Page 2 of Three More Shots
“I just don’t know how you do it, girl. You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you never seem to let it get you down. You always have a smile on your face.”
I have no choice. I can’t let it get to me. Despite how much everyone thinks she’s a burden to me, I love my daughter more than I can explain. I keep going, keep smiling for her. To keep my sanity, my job, my role as her biggest advocate regardless of what happens. Because she doesn’t understand why the world is so cruel or confusing or complicated. When all she wanted was the hamburger that the schedule hanging on our refrigerator said she was going to get.
I squeeze my friend one last time in gratitude and break away, needing a moment to compose myself before our boss returns. “I’m going to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“Sure. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, Ginger. Really.”
“You’re welcome, honey.”
She’s a good person too. Sincere in her proclamation, more than willing to cover my calls and handle any visitors in my absence. I grab my cell out of my purse, in case the behavior specialist calls again, and stride down the hall.
Taking deep breaths. Thinking calming thoughts. Talking myself out of the panic threatening to overwhelm me.
It could’ve been worse. She has caring teachers who help her. I have so much to be thankful for with this good job and great boss and understanding co-workers.
Everything’s going to be just fine.
I’ve pretty much convinced myself until my phone dings as I yank open the restroom door.
Hello again, Mrs. Lowell. I wanted to let you know the dry cleaning bill is $28. No need to bring it in. Just send the money with Ainsley, and I’ll make sure it gets to the impacted parent.
Twenty-eight dollars.
More than half of my weekly grocery budget. Now we’ll have to go to the food bank on Saturday morning after her swim therapy. Another break in her routine. Another disappointment for her to bear. Another failure for me as her mother.
Racing into the closest stall, I can barely slide the latch shut before the streams trail down my cheeks. Or stop the sobs that bubble in my throat. Or quell the shaking of my fingers as I cheerfully respond.
Thank you, Mrs. Toller. I’ll send it tomorrow.
Thanks much!
Too late to protect my complexion, I lean my forehead against the wall and welcome the cool tile against my blazing skin, counting slowly to twenty before I take one last deep breath and let myself out. All I can do now is splash some cold water on my face, return to my desk, and focus on my work with a smile. Because that’s what my daughter needs me to do.
Chapter One
I can’t stop staringat the dark brown curl, flecked with deep hints of red, spiralling down the back of her otherwise bare, willowy neck. So frail and small, I could easily crush her throat, hell her body, with one rough fuck.
Although fucking her or anyone else should be the last thing on my mind. My fingertips circle around and around on my throbbing temples from the well-deserved, yet still despised, hangover I’m nursing. I just want to get my coffee and jet, not think about the gorgeous woman in front of me or the kid next to her. The damn loud kid next to her. I know it’s probably just because of my blazing headache, but I swear to god, her voice seems twenty decibels louder than everyone else’s.
“These cookies have sprinkles! These cookies have hearts!”
The young girl smashes herself against the display case, arching her small hands around the curved glass. Not sure if she’s pretending to be a hippie with the long flowery dress dragging on the floor, or a diva with the sparkling sandals and four bracelets jangling on each wrist as she flexes on her feet. I don’t think she knows either. But I do know for certain a comb hasn’t touched her tangled, wet hair yet today.
“These cookies have smiley faces! These cookies have rainbows!”
Her tone’s kind of enthusiastic yet kind of flat too. Weird that she keeps stating the obvious. Can’t she just look without saying every single kind? But she nor her fascination with the dessert offerings are my concern. I only need to be concerned with getting my drink, killing the pounding in my head with a cup of liquid caffeine, and heading to my office. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking planning a meeting like this so damn early with the weekend I was hoping to have.
Until everything fell apart last night, and now I’m stuck paying the price this morning, still trying to figure out how to respond when the daughter of one of my biggest enemies begs me to assassinate him to protect her. Tempting me with a million-dollar reward for an easy hit, Isabella Santini can’t fathom how this will end for her if she fails. I don’t have the patience to try and make her understand the risk anymore. Or convince her I don’t give a damn about the money or her escape. Even if she doesn’t accept my answer, she’s on her own.
“They’re cute, aren’t they?”
The enthusiastic timbre of the responding voice entices me to open my eyes, making me wonder how the petite woman can sound so cheerful. Probably because she doesn’t feel like hell. Doesn’t look it either. I get a better glimpse of her stunning face from her profile as she turns to talk to the child, I assume to be her daughter.
Probably about ten years younger than me, she’s as magnificent as I expected. Pale ivory skin contrasts with her dark hair, and long strands fly around her face from her messy ponytail, bobbing with agreement to the kid’s excited squeal. Almost sexy in her black running shorts and thin purple tank top. Although, something about her absolute and undivided focus on her child makes me think she isn’t attempting to impress anyone with her fashion style. Unusual in this upscale neighborhood for someone to be dressed so casually and unconcerned with appearances, especially when her daughter is so over the top and calling all kinds of attention to them.
The older couple in front of her finish paying for their order, and the barista smiles at her expectantly. “What can I get for you today?”
