Page 66 of Winter Glam in Amsterdam

I grumble under my breath as I make my way over the door, opening it only a sliver. "Who is—Mom?" I ask, confused, opening the door wider for her.

"Hi, Sweetie." She grins and holds up a bottle of wine. "It's been way too long since the two of us had a movie night."

"But I—”

"Nope, no backtalk. You’re stuck with me this evening." She grins and pushes past me. "You get some snacks. I know Luca has a stash in here somewhere, and I'll open the wine."

"Okay," I say dejectedly and close the door, a little spark of glee in my stomach at the prospect of raiding Luca's secret snack stash that I know for a fact is hidden under the sink in his kitchen. He sucks at hiding things; I found it on my first day in here.

"So," she starts after we've watched the first movie—a cute little rom-com that might have made me cringe in the beginning, but after two glasses of wine, I'm so into it. "What's going on?"

With a deep sigh, I reach for the chips bowl. I’m so sick of hearing that question.

"Luca is meddling," I say, cringing when I realize I sound like a five-year-old snitch. "I told him I wanted to—no, I had to—do this on my own. You know, finding a job, standing on my own two feet. Yet he went ahead and pulled strings for me, or rather had them pulled, even though I explicitly told him I didn’t want that."

"That must be frustrating." She nods, putting her hands on mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I have to come to his defense here a bit though, honey. We both know that sometimes your brother has the empathy of a piece of bread and the foresight of a purple grape."

"A grape?" I giggle.

She shrugs. "Couldn't think of a better comparison. My point is, we both know thinking ahead can be a bit of a challenge for him, but he's got good intentions."

"Good intentions or not," I sigh and take another sip of my wine, "I specifically told him I wanted to do this on my own, and he just ignored that."

Mom takes a deep breath. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way." I roll my eyes at her, and she doubles down. "No, really, I mean it. Thankfully, we have the means, and I want you to find a job that you're happy with. But looking back"—she waves her hand through the air—"you've been at it how long now? A year."

"That sounds about right," I admit, sinking into myself.

"I know—no,weknow how hard you've worked to be where you are now. And I know you want to earn the results of your hard work and how hard it has been on you that it is, in fact, not paying off.” I gulp past a knot of emotions forming in my throat. That’s exactly what it is, even though this is the first time I’m hearing it out loud in a way that hits the bulls-eye of what I’m feeling. She puts her arm around my shoulders, and I lean against her side as she continues.

“We are so proud of you—your dad and I, and even Luca." She squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. "This kind of frustration would get to anyone. Just consider this. From what your brother told me, it's not like he asked his friend to hire you, but to maybe give your application a second glance. Now, if he just handed you a job on a silver platter, I would be inclined to agree with you. But all he's created for you is a chance."

I glance up at her.

"The rest is still your doing. There's nothing shameful about taking advantage of a system that's rigged against you. You are going to encounter so many situations in the workforce where you will be disadvantaged: Because you're young, because you're a beautiful woman, because you care. Honey, you have to take your chances, and you've got to exploit your competition's weaknesses, even if those weaknesses are only that they're not well-connected."

She gives me a sad smile. "Unfortunately, that's the reality of it. So make your network, well, work for you.” She shoots me a sharp glare. “Now, obviously, I'm not saying to sleep your way up the ladder, young lady."

She shakes her head with a frown, and I break into a disbelieving giggle.

"Don't worry, I had no intentions of doing that."

"Good." She smiles. "You're a fighter, Summer. You'll go far. But you won't, if you're stubborn. Sometimes, life is about compromise. Just be focused on the best possible outcome for yourself, okay?"

I whisper, "I'll think about it," and keep my head against her shoulder.

"You do that," she says with a nod, then reaches for the remote. "In the meantime, I'm sure we can find another Hallmark movie that your dad would never watch with me but walk by the living room suspiciously often."

"He still does that?"

"Oh yes, absolutely. Last week he pretended to not rewatchThe Devil Wears Pradawith me."

I exhale a deep breath. Maybe she's right. Either way, I'll have a lot to think about.

Tanner

With an annoyed sigh, I pull my headphones off my ears and storm out of the tiny recording booth I have at home. I just can't focus on my job today.

Never mind the deadline looming over my head, but every cheesy line, every sentence of dirty talk reminds me of Summer, and it makes anxiety bubble in my stomach. What if I really fucked this up beyond repair? Judging by the way she lashed out at me, that might very well be the case.

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