Page 57 of The Thinnest Air
“What?”
“You’re the only boy in your family. And the baby,” I say. “You think everything’s about you. And you’ve never had to share the spotlight. That’s why you’re such an asshole.”
“Wow.” He’s quiet for a rare moment. “That’s, uh, that’s pretty harsh, Meredith.”
“I think you could be nicer,” I say. “But you’re going to have to work at it.”
“Iamnice.” One brow lifts.
“Not to me,” I say.
“I’m only hard on you because I care. You’re like the little sister I never had. And it stresses Greer the fuck out when you do stupid shit like ... I don’t know ... marrying a man twice your age.”
My jaw falls. “Seriously, Harris? You’re going to bring my husband into this?”
“Not your husband. Your marriage,” he says. “It’s kind of a joke, don’t you think?”
I shake my head and glance down. My marriage isn’t a joke, but his words sting.
The bells on the door jingle. Greer strides across the shop, her phone glued to her ear as she passes me by without looking up. A moment later, she shuts the door to her office.
Climbing down from the stool, I head back, letting myself in. Greer doesn’t smile when she sees me. She doesn’t seem shocked or fazed. When she ends her call, she buries her head in her hands.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Just got off the phone with our accountant,” she says. “We’re going to have to start closing down shops.”
“Shops ... plural ... as in more than one?” I ask.
Her arms fold across her chest, and she leans back in her chair, eyes glassy. “Yeah. At least three of the five.”
“How?”
She shakes her head. “Profits are down. Some of the stores aren’t performing.”
“Okay, so you just need to trim the fat. Focus on the ones that are making you money,” I say.
She’s quiet, stewing in her failure.
“Come on. Let’s grab drinks. My treat,” I say. “I might have a Xanax in my purse that you can have if you want it.”
Her pale blue eyes flick onto mine, and I realize I’ve become one of those pill-toting housewives who are somehow able to get any drug they need from their trusted family doctor with the snap of their manicured fingers.
“I’m kidding,” I say. Not really. “But let’s go. Let’s get out of here. Harris is being a douche anyway.”
“I can’t deal with you two,” she says. “Not today.”
“I’m kidding.” I lie again. “He’s great. We were actually talking about you.”
Six words is all it takes to capture her interest and distract her from her despair.
Hooking my arm around hers, I pull her out of her chair and grab her purse. “Come on. Let’s get a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
CHAPTER 26
GREER
Day Eight
