Page 60 of Masks and Mishaps

“But your mom…” Everett sighs—and I get it. She’s not just my mom; she’s basically theirs too. Hell, she’s the closest thing Valeria, Cora, and Essie all have to a mom.

I’ve been such a dick.

Mommy

I looked at the financials for Maverick today. Great returns, as usual. You always impress me.

Wow. Maverick is a company I led through IPO a year ago, and I still manage a part of their asset portfolio. Their annual financial report went public a couple weeks ago, and my mom obviously downloaded it, read it, and sent me this message.

It’s not indulgent. It’s not overly saccharine. It’s just…Mom.

Me

I went bigger on forex and startups. Risky, but I saw the writing on the wall.

Mommy

Of course you did. You always do.

Me

Thank you.

Love you.

Mommy

Love you too.

“Everything’s fine,” I assure them, putting my phone aside. “I don’t say it enough, but it’s great having a mom who likes finance.”

Everett scoffs. “Dalt, your mom hates finance.”

“What are you talking about? She loves it. We’ve been talking about it for years.”

Now, Lander is snickering, and Everett is looking at me like I just asked if he wanted to go halfsies on a plate of veal. “She legitimately hates it. She only knows her shit because she loves you, andyoulove finance.”

“No way. And I don’t give two shits about finance or investment banking,” I reply, swirling my drink before I take a sip. “I just happen to be exceptional at it.”

Lander’s eyebrow skyrockets. “Then why are you so happy? You’re literally beaming at your phone,”

“Because with this commission, I could buy the goddamn Halcyon for Essie if I wanted to. Trust me, if you made this much, you’d be beaming at your phone—”

…Oh.

I’m sitting here and smiling at my phone… like Essie did the day after Halloween.

“—too…” I finish, trailing off.

I don’t forget things about people. Maybe I don’t always know what to do with the information, but I have it. I keep it stowed away for when I need it, usually when I’m closing deals and earning commissions that make my salary look like petty cash. It’s my favorite part of the job because I don’t like finance—at all.I just fucking love making money.

And as it dawns on me—as I realize what I’ve overlooked—my phone lights up with another text. I’m expecting Mom again, but I’m wrong.

This message makes my fists clench.

“Shit,” I mutter. “I have to go.”

Before Lander and Everett can even ask what’s going on, I’m out of my chair, pulling out my wallet, and dropping a few hundred-dollar bills on the table. “You guys can keep the change.”

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