Page 5 of Georgia Guy
I’m not surprised that she’s researched my occupation. She probably has a file full of information about me that she refers to as a ‘dossier,’ or some other fancy word that us little people would never use.
She’s looking at me as if she expects a response, so I say, “Normally, it would be, but I had some unexpected expenses––like a tree falling on the shop’s roof––that are making things tighter than normal.”
Her expression scrunches with confusion. “Shouldn’t insurance cover a damaged roof?”
“It probably would if I’d stayed up-to-date on my premiums, but business was slow for a spell, and I let a couple of things slide,” I admit.
She bugs her eyes out in my direction as if I’m the biggest imbecile in the world. “Like your business’s insurance coverage? That’s just asking for trouble.”
That does it… Her holier-than-thou attitude has me ready to bolt from this room and never look back. She startles at my half-shout. “Look, I don’t need your judgmental tone. I’m doing the best I can. My business may not be a billion-dollar conglomerate, but you said yourself that you had some unfair advantages in that department.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she says in a whisper-quiet tone that stops me from lunging out of my chair and heading for the door.
Pausing, I stare at her, trying to assess her sincerity. Anger has my heart racing, which makes my chest heave with each breath I take. Finally, I say, “Some of us have to struggle and get creative to make things work, but that doesn’t mean we’re willing to give up on our dreams.”
“I understand that,” she says a little too quickly.
“Do you?” I ask, confident that she doesn’t get it at all. “Have you ever had to juggle money around to pay your bills or decide which necessity you can try to live without?”
She’s staring down at the glossy table when she shakes her head.
Scratching my scruffy chin, I say, “Look, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”
“Well, you could have fooled me,” she snaps, making it obvious that her fiery side is always on standby, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
“Can we agree that it isn’t your fault that you were born into a life filled with wealth and privilege any more than it’s mine that I wasn’t?”
At my rational question, she bobs her head once.
“Okay, now that we have a truce, let’s dig in and see what we can figure out about this story’s reach.”
“What can I do to help?” she asks, obviously on board with anything that will bring her closer to stopping its spread.
After instructing her to do a Google search and make me a list of all of the websites that have run a story on her family within the last week, I begin working my magic. It doesn’t take long for us both to see that this story has already taken on massive legs of its own.
Alex runs her fingers through her long hair before saying, “There are already thousands of results. We’ll never get through all of these.”
As much as I dislike the hopelessness in her tone, I have to agree with her assessment. Nodding, I add, “And this is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Oh, no,” Alex practically wails. Her normally perfect posture has been replaced by a definite slump.
“I wish I could do more to help, but I’m afraid that, at this point, the story is beyond containment. Perhaps you should shift your efforts toward distraction, and guide the public eye to some shiny, new object.”
Since this suggestion is the best advice I can give her, I stand and prepare to leave.
Alex’s eyes widen in alarm, “Where do you think you’re going?”
I cringe away from her screechy tone before answering, “I’m going to get a ride back to my shop. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Alex responds, openly glaring at me. “You got my family into this mess, and you’re going to help us get out.”
Splaying my hands, I say, “I already told you, the story is out. There’s nothing more we can do to stop it.”
Alex’s voice is whisper-quiet, so I have to lean forward to hear her when she says, “I think there’s more to the story than what was leaked…”
5
ALEXANDRA
