Page 24 of Heartless Boss
I hate the fucking smell of that stick.
Mom and loose-cannon Karen (that has a ring to it) think the devil rises from the dead to take souls with him.
When I was sixteen and Alana was eleven, I snuck her out to go trick-or-treating. I never did that again. My fun-size ma beat my six-foot-two ass with a broom that left welts on my back and told me not to ever celebrate the holiday while living under her roof, so when I moved out and got my first apartment, I celebrated the holiday like Satan was my lord and savior.
Ma sets the picture back on the center and grabs the broom from the beige wall to sweep the hardwood floors. The straw brushes against my feet. My feet don’t hurt as much as they did when I went running a few days ago, so I’m not limping as bad.
“Spit on it,” she says, holding the broom in my face.
“Ma!”
“Don’t give me any lip, boy. Do what I say.”
Rolling my eyes, I spit on the broom. If someone sweeps over your feet and you don’t spit on it it’s bad luck.
“Why are you here in the middle of a workday?” She studies my face like she’s trying to figure out a Rubik’s Cube. “You got a woman pregnant?”
“No.”
“You got an STD?”
“Hell no.” It’s pretty sad my mom thinks I’m slinging my dick without a condom. I have enough common sense to wrap it up. I run my hand through my hair. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
She doesn’t have any boundaries either. She’d be all over me like a rash if she knew I had PTSD. She’d call Dr. Hannah and harass the poor woman. No matter how old I get, I’m still her little boy. That’s why I keep my lips sealed. I leave my family in the dark about my life; they don’t know I moved Little Miss Sunshine into my condo, either.
“Fine, I guess. I have to cleanse Alana and Darien’s house tomorrow in preparation for my grandbaby’s birth.” She studies me from head to toe. “You look like you got hit by a bus. You want me to do yours?”
Ever wonder who I get my bluntness from? I’m looking at her.
“Yeah. Fine.” I don’t believe in that hocus-pocus bullshit. But whatever floats her boat.
After sweeping, she sets the broom back against the wall and rearranges the white lilies (her favorite) sitting on the table. I send her flowers every Wednesday to show her how much I appreciate her.
“Where’s Herold?” I ask.
“At the shop.”
He owns a mechanic shop in Newark. To be honest, I didn’t like Herold because I didn’t think he was good enough for her, but he proved himself that he was an okay guy. And when she married him two years ago, without letting me and Alana know, I was livid. FYI, I get my impulsive tendencies from Mommy Dearest.
“You’re not going to be moping around here, looking like someone stole your bike. Help me get rid of the wilting flowers in my garden, and I’ll fill you in on the latest gossip from the country club. Act like you care too. I really need to vent to someone about Karen’s adulterous husband.”
Don’t forget to add bossy to the list of things my ma is.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Nine
Gia
Oh, yeah.
I so needed this. Izzy perches across from me and hot mud clings to my skin, melting away my worries.
This week has been as painful as ripping hair from my scalp.
Since Gunner didn’t show up at work, things have been pretty hectic at the office. Conference meetings have been canceled. Shareholders have been asking me if and when Gunner is coming back to work. Then I had to send over finance notes to Mason. I don’t want to say this out loud, but I missed Gunner. It’s been quiet and lonely, especially at home. I didn’t finish the second season ofThe Officebecause Izzy is not into comedies, so it’s hard to discuss shows and movies with her. Cheesy romance and reality shows are more her jam.
Her eyes are closed, and her head rests on a white pillow. She looks like an enchanted princess with her inky, straight hair and tan skin that looks like the sun kissed her a million times, and she’s tall as a tree. She arrived two days ago from Johannesburg, will be staying here for another three days, then she’s off to her next photoshoot.
