Page 2 of A Shore Fling
Jonathon scoffs. “So now I drone?”
“Yeah, you do. Endlessly,” I say.
“Enough.” Dad’s tone sharpens. “Why did you disagree about the merger?”
“Because I don’t think it’s necessary. How much is enough? Do we just continue gobbling up smaller companies like some corporate Pac-Man that’s never satisfied?” I glance between them as they blink slowly at me like I’ve spoken in tongues.
My brother recovers first. “Nina, that’s what we do.”
“I’m aware, but it doesn’t mean we can’t make a change. When do we hit the point where we’ve overexpanded and can no longer juggle everything?”
“I don’t know where this bad attitude is coming from,” Dad says, as if I’m a teenager and not thirty-five years old.
“Oh, so disagreeing with you two means I have an attitude problem? That’s funny, I thought it meant I’ve busted my ass for this company for the past thirteen years, and I’m allowed to be a freethinker. Should I remind you how many of my ideas have helped to make Moreau what it is?”
“That’s not necessary. We never said you’re not an asset,” Jonathon says, trying to placate me.
“No, you’re saying I can’t disagree with the two of you.”
Jonathon’s expression tells me I’m right. I let out an ironic laugh. “Looks like this conversation is over.”
“Don’t be like that,” Jonathon says.
I raise my middle finger in front of his face. “Fuck off.”
“Nina, keep it professional,” Dad scolds.
I clench my teeth together, fighting the urge to sling the same insult his way. Right now, he might be my infuriating boss, but he’s still my dad. While I may not like what he says or does at work, I was raised to be respectful to my parents. Since I have nothing positive to say, I turn and walk from the room without a backward glance.
“How do you always look so flawless?” my younger sister Irene asks.
I laugh. “Your definition of that word is loose. I feel the opposite.” I finish touching up my lipstick and then brush my hand over my upswept hair.
“I should be jealous of you, but it’s impossible because you’re too nice.”
My head snaps in her direction, where she’s perched on the edge of my bed. “Why would you be jealous of me?”
“You’re taller than me, thinner than me, you’ve got that curly hair.” She ticks each one off on her fingers.
“I’d kill for your straight hair and your curves. And I’m like an inch taller than you.”
“I think it’s two,” she argues.
My eyes widen. “Gasp. Two.”
“Hey, every bit matters. If I were two inches taller, I wouldn’t need to lose ten pounds.”
“You don’t need to now. You’re gorgeous. Just ask Richard,” I say, referring to her fiancé. I add a few pumps of hairspray.
“Yeah, he thinks I’m perfect,” she says, followed by a giggle.
“You should listen to him.”
“I know, but my inner critic wins out sometimes.”
“Tell that bitch to shut up, or I’ll kick her ass.” I turn from the mirror and skim my hands down over the bodice of my dress. “Are you sure I should wear this?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. That’s your color.”
