Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Shit. You didn’t make the arrangements with the property manager. That was probably one of the dozens of unheard voicemails, or perhaps one of my thousand unread emails. At least the voicemail box had stopped accepting new messages, but the emails continued to pile up. I needed to pull myself together. The rest of the world didn’t care that Damian had broken my heart.
I pulled into the driveway of the house I’d grown up in and parked. There was already a rental car at the apex of the semicircular drive.
Mom must be here. That ever-present exhaustion swelled, sweeping over me.
I left my suitcases for later but grabbed my purse before heading toward the front door of the seventy-year-old colonial. The flowers are missing. Perennials popped up here and there, all rather desiccated, but there were no bright splashes of color in the beds that usually lined the drive this time of the season.
The last few years—when she’d been too fragile to spend that much time kneeling—I’d flown out to help Gran plant. It wasn’t like Damian had missed me…though now I knew why.
“Hello?” I called as I walked into the entry hall. My stomach churned at the stale scent of ash in the air. Had she been smoking in Gran’s house? The hardwood looked like it hadn’t been mopped since winter, and there was a thick layer of dust on the foyer table. Gran would have shit bricks to see her house like this. What had happened to Lydia? I’d asked Gran’s accountant to keep her housekeeper on payroll.
The doors to the sitting room pushed open, and Mom came through, dressed for company. Her megawatt smile slipped when she saw me, then widened.
“Gigi!” She opened her arms and gave me the two-second, back-pat hug that had pretty much defined our relationship.
God, I hated that nickname.
“Mom? What are you doing here?” I asked the question gently, not wanting to send her into a meltdown.
She tensed, then pulled back, her smile faltering. “Well…I’ve actually been waiting for you, honey. I know losing Gran was a major blow, and now that you’ve lost your husband, I figured you might need a soft place to land.” Her expression dripped with sympathy as she looked me up and down, grasping my shoulders lightly, ending her perusal with a slightly raised eyebrow. “You definitely look heartbroken. I know it’s hard right now, but I swear the next time will be easier.”
“I didn’t want there to be a next time,” I admitted quietly.
“We never do.” Her eyes softened in a way they never had toward me.
My shoulders fell, and the thick defenses I’d built over the years cracked. Maybe Mom was turning over a new leaf, starting a new chapter. It had been years since we’d spent any real time together, and maybe we’d finally reached a point where we could—
“Georgia?” a man asked through the opening of the French doors. “Is he here?”
My eyebrows hit the ceiling.
“Christopher, if I could have a second? My daughter just arrived home.” Mom flashed him the million-dollar smile that had snared her first four husbands, then took my hand and tugged me toward the kitchen before I could see into the sitting room.
“Mom, what is going on? And don’t bother lying to me.” Please, just be real.
Her expression flickered, reminding me that her ability to change plans on the fly was second only to her emotional unavailability. She excelled at both. “I’m concluding a business deal,” she said slowly, looking like she was considering her words. “Nothing to worry about, Gigi.”
“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.” Gigi was a little girl who spent too much time looking out the window at taillights, and I’d grown up. “A business deal?” My gaze narrowed.
“It all came together while I’ve been waiting for you to come home. Is that so hard to believe? Sue me for trying to be a good mother.” She lifted her chin and blinked rapidly, her lips pursing slightly like I’d hurt her.
I wasn’t buying it.
“How did he know my name?” Something wasn’t right here.
“Everyone knows your name, thanks to Damian.” Mom swallowed and patted her perfect ebony French twist—her tell. She was lying. “I know you’re hurt, but I really think there’s a chance you could get him back if we play our cards right.”
She was trying to distract me. I swept past Mom and into the living room with a smile.
Two men jumped to their feet. Both were in suits, but the one who had peeked through the open door looked to be a good twenty years older than the other.
“Sorry to be so rude. I’m Georgia Ells—” Damn it. I cleared my throat. “Georgia Stanton.”
“Georgia?” The older one paled. “Christopher Charles,” he said slowly, his gaze darting toward the door, where my mother had made her entrance.