Page 97 of Lavish
But why did I like it? Why couldn’t I sleep for hours after that, listening for every creak in the house to think he might come back to finish what he started? It had been a while since I’d been with anyone, and that wasn’t anything long-term. Butnobody was better than him. The feeling of his hands on my skin was uniquely intense, a sensation no one else could ever match.
“Helllloo?” Gigi yelled into the phone. “Do you hear me talkin’ to you, heifer?”
I snapped. “I don’t want your dog in my condo! It’s bad enough Miles got a freaking mammoth of a cat?—”
Gigi gasped indignantly. “You let Miles bring his cat? A stranger? But you can’t let your own nephew come over?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Walter isnotmy nephew.”
I opened my Notes app and typed as Gigi yapped about bullshit:
Inspect renovation budget.
Confirm permits pulled for electrical.
Do NOT think about Miles.
Three actionable tasks. Two professional. One impossible.
I told myself it was a lapse. A biological event. Like hiccups. Meaningless.
“He is mychild,” she shot back, offended, like I’d just disrespected a blood relative. “I carried that dog in my purse for years! Youwillshow some respect.”
“He’s half-blind, deaf, and has morearthritisthan a nursing home. No. If anything, he’s a liability I don’t have homeowner’s insurance for.”
“You know Laurene won’t watch him since he made her fall down that ditch, and she’s pregnant now so she can’t stand his smell anyway. Erik’s had a ban on him for years since he peed on his Star Wars figurine collection. I’m running out of options.”
“Too bad for you.”
I spent all morning buried in paperwork and meetings. Anything to stay busy.
“I can’t leave my baby unattended,” Gigi whined.
“Why not ask Mama or Daddy?”
Her voice got huffy like always when she got an attitude. “Mama and I aren’t speaking.”
“Again? Why?”
“I told her I wanted to start my own boutique, and she all but laughed in my face.”
I rubbed my temple. “You’re still on this?”
Gigi gasped. “Excuse me? I was serious. I’m starting my own business.”
“G, you change career paths more than you change your wigs. Last month, it was candle making. Before that, you were gonna be a model. And let’s not forget the infamous ‘I’m moving to LA to be a celebrity stylist’ phase.”
“That was a valid career path until I got blackballed.”
“But how long before you quit? Three weeks? A month?”
Silence.
“You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”
I blinked. “I’m trying to help you have realistic expectations?—”
“You and Mama,” she snapped. “Y’all sit up on your damn high horses, acting like I’m somefailurebecause I don’t wanna work myself to death in a damn office or force myself to kiss ass. We’re the top of the motherfuckin’ food chain here! Why am I a second-class citizen?”
