Page 205 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Momma
“Oh, Mom,” I sob, tears drenching my cheeks. “You selfless, stubborn, beautiful angel.” I blink up at the ceiling and shake my head. “You’ve always known what’s best for me, whether I admitted it or not.”
Wiping my face, I open the letter from the solicitor… and nearly fall off the sofa.
Peanutfreaking butter! That’s a lot of money.
After staringat Mom’s insurance policy and reading her letter again, I’d curiously researched available office spaces in Buxtonville before eventually falling asleep, kitchen knife by my side.
Arming myself in my own home isn’t something I want to become accustomed to, but until I feel safe again, I don’t have a choice. And that’s if I’ll ever feel safe here, and I’m not sure I will.
“Excuse me,” I say, edging past other people to exit the elevator, Georgia’s golden turmeric shit—and my coffee—in hand.
“Do you have a death wish now?” Tessa asks as she falls into step beside me, files hugged to her chest.
“No. Why?”
“Because you’re late.”
“I know.” I wince. “It’s only fifteen minutes though.”
“Only fifteen minutes? In Georgia time, that’s fifteen hours, Riley.”
She’s not wrong.
“Shit.” My stomach feels like it could churn butter. “I was mugged last night. He took my OMNY card, credit cards, everything. I had to search around the apartment to scrounge up enough change to get to work.”
“Oh my God, Riley!” She touches my arm. “Are you okay?”
“To be honest, I’m still a little shaken up. He had a gun.”
Her footsteps falter. “How terrifying!”
“Yeah, it was, but I’m guessing not as terrifying as what I’m about to walk into.”
Tessa cocks her head to the side, her expression sympathetic. “No.”
I sigh. “Wish me luck.”
“You and I both know it’s not luck you need.” She cups her chest. “It’s breasts of steel.”
I can’t help but laugh, even though laughing is the last thing I should be doing. “Damn it. Here goes nothing.”
She straightens her shoulders and pokes out her chest, gesturing I do the same, which I do to humor her until I’m a few feet from Georgia’s desk, my steel breasts now as fierce as deflating balloons.
“Good morning,” I say to the back of her chair as she takes in the view of Manhattan beyond her twenty-second-floor window. “I apologize for my tardiness. I was mugg?—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Riley.” She swivels her seat to face me, her makeup precise—bar the feathering of lipstick across her pursed lips. “You’ve worked for me long enough to know they don’t matter.”
I hand over her cup. “Yes. Of course.”
Narrowing her eyes, she scans her desk, and I realize she’s looking for the cookies.
Crap!
Her jaw twitches. “You look disastrous.”
I touch my hair.
