Page 3 of Pity Parade

“That’s the television game,” Tom says.

“And if I walk away and decide not to honor our contract?” Because, let’s face it, that’s looking like the most appealing option.

“We’ll sue you, of course,” Tom says.

Loving a good game of chicken as I do, I announce, “It might be worth it.”

“For ten million dollars,” he clarifies.

Crap. Standing up, I tell him, “Keep me posted on how things go. In the meantime, I’m taking the summer off.”

“Fun plans?” Like he gives a flying turd.

“Nothing special,” I tell him.

Little does Tom know, I’ve already instigated a plan B of my own. If I’m successful, then he’ll have to let me out of our contract without the option of taking legal action. And, while it’s not something I really want to move forward with, it sure beats having my love life paraded in front of America’s reality-show-loving population.

CHAPTER TWO

HEATH

I’m busy dropping handfuls of casual clothes into my suitcase as my business partner lectures me over my cellphone’s speaker. “I don’t think this is the right time for you to take an entire summer off, Heath. There’s too much going on.”

Shelby’s talking about the skyscraper we’re planning to build in the South Loop. As far as deals go, this one is huge, but it’s still not big enough for me to forgo my long-planned hiatus from stress. “Sorry, Shel. I promised my doctor I’d take the summer off and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Because your cholesterol is high?” she demands. “Please, mine is so high I should be on my third heart attack by now.”

Shelby is forty, focused, and apparently not afraid to die. I, on the other hand, am thirty-six and unwilling to shed my mortal coil ahead of schedule. “You should take the summer off, too. I’m sure Allan and the kids would love to see more of you.” I’m sure of no such thing, but this doesn’t feel like the right time to call Shel out for her lack of familial devotion. As far as I can tell, her family might work as well as it does because she’s not around that much.

She scoffs. “They’d fill their pants at the very thought of my ruining their summer plans.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.” I need to stop digging this hole, so I switch tactics. Picking up the phone from the mattress, I sit down and ask, “Why not do some traveling on your own? You’re always saying how much you want to see Paris without having to visit all the boring tourist traps.”

She grumbles, “I could do everything I want to do in Paris in two days. I don’t need a whole summer.”

“You could travel all of Europe then.”

“Are you going to Europe?” she wants to know. “Because if you are, I might tag along, so we could get some work done.”

I don’t confirm nor deny my destination. Instead, I tell her, “I’m taking the summer off, Shel. No work for me.”

“You’re going to die from boredom,” she threatens.

“I won’t,” I assure her. “I’m going to sleep ten hours a night, get a lot of exercise, and read the stack of books that’s accumulated on my nightstand. There’s no chance I’ll be bored.”

“Where are you going?” she full-on whines.

“I’m not telling you.” Primarily because I don’t want her to go with me. “As I’ve said, I’ll check emails once a week and if anything looks urgent, I’ll respond to it. If not, we’ll talk about it in September.” I may never get another chance to take this amount of time off, so I’m sticking to my guns.

“What if I need you for something important?”

“You won’t,” I assure her. “We’ve been in business together for a decade, Shel. I trust you.”

A loud growling emanates from the speaker. “So help me, if I was there right now, I’d strangle you, Heath Fox. I’m so mad at you I could scream.” And then she proceeds to do just that.

I drop the phone back onto the bed before reminding her, “This has been my plan for the last five years and you know it.”

“It’s a bad plan …”

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