Page 3 of Boss Abroad

april

“Who wants a margarita?” Callie’s voice trumps the loud playlist she has on. She put together a bunch of music that mentions London in its lyrics and right now, Fergie is telling us her London Bridge wants to go down. It’s the clean version, for Preston’s daughter's sake, but I still don’t think it’s clean enough for a five-year-old.

“It’s ten in the morning, Calista!” Preston's stern voice reprimands her from the living room. She’s in my kitchen, fixing our favorite cocktail as a parting gift and they scream at each other as if this isn’t a 480 square feet apartment.

“It’s three in the afternoon in London, Dr. Preston. Get into the mood.” I laugh at their exchange and soak in their bickering, knowing I’ll miss the heck out of it. I wheel another suitcase out of my bedroom and join them at the campsite that my living room has turned into. Boxes everywhere, furniture covered in plastic sheets.

Preston’s wife, Blake, sits on my couch, one of the few pieces of furniture left uncovered. She shifts in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position for her and that seven-month belly of hers to no avail. Poor thing looks miserable.

Callie offers her a drink and Preston grits his teeth, waving with both hands at his wife’s unmistakable pregnant bump. “She’s pregnant!”

“Oh. Right.”

A stranger might have fallen for her airhead act, but I have over five years of Callie’s drama school under my belt. There’s also her diagnosed inability to resist a chance of messing with Preston. It’s a condition she suffers from. And a talent.

She pulls the drink away but one glance at Blake’s face and she’s extending her arm again. “You sure? You look like you could use it.”

Blake smiles, and that seems to instantly unclench Preston's jaw. She whispers Callie a thank you and pulls Preston to sit next to her. He kisses his wife, asks if there’s anything he can do to make her feel better and pulls her feet up for a massage. It’s like watching a Hallmark movie.

“What about you, Lily?” Oh, crap. What was that? Ten seconds? Yeap, that’s all the rest Preston’s going to have. Lily’s pigtails pop from behind the boxes she made a fort with and she raises her arms to reach Callie’s mini margarita. She couldn’t look more excited.

“Goodness sake, Calista. She’s five!” He jumps from the couch and hurries to his daughter's rescue, snatching the shot glass from her greedy fingers before she can take a sip. The devastation in her eyes makes me stifle a laugh out of respect for her loss.

“Relax, dude. It’s a virgin.” Callie rolls her eyes and huffs as if it’s preposterous to expect anything different from her. I know them both well enough not to judge either party. “I made her some lemonade and put sugar on the rim.” Preston smells the shot glass and his shoulders sag in relief. He still licks the rim for his own peace of mind, though.

“Daddy, what’s a virgin?”

Nope, there will be no peace for this man today.

“Ask your mommy, sweetie. Daddy needs to help Auntie April finish packing.” Preston drags me and Callie out of the room by the arms as we laugh at his sorry excuse to evade giving his daughter an answer. He shuts the door and rests his back on it. “I thought I’d have a few years before I had the sex talk with her.” He squints his eyes at Calista. “Thank you for that.”

Her words are coated with even more sarcasm than his and she punctuates it with a wink. “Anytime, boo.”

Jett hangs his gray head, but not in defeat. I catch the smile he’s trying to hide. Once he pushes himself off the door, he’s all business again, bossing me around as if we’re in scrubs. “Are you checked in? Did you check your baggage allowance like I asked?”

“Baggage allowance?” Callie chuckles and blows a raspberry. “She’s flying first class. Getting paid an indecent amount of money to be Max Sinclair’s live-in nanny.”

I cough at her comment-slash-dig and lift two unimpressed eyebrows at her.

Raising her shoulders and putting her hands up, she corrects herself for my ego’s benefit. “Private physician, sorry.” She’s not sorry and I’m not offended. She’s right, and she’s actually paraphrasing me. I called myself that first.

Callie turns back to Preston and rants on about how different the next few months of my life are going to be. “You know she’s going to live in the same building as him, right? Just imagine what kind of apartment the highest paid soccer player in Europe lives in.”

She steps closer and removes an invisible lint that was never on his knitted jumper. “Well, commoner. Your pupil is about to be his neighbor.” Callie skips her way back to me, her Chanel high heels clacking quickly and sharply, creating a beat in sync with her excitement. She’s giggling and I can see each one of her pearly whites in that shiny, professionally whitened smile of hers.

“She’s about to have a taste of the good life.” Callie puts one arm around my shoulders, side hugging me. “God.” She throws her head back, possibly addressing the man himself in a loud prayer. “I hope you’re insufferable by the time you’re back.”

“Why?” Preston deadpans. “Did you always want a twin?”

He smirks and I laugh along with him when she fails to deliver a better comeback than a spaced out ha ha ha.

When we’re not in scrubs, that’s their dynamic, and I’m going to struggle with some serious withdrawal symptoms.

I flop onto my back with a sigh, landing on the bare mattress of my unrecognizable bed. A shrine to comfort and my sleep, it used to be adorned with a thick comforter, the coziest blanket ever and more pillows than a single woman could possibly need. Without them, even my lavender bedding spray scent is gone too.

“I can’t go. How are you two going to survive without me as a referee?”

Of course it’s a joke, even though I wish it wasn’t. The time to boycott this so-called opportunity of a lifetime has passed. But my stomach making its way up my esophagus to jump out of my mouth tells me I’m less at peace with my decision than I thought.

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