Page 37 of Out of the Shadow

Her giggle floats over the phone again. She’s worse than a teenager. “I didn’t want it to come out like this, but yes. He legally changed it when he turned twenty—isn’t that awesome?”

I choose not to respond to that.

“He owns a bunch of gyms. Hey, you work out a lot, too. You’ll like him.”

Bending over, I strum the top of the table with my fingers. “Doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to meet anytime soon.”

“Such a pity. I think he’s the one, you know?”

And here comes the gushing and fawning stage of the relationship. How many “the ones” has my mother had over the years? When the guy eventually dumps her, she’ll move on to an alcohol or drug fest, or—if I’m really lucky—both at the same time. Then rehab. At least her first stint in rehab wasn’t until I was twenty-five, after Husband Number Three left her for a younger version.

“Let’s hope so.”

“King, don’t be so high and mighty with your mother! I don’t see you settling down anytime soon.”

“With the role models I’ve had, can you blame me?”

“Well!” she says, her tone affronted. “I did the best I could for you. Considering the way your deadbeat father dumped you after he married that hussy, I’d expect you to be more grateful. Who drove you to all your lessons growing up? Who cleaned your skinned knees? Huh?”

I bite my tongue to keep from responding that it certainly wasn’t her. My friends’ parents usually took pity on me. And I know a whole lot about first aid because I had to teach myself. Standing up straight, I exhale through my nose. It’s not worth fighting with her. She’s not worth my time.

“I really can’t talk now. I have to get ready for my next scene.”

“I want you to quit that stupid show right now. I won’t have you ridiculing my good name.”

I can’t help it this time. I laugh. “In case you missed it, mother, I’m thirty-three years old and you haven’t had much to say over my life for over twenty years. Now, I’m going to get ready for the cameras. Good luck with your new boyfriend.”

She starts talking again, but I end the call and toss my phone onto the table. I realize I’m sucking in rapid gulps of air. How the hell can she still get under my skin after all these years?

I’m awash in anger when my phone buzzes again. Looking down, I see “Trevor” on the screen. That asshole got me into this mess in the first place, then totally trashed me on the call when I suggested—again—that he go to rehab, so I send the call to voicemail. I pace around the room five more times, staring at my phone the entire time. While I don’t want to care about him either, I find myself grabbing the phone and punching in the password for my voicemail. Trevor’s voice bounces off the walls, which feel like they’re closing in on me.

“Hey, dude. Need to hit you up for another twenty thou. Got a bit tight over here. Venmo me, all right?” My finger hovers over the delete button. “Please and thank you.” I smash the delete and, turning in the opposite direction, pace double-time around the conference room.

The door opens and Angie enters the conference room. Her hair looks a bit disheveled, like she ran her fingers through it several times during her pitch.

Putting a lid on my displeasure at my conversation with my mother and Trevor’s voicemail, I grill my co-star, a bit too harshly, “How did it go?”

She blanches at my tone and tips her chin upward. “Great. Good luck, you’re going to need it. I had them eating out of the palm of my hand.”

I know bluster when I see it. It’s time to get my head back into the game. While I can’t do anything about Mom or Trevor,thisis under my control. Whatever Mom thinks, this is a good show, and I’m damn proud of what I’m doing. I rub my hands together and force my lips into a smile. “They’re going to forget all about your presentation by the time I’m done with them.”

Kaitlyn walks into the room. “Are you ready, King?”

“Born ready.” I blow a kiss at Angie, whose cheeks turn a light shade of pink. I barely have time to register her reaction before Kaitlyn takes me by the arm and leads me out of the conference room.

I take a seat to the right of the Dansons. While Milo works his magic with the camera, I review my notes. I can do this. I’m going to win, and I’ll be that much closer to the bonus.

Pretty soon, filming starts. I give them an overview of my take on their dream home. Our conversation goes great, and I show them the three houses I selected for them. By the end, we’re laughing like old friends. Yeah. I got this in the bag.

Kaitlyn tells me to go into the conference room while the Dansons discuss the two pitches. After a round of handshakes, I return to the depressing room.

“Well? How did it go for you?” Angie repeats my question back to me. “Did they nod and talk with each other a lot?”

I make myself a cup of coffee with the Keurig, then sit down across from her with my mug. “It went great. Better than I could’ve hoped.”

Her lips purse. “What houses did you show them?”

I rattle off my three and ask for hers. We didn’t show the Dansons any of the same properties, and while mine were at or over budget, none of hers touched their upper limit. “That’s interesting. At least the show is getting its money’s worth, since we didn’t have any overlap.”

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