Page 9 of Scrooged for the Holidays
“Of course I didn’t!” I snap.
“Alright, alright. I was just asking.”
I clench my jaw and hit the button to turn down the heat. My skin is flushed with frustration, and the weather is only getting worse, if that’s possible. I need to find this fucking motel.
I glance down at the GPS—still no Roads Motel on the map. The little arrow marking my path just shows that I’m moving south.
“I think I should turn back around.”
“What does your GPS say?”
My pulse thrums faster against my throat. “It shows I’m moving, but it doesn’t have any town names around it.”
“Okay, then, yeah. Turn around. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Thanks.”
Avery starts to ask a million more questions about landmarks and my location. But like I told her before, I don’t see anything. Now that I think of it, I should be seeing some random restaurants and hotels. There were several of them leading into Garland.
My stomach sinks. “I’m going to hang up; I need to focus.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay on the line with me?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “I’m going to head back to the restaurant then figure something out from there. It’ll be fine.”
“Is that really a good idea? I don’t think you’ll be welcomed back in.”
“What do you mean?” I think of the older woman I left not long ago. Sure, she wasn’t happy to see me, but the walkthrough was pretty painless. I did what I needed to do, told her I’d be in touch, then left.
“You already got an angry email from Holly. She thought she was sending it to you and Mr. Cross, but she sent it to my assistant email.”
“What did it say?”
“I forwarded it to you.”
“You didn’t forward it to Mr. Cross, did you?”
“Of course not.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I think Mr. Cross will be happy I came today instead of after the New Year, but I’d rather let him know in person after the holiday than have him find out through an angry email from the business owner, especially if he does end up getting miffed. But like I said, I don’t think he will. I’m sure he’s gotten plenty of angry emails over the years, so he’ll understand and applaud my gumption.
“Can you give me the short version?” I ask.
“Essentially, she called you a bitch without calling you a bitch. Said you had no soul for coming around before the holiday, that you ruined her and her family’s Christmas.”
“Bit dramatic.”
“I told you not to go today.”
“It’s just business, Avery. And Christmas is days away.”
“That’s not the point. You told the woman she might lose her business right before Christmas.”
“I did not tell her that. I told her there are goals that need to be met in the next few weeks that could determine the renewal oftheir lease. She can always move the restaurant to a new location or a new town.”
“You know that’s not true. You’ll price her out, and it’s her home.”
“Do you know this woman?” I ask, turning my car around in a place that looks safe. Just because I’m going back doesn’t mean I have to go to the restaurant. But at least I will be in civilization and not surrounded by woods.
