Page 34 of Filthy Promises

If Mom only knew.

“Actually, that’s sort of why I’m here.” I perch on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the sleeves of my sweater. “I got a promotion.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? That’s wonderful, honey! What position?”

“Executive assistant.” I can’t keep the fear or the pride out of my voice. “To Mr. Akopov.”

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “The one you’ve been mooning over for?—”

“Five years, yes, thank you for the reminder.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “It happened kind of suddenly.”

“How suddenly?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. Mom’s always been good at sniffing out my half-truths.

I hesitate, carefully piecing together a version of events that won’t give her a heart attack. “He noticed some of my marketing work and thought I’d be a good fit for the position.” Not technically a lie. “His previous assistant got transferred, so there was an opening.”

“And he just happened to pick you out of the whole company?”

She’s not buying it. Of course she’s not. Mom’s bullshit detector is finely tuned after raising me alone for twenty-seven years.

I shrug, aiming for casual. “Right place, right time, I guess.”

“Mhmm.” She gives me that look—the one that says she knows I’m not telling her everything. “And how much of a raise comes with this promotion?”

This part I can be honest about. “Triple my previous salary.”

Mom gasps. “Triple? Rowan, that’s amazing!”

“I know.” I can feel my eyes getting watery. “It means we can finally get ahead of some of these bills.”

She reaches for my hand, squeezing it with surprising strength. “Honey, you don’t need to worry about?—”

“Don’t even start,” I interrupt. “We’re a team, remember? Besides, I already paid off a chunk of the hospital debt this morning.”

It’s true. My first paycheck landed in my account at midnight—a prorated amount for the rest of the month that still dwarfed anything I’ve ever seen in my bank account before. I was at the hospital billing office the moment they opened. The look on the administrator’s face when I handed over a check for eight grand was almost worth all the sleepless nights I’ve spent worrying about money.

Almost.

“Rowan Elizabeth,” Mom scolds, though her voice is thick with emotion, “you should be using that money on yourself. A better apartment. New clothes. A vacation, for heaven’s sake.”

I shake my head. “This is more important.”

“Your happiness is important, too.”

“I’m happy knowing you’re getting the care you need.” I squeeze her hand back. “And now, we can afford that live-in nurse we talked about.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. This is how it’s always been—just the two of us against the world. If only my dad—whoever he is, wherever he is—knew what he was missing.

“So,” Mom says, wiping her eyes, “tell me about working for Mr. Gorgeous CEO. Is he as intimidating up close as he is on the front page?”

I laugh, but it comes out strained. “You have no idea.”

“Have you talked to him much? Besides work stuff?”

I think about last night’s disaster.Shipments… no witnesses…

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