Page 28 of Miami Ice

At least my salary is private. Thank God for that, or my mom would be on my case 24/7 to give up Georgie’s Jars.

“And he gets bonuses,” Rick continues as he reads.

Mom takes a sip from her coffee mug. “What kind of bonuses?”

None of your business,I bite back in my head.

“He had a three-million-dollar signing bonus last year,” Rick reports. “His contract is eight years, eighty-million dollars.”

I blink. I didn’t know it was on those terms.

“Oh, Georgie! Do you know what potential there is here for you?” Mom cries excitedly.

I glance at her, and suddenly I picture the dollar signs Ella mentioned this morning over her pupils. I begin to crack up.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Mom. We’re dating. We like each other. Let’s just see where it goes,” I lie.

And then I feel guilty about that. Lying. Making up a romance that would never happen in real life.

Ugh. I think I’m going to be sick.

“How did you meet him?” Mom asks excitedly. “How many dates have you been on?”

I begin to panic. I haven’t worked out these details with Beckham yet. What am I going to say?

“If you were smart, you’d see it all the way to the altar and a great prenup,” Rick advises.

I stare at him, biting the inside of my cheek again. Rick is just like Mom. Theylovemoney. Not spending it but accumulating it. Counting it. Gathering as much as they can and never ever spending it unless they have to.

Yes, I understand it’s important to have savings, an emergency account, and retirement fund. I do. But they hate spending onanything. I’ve grown up respecting Mom’s ability to stretch a dollar, but I’ve resented it, too. Anytime Ella or I got something new, we were made to feel bad about it. Like look what this cost, look what I had to buy for you.

It always made me feel bad. Guilty. Like I was an inconvenient drain on my mom’s finances.

And Beckham thinks he has issues,I think wryly.

“I met his sister, and she introduced us,” I say, thinking that will have to be our story. “And it’s very new, we just had our first date last night.”

There. Both statements will be easy to remember because they are true.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Mom says.

“Yes, it is, but I need to get to work now,” I say, hoping to get her off the topic.

“I’m so proud of you, Georgie.” Mom smiles brightly at me.

I pause.

Proud of me.

Not for saving money and investing in my own business. Not for my creative talents. Not for being a good human.

But for dating a man who makes millions.

I swallow hard, shoving the icky feeling sweeping over me down and away.

“I’ll be upstairs,” I say quietly, forcing the words out and not acknowledging what Mom said. I leave the room, heading up the familiar staircase as I have since childhood. This was the house Ella and I grew up in, a spacious two-story home in a nice community in Fort Lauderdale. Mom made sure she got it in the divorce, and I don’t think Dad cared as long as he was free of her. He now lives in a condo in Coral Gables with his girlfriend, Tasha.

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