“And…what did you say?”
“I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no.” Rose let out a low hum.
“Well. That’s progress.” I glanced at her, “What about you? You and the pilot? I didn’t notice if you came last night.” Now it was her turn to blush.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Youcame…”
“Samantha!”
She yelled at me, and I just laughed, looking ather so she could continue spilling the tea. “We got drunk last night, and we spent the night together at his hotel room,” she said, suddenly fascinated by a Renoir. “But he is a jerk, and while he fucked me amazingly good, whatever happened is not happening again.”
“Rose, you are allowed to have fun.”
“Yes, I know, but not with Captain Flirt. He is an asshole, and he is like twenty years older than me. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake, twenty years older that fucked you amazingly good. Got it,” I cackled, loudly enough that everyone looked at me.
“Oops,” I whispered.
“Art makes her emotional. I'm so sorry,” she said loudly, making an excuse for me. We were standing in the museum gift shop, Rose flipping through a stack of postcards with vintage aviation prints, when my phone buzzed.
Naomi Hayes: We need to talk.
Call when you can.
My stomach dropped.
Naomi never texted first. Hell, Naomi barely texted at all unless there was a birthday, a funeral, or a scheduling conflict at the Christmas table. I quickly typed back.
Me: I’ll call soon.
Naomi Hayes: What time zone are you even in?
Me: I’m just a few hours ahead of you.
She didn’t reply.
By the time we stepped out of the museum and into the chill afternoon air, the weight of her message had settled deep in my chest. Rose flagged down a passing vendor for a Nutella crepe, and I walked a few feet away, phone pressed to my ear.
She picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Samantha.” Her voice was tight, clipped. “Thanks for calling.”
“Hi. You’re scaring me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she said, then paused. “It’s just that—, I talked to Susan this morning.” The name alone made me roll my eyes. “And?”
“And apparently, Dad’s sick.” The words landed like a drop of ink in a glass of water. Sinking, spreading, staining everything around it. “Sick? Sick how?” What the hell is happening?
“They’re not saying everything yet, but… Susan told me it’s something with his liver.” Her voice dropped. “He’s stepping down because he has to, not because he wants to. The board’s already preparing to announce the transition, but they’re keeping the health issues private.”
I leaned against a stone wall near the museum gates, watching tourists take selfies and pretending my stomach wasn’t suddenly in knots. “Why would Susan tell you this if he doesn’t want anyone to know it?”
“I don’t know Samathan, maybe because I actually have a relationship with them.”
“Of course you do.” Naomi sighed.
“Look, I know you and Dad have… whatever it is you have going on. But I figured you should know before you see it in the press.” I didn’t respond right away. Max Hayes had always been more of a boss than a father. He gave me my last name and a spreadsheet full of expectations. The man was made of ambition and obligation. Love was never part of the contract. Yes, I was the ‘favorite daughter’ up until they realized I didn’t care about anything Hayes-related.
“Thanks for telling me,” I said finally.
