, but she was still grappling with the mental fence she’d created, the one that wouldn’t stay put. Because every time she thought joy, Zaf zipped to the front of Dani’s mind and refused to vacate.
Teasing him at lunch in front of sneaky camera phones, shagging like rabbits as if sex were vital to their continued existence, watching him make dinner from the corner of her eye as she tried to concentrate on research. It was mortifying and inconvenient and sure to bite her in the backside, but clearly . . . clearly, joy was Zaf.
The realization left her dazed, even if it wasn’t entirely out of the blue. The giddy, tender swirl of her feelings shouldn’t matter: you weren’t supposed to put your happiness in someone else’s hands. It never worked. It was foolish. It was dangerous. Only, Dani had been struggling for a while to see any part of Zaf as dangerous, not when he looked at her as if she were the world. Now here was Inez Holly herself, like an unwitting sign from the universe, telling Dani to stop stalling, stop making him wait, and choose joy.
This was a sign, wasn’t it? Clear as vodka, and just as intoxicating. Especially when mixed into the cocktail of today’s success.
Dani thanked Inez Holly again, possibly a little too profusely. Then Inez Holly wrote down the shade of Dani’s lipstick, which was rather thrilling, and took Dani’s email address, because “It’s always good to stay in touch,” which was excessively thrilling, and by the time Dani left those toilets she felt as if she could rule the world.
She strode back into the reception hall and saw Zaf instantly. He was leaning against a faux-marble column, wearing his usual resting bitch face, and for once, she let herself smile soppily at the sight of him. After all, Inez Holly had practically told her it was safe. And Dani was hardly one to avoid such an obvious cosmic hint.
“Hey.” He grinned as she rushed into his arms. “Whoa. You’re cheerful.”
“Yes. I’m going to start jogging.”
“Er . . .”
“I used to run long distance at school,” she said. “I liked it.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“I think I want to try breeding orchids.”
Zaf burst out laughing. “What the hell did you find in the bathroom? Cocaine?”
“Inez Holly,” she told him breathlessly.
“What?” Pure excitement spread over his face. Then he said, “Did you talk to her?” And Dani realized that excitement was for her.
Zaf felt things for her. She knew because she felt things for him, too, bright and terrifying, like a brand-new sun over a world that had been dark for ages. She should be afraid—and part of her was.
But in that moment, she felt so powerful, and he felt so precious, and the thought of letting him go was impossible. Impossible. She couldn’t let it happen.
So instead of answering his question, she pulled back and told
