Page 51 of Single Mom's Christmas Wish

I can’t kick her out. She’s a paying customer. Besides, Callie Monroe is not a name I can trifle with, even if I’m also a Monroe. She’s the one with the fancy Chappaqua house and the famous charitable foundation. I’m just the bartender here, and not even full-time.

As I set about preparing a second vodka martini, heat swirls in my chest. It spreads furiously through my ribcage before it concentrates into a single, dense ball in the back of my throat while beads of cold sweat blossom on my temples. I’ve barely had anything to eat over the past couple of days, and it is taking a toll on my body. Too much stress cuts into my appetite, but it’s been different lately.

There are days when I could swallow the whole fridge and days when the mere smell of food makes me want to hurl.

“What, no snappy comeback all of a sudden?” Callie sneers.

“I’ve got nothing left to say to you,” I reply. “I tried to be your sister. I tried to get to know you because I actually cared about you. All you ever did was blame me for something I had no control over. And now, you’re here just to taunt me over an inheritance I never even asked for.”

“Trust me, I have no idea what my grandmother was thinking when she changed her will,” Callie hisses. “You don’t deserve a single penny, which is why I’m going make sure you never get your hands on my money.”

I can’t help myself, so I say, “Technically speaking, it’s not your money yet.”

“You’ll never get it. You’re going to die a poor and miserable failure,” Callie replies. “It’s what you’re good at, by the looks of it. Honestly, I’m embarrassed for your daughter. She deserves better.”

“I’ll kick your ass into next week if you ever mention my daughter again,” I say with a tone so hard, so furious, that it renders her silent for a full minute. “I get that you’ve got a bone to pick with me. You’re lashing out. You’re being mean and petty because it’s how you handle your grief. But you had better leave my daughter out of it, or so help me God, you will regret ever setting foot in this city.”

I’m boiling on the inside.

She crossed a line I will never allow anyone to cross.

Suddenly, the entire room is now spinning out of control, and I’m supposed to shake and strain her fucking vodka martini, even though every muscle in my body is crying out for me to splash it all over her face.

“Dakota,” Archer’s voice echoes somewhere in the distance.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Callie asks, suddenly staring at me.

“I… I’m fine.”

I discreetly reach for an ice cube under the counter and slip it on the back of my neck. The chill instantly travels down my spine and makes me shudder. It’s a nifty little trick I sometimes use to beat exhaustion, and it works.

The room comes back into focus.

Archer reaches the bar, and I can’t help but notice how handsome he looks in his tan suit, his blonde hair combed into his usual tight man bun. Callie notices him, too.

“Hey, babe,” he says to me.

“My, my, aren’t you a slice of cake,” Callie quips with a charming smile.

I recover quickly. “Callie, this is Archer, my fiancé. Archer, this is Callie, my bitchy half-sister I told you about.”

A barely noticeable flash of confusion crosses his face before he smiles and turns politely to Callie.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” Callie replies.

“You’re here early,” I say with a soft smile. “Where are your brothers?”

“On their way home. They’re waiting for us. Maddox is cooking tonight,” Archer replies.

“Family dinner for the future bride and groom?” Callie asks, trying to test whether or not I was lying.

“Something like that,” Archer chuckles. “It’s our tradition, every Thursday night.”

Callie laughs and briefly touches his hand on the counter. “Sounds like quite the little family.”

“Here’s your drink,” I cut in with a flat tone as I set the martini in front of her. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

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