Page 32 of The Bad Girl
Chapter 13
Nadine
Being the responsible cat owner that I am, I got my girl Granger fixed in her kittenhood. So please, Mother Nature, explain to me why my cat has been up at all hours of the night, howling like she’s in heat.
Furthermore, how the hell has the cat-species survived, let alone thrived if this is the way the lady-folk attract mates. I mean, if human women were to try such tactics, there’d be a sharp decline in the population.
My mind goes to Tom’s message I still haven’t replied to. Good Girl Nadine would be all over that shit, replying almost instantly. Bad Girl Nadine has shit better under control, or at least she pretends she does.
At this point, I’m almost destined to suffer the consequences of subverted expectations. I’ve had this fantasy going for over ten years now, and even after epic humiliation, I still manage to keep the torch burning bright.
I indulge myself with a well-deserved extra fifteen minutes in bed because I’m a bad girl that doesn’t care about getting into the office on time.
Granger lets out another howl, and the irony isn’t lost on me.
I doomed her. I doomed Granger!
It was her namesake, Hermione, that did her in. How many times over the course of seven books can a girl yell at someone?
Stretching, my muscles release their fatigue, and I turn over, bunching my pillow under my head.
The glow of my cellphone alerts me to impending messages, and as much as I want to let go and get ten more minutes of shuteye, Good Girl Nadine rouses, compelling me to pick up the brick I’m tethered to every waking hour.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, blinking half a dozen times until the screen comes into focus.
Mom:Naddy, sweetie, I was wondering if you would like to meet me for dinner tomorrow night.
Dinner? Tomorrow? She never comes into town this short notice.
Nadine:I’ll be home around 6. What’s this about?
Mom:We’ll talk over Italian. That’s still your favorite, right?
Nadine:Okay, can’t wait to see you.
If mom’s coming to see me, she must be fine. You have to be fine to travel, right?
But what about dad? He’s not coming.
My stomach sinks, and for a moment, I’m worried it will upturn onto my bed.
My parents have been together for almost three decades. My mom was twenty-two when they married, my father twenty-seven. In fact, they’re my inspiration for life and love.
My mother was a bonafide good girl, even more so than myself, going so far as to save herself for marriage. My father was a bad boy who knew it was time to get his life together when he met my mom—the love of his life.
If something is wrong with him, there’s no way my mom will survive.
I shoot out of bed, determined to distract myself from my worries. I slip into the outfit Stacey picked out for me on Sunday: plaid business pants, a crop top, and accompanying blazer. Then I apply my makeup, do my hair, and rush out the door.
The entire twenty-minute walk to the office has my mind reeling, wondering why my mother wants to meet with me.
In just a month, my parents will be celebrating their anniversary, so I suppose it could be that, especially since she didn’t mention him coming. If it was something bad, it wouldn’t be my mother texting me. The cops would be pounding on my door. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
I step out of the elevator and into the office and see the pint-sized, spry redhead Stacey sitting in my chair, legs propped up on my desk.
“It’s good to see you back,” I lie. The last thing I need is Stacey’s domineering presence when I’m seriously freaking out about what my mother wants to talk to me about.
“I see you made it into the office two minutes early.”
