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“We haven’t seen you since then. I know you were busy over the holiday season and couldn’t visit, so we figured we’d come to you.”
Guilt courses through me at the reminder I lied to them about why I didn’t come for Christmas. It wasn’t that I was too busy with work. It was that I was dead broke and in the process of vacating both my old office and the apartment I could no longer afford. The place I’m living in now is a real dump in comparison, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Mom, that’s so sweet of you, but I don’t know. I’m so… busy,” I end with lamely.
“We won’t be in your hair, I promise,” she brushes me off with a laugh. “We’ll do some sightseeing, maybe catch a show, and just touch base with you a few times.”
Her cosmopolitan act doesn’t fool me. She and Dad have nevercaught a showin their life. That kind of entertainment isn’t available in their small town in Ohio.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should finally confess, then decide against it. I don’t want to destroy the image of the successful businesswoman they have of me. I need that dream to stay alive for someone, need their faith in me. It’s what spurs me on most days.
“I’ll make it home for Christmas this year. No excuses.”
She makes a clucking sound. “That’s over seven months away. I have to see my baby before then.”
I snort. “Your baby? I’m twenty-six years old.”
“You’ll always be my baby.”
An email notification pops up in the lower right hand area of my screen, and I have to stifle a groan. “Mom, I’m sorry, but a client just contacted me.”
“No problem, honey. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Oh, before you go, I landed a big wedding today. The son of a billionaire. It’ll be a huge paycheck for me and I’ll finally be able to pay back some of the money you lent me.”
“That was a gift. You don’t owe us anything.”
The kindness in her voice intensifies the guilt. “I’d still like to. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you.”
I hang up and open the email from Danielle and her latest suggestions of things she wants for her son’s first birthday party in a few weeks.Face painter. Balloon artist. A private garden in the city.
The first two I can make happen, but the third? Where does she think I’m going to get access to one of the few private parks in Manhattan? The building she lives in certainly doesn’t have one, and what she’s paying me won’t buy entry to one either.
I rub at my temples, mentally crafting a reply that strikes a tone betweenI’ll do my best to make it happenandLady, you’re out of your damn mind.
What I need to be focusing on is tomorrow’s meeting. That’s where the real money lies. A way to save my business and get me back on track.
Thank God Gabriel didn’t hold my rejection of him at the bar against me. But also thank God Ihadrejected him. I can only imagine what kind of clusterfuck that’d be if I’d slept with the groom.
I’d never be stupid enough to do that.