Page 78 of Sleeping with Her Enemy (49th Floor 2)

The group gathered on the floor of the dining room as Danny unloaded sandwiches and deli salads. “Who wants a mimosa?” Leave it to Danny to bring champagne and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Amy raised her hand. The better to numb the pain.

Everyone munched their sandwiches while Danny passed out paper cups. Dax was the only one who demurred. “I’m going to hit the road soon with your stuff for my storage locker, so I shouldn’t.”

She didn’t know whether to thank him for helping—or to berate him for helping when she’d specifically told him she didn’t need him. She understood that he regarded what had happened between them as a meaningless fling. It had been a meaningless fling. But even so, how could he just be here acting like everything was normal—like they hadn’t been wrapped around each other less than a month ago?

Then Michael’s phone rang, and she was so jumpy already that she about hit the ceiling as she let loose a little shriek. Her brother eyed the caller ID. Oh, crap. She could tell just by looking at his face.

“It’s Mom,” he said, confirming her fears.

“You listen to me.” Her finger had come out, seemingly of its own volition, so she just went with it and poked him in the chest. “Just because we’re moving a day earlier than planned does not mean we need to go to their party.”

Michael looked uncertain. He had always been such a good boy. He had trouble lying to their parents. She understood. Until recently, she had been a good girl.

“What party?” Danny asked. She ignored him.

“We have an excuse!” She poked harder. “The excuse has already been relayed.” Staring at her brother, she tried to bore some sense into him with her eyeballs. She could not add her mother to the shitstorm of emotion that this weekend was turning out to be.

“I’ll go. You don’t have to. I’ll tell them you’ll be busy unpacking. Knowing one of us will be there will get her off our case about it, anyway.” He pressed a button on his phone.

“No!” She buried her head in her hands even as he stood up and started walking. She could hear him say, “Hi, Mom,” as he disappeared into the now-empty kitchen, could feel him capitulating. She knew she probably looked like she was being melodramatic for effect, but real tears were starting to prickle in her eyes. It was all just too much. She needed a pair of ruby slippers to click so she could magically be done with this all and transport herself home.

Except she didn’t know where—or what—home was.

“What was that?” Cassie asked gently.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and lifted her head to face her friends. “That was my mother. My parents have this big stupid party every year at the end of the summer. It’s generally nonnegotiable, but I told them we weren’t coming this year because Michael was helping me move. My mother has been on a warpath ever since.”

“Wow, she really wants you there,” said Danny, who, of course, knew nothing about the woman who had given birth to her.

“No.” Mortified, Amy felt a tear start to break free. She swallowed, hard. “She wants accessories. Perfect, successful children to show off to her friends.” She swiped angrily at the tear. “They’re not even her friends. It’s like they’re her…competitors.”

“Don’t go.” All eyes swung to Dax. He’d spoken quietly, but with such force that Amy was startled. She imagined everyone else was, too, given the way the directive brought a hush to the group. He looked at her as if they were the only two people in the room. “You don’t owe her anything. Just don’t go.”

She wanted to say that he didn’t have the right to an opinion on the situation. But everyone else was watching, waiting for her to answer. “I wouldn’t. But Michael is going to cave—I can tell. And I can’t send him into the shark tank alone.” She waved her arms around the room, filled with neatly stacked boxes. “Especially not after he just stayed up all night helping me do this.” She could feel herself hardening, her jaw locking. Good. Steely resolve was better than weepy uncertainty. She could do this. Move. Sleep. Get up and go to the goddamned white party. By Sunday night, it would all be over, and she would have fully launched herself into the next chapter of her life—Amy Morrison, Single City Girl.

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