Page 55 of Grease Monkey
“What? Why? You can’t go now…”
“Son, what happened?” Dad asks again, and I slam the carburetor down harder than I should.
“You were wrong.” I jab my finger at him. “Morgana is not anice girl. She’s just as cunning and manipulative as the rest of them here.”
“That can’t be right…”
“She fucking dumped me, Dad. I took her away for her birthday, arranged for her to see her brother after fucking years apart, and then she dropped me on my ass as soon as we got home.”
“Baby, can’t you…”
“No, Mom, I can’t do anything.” Mom winces as I yell at her. “She’s on a fucking date as we speak.”
I go back to ramming stuff back into my bag. Tugging at the zip, it catches and snaps off.
“Fucking piece of shit,” I snarl, grabbing the handles and throwing it onto my back. Something falls onto the ground, but I’m too pissed to get it. It can live there for all I care. I just need to leave.
“Teddy, you can’t drive like this,” Mom cries, trying to clutch at my arm, but I brush her off and race down the stairs. “Please? Teddy, stay and talk to us. Leave when you’ve calmed down.”
Throwing open the trunk, I toss my bag inside. “I can’t stay, Mom. I need to leave now. The drive will be good for me, the car can handle it. I promise I’ll be safe.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, hiding the tremor in them as she crosses the yard, throwing her arms around me and holding tight. Her tears soak into my t-shirt, and I look up to find disappointment and sadness written all over my dad’s face. I untangle Mom from me and slide behind the wheel.
“I’ll call you when I get to Phoenix.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morgana
Seven years later
“Don’t panic, but…”
Don’t panic.
God, it’s crazy how two little words have my heart rate skyrocketing in seconds. Why is it that when someone tells you not to panic, you immediately panic? Those words are the equivalent of telling someone apoplectic tocalm down. Everyone knows you just avoid saying that.
My eyes flick up to meet Lainey, my assistant, as she skirts around my office door, closing it silently behind her and pressing her skinny body to the wood like she’s hiding from something. Or someone.
Don’t panic.
“Please don’t shoot the messenger,” she begins, a grimace making her petite features bunch, and that doesn’t exactly help with the heart palpitations currently threatening a full-on heart attack.
“Okay, so you know how everyone can’t stop talking about the Bank of America portfolio, making them the ‘biggest client of Clifton & Azora Finances?’”She air quotes, and I nod. The signing of Bank of America was huge. Bigger than huge. Monumental for C&A, bumping us from a top fifty financial company to one of the top ten.
She glances over her shoulder, checking that the door’s still closed, and I can’t help the tiny eyeroll. I love Lainey—she’s intelligent, efficient, and always goes above and beyond, way more than an assistant should. But her love for theatrics is a tad tedious, especially when I am already behind on what I have to do for the day.
“Lainey,” I plead. The suspense of whatever MI6’s newest recruit has to say is killing me.
“They’re sending you to Phoenix,” she blurts on an exhale.
I laugh. “Good joke.”
The corners of her mouth drop as she shakes her head. I stare.
“What? No.” The breath leaves me, and I fall against the back of my chair, rubbing the place where my heart is trying to tear out my chest. Lainey slowly walks toward me and perches at the end of my desk.
“Silver lining?”
