Page 17 of Falling Slowly
“The financial literacy one for Thriver Credit Union.”
Finally, a glimpse of understanding. “Ah. You need someone financially illiterate to test your ideas on?”
“What? No. Did I say that?”
Her hand flew to her mouth and she blushed even harder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I mean, how can I help?”
“Don’t apologize. I need your unfiltered thoughts and ideas. For the campaign. Can you do that?”
For a moment, I wondered if she’d stopped breathing. I took a deep breath, to remind us both of that vital activity. When I saw her chest moving again, I relaxed a little.
“I have to call my mom.”
“Please, do.”
She pulled her phone out of her backpack’s side pocket and stepped outside to make the call.
Guilt turned my stomach. I was blackmailing her, appealing to her sense of duty and unwavering work ethic. She’d do anything to keep her job—a job she’d already lost.
I would turn things around. I’d help her tap into her creative side. Once everyone saw her ideas, she’d become irreplaceable. My determination was underscored by a foreboding cold shiver, but I shook it off. I was used to taking bold risks and winning. Why would this be any different?
Chapter Eight
Bess
Charlie had been right about Mom. She was relieved and happy about my decision to stay, insisting that she and Celia were doing fine. I heard my daughter’s protests in the background, but she settled as soon as Mom promised her an amazing souvenir. So, now I had to find her a souvenir.
I finished the call and stepped back into the cabin. To my relief, I found Charlie fully dressed, sitting in one of the armchairs with his laptop. It had taken a lot of concentration to keep my gaze away from those boxer shorts.
He looked up, eyes full of expectation. “What did she say?”
He must have been desperate with this campaign. Could I help him with it? What if I made things worse and we lost the client? Would I lose my job?
“She’s fine with it. I’ll stay.”
He jumped to his feet, bagging his laptop. “Hurray! Breakfast?”
“Sounds good.”
I returned my backpack to the loft and we walked together to the main building. In daylight, the place looked like a palace, nestled within manicured gardens, perfectly complimented by the mountain backdrop. A touch of frost lingered on the ground and the air felt crisp in my lungs.
Neither of us knew where to go, but Charlie led the way until we spotted a sign leading to the dining hall. We found a lavish buffet of breakfast foods, and a handful of other attendees, sitting at round tables scattered across the vast space. A floor-to-ceiling panelled windows opened to the gardens, framing the postcard scenery.
Charlie found us a vacant table and plonked his laptop on it. “Reserved.” He smiled, gesturing for me to tackle the buffet.
I eyed the wide selection, my mouth flooding with saliva. Could I take a little bit of everything? I didn’t want to appear greedy, but I hadn’t seen such a spread in a long time. “It’s like a… wedding buffet.”
The buffet seemed geared towards healthy and expensive, with an endless array of nuts and seeds, and individual bottles of ‘energizing’ and ‘brain boosting’ juices. Charlie stood behind me, waiting patiently as I mixed a spoonful of each muesli, cereal, and nut topper into the same bowl.
“That’s an interesting way to enjoy cereal. You must have an impressive selection at home.”
“Haha.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never tried most of these, so I want to test them out.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to test them one by one? Unless you’re planning on buying all seventeen and mixing them?”
Yes, that did make more sense, but my cereal-deprived body wasn’t listening to reason. I’d been making oatmeal for two years, carefully steering my daughter through the grocery storewithout even visiting certain aisles. What I really wanted was to box everything and take it home.
“I… don’t know how long I’m staying,” I explained, cutting the rolls and pastries into smaller pieces so I could taste everything.
