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“Okay—” I started to say, and the phone went dead. I glared at the phone, and the urge to cover my face and sob tore through me, but I forced myself to get out of the car and go inside.
I pushed it all to the side and started dinner. With the chicken in the oven, the pasta cooking, and the veggies ready to warm, I signed on to my computer and started reading the comments on my column.
Jeff was right, I did have a ton of comments, and I had barely scratched the surface when my mother arrived home. I watched the aide bring her halfway to the door and then wait for her to get inside.
I was about to check on her when she stepped into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“Chicken and pasta. How was your day?”
Her lips puckered as she contemplated that. “I think it was a good day.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She seemed to know who I was today, and we had small talk over dinner, and then she helped me clean up. She was heading up to her room to watch her favorite show when Heather rang the bell.
“Come on in. What do you want to drink? Beer, wine, or tequila?”
“Holy crap! Are you offering tequila? You only do that when shit has really gone off the rails.”
I snorted and reached into the cabinet where I kept the bottle. “Oh, yeah. I’m offering tequila. Now, let me see if I can get this all correct. A few days ago, I ran into my high school sweetheart, who, by the way, is more gorgeous than he was at nineteen—if that is possible. Then I was held captive by two psychos, and luckily freed after about an hour.”
I retrieved two shot glasses and set them on the counter with a bang. “Then I argued with my ex after I got offered a position and was then handcuffed—not in a good way—dragged to the police station and accused of being involved in the earlier robbery. But before that, I had a dead rat delivered to my house, from only God knows who. Then after the police station, I had incredible sex with my ex right here in the kitchen before we got into another massive fight.”
Heather’s eyes were wide, and she shot a quick look around the kitchen as I continued. “Today I was fired from my job—or I quit—I’m not sure which one happened first, and then I lost the other position I’d been offered—probably because I’d had sex with my ex. Plus, Mom is changing daily, and I never know who is coming into my house each evening.”
I poured tequila into the shot glass and pushed one toward her. Her mouth still hung open, but she lifted the glass to her lips, threw it back, and then set it down. “Start with the sex, and then you can explain everything else.”
The doorbell rang again. “I swear to god, this house has become Grand Central Station.” I tossed back my shot and then went to answer the door. As I approached it, I hesitated. What if it was another delivery person and they brought me another rodent? I peered anxiously around the curtain and saw it was Greg.
Without thought, I ripped open the door. “You have some nerve showing up here.”
“Whoa, back down, tiger. I came over to explain and apologize.”
I glared at him. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight, Greg. I’ve had a hell of a day.” I turned and walked away from the door and back to the kitchen. I heard the door close and his footsteps following. I poured myself another shot and threw it down the hatch before I glanced between Heather and Greg.
“Greg, Heather. Heather, Greg.” I poured another shot as Heather leaned toward me, lowering her voice in a stage whisper.
“Is this the ex?”
“Yep,” I muttered.
Heather turned and looked him up and down, and Greg shifted slightly as he if were uncomfortable with her scrutiny. He glanced at the counter, noting the shot glasses and tequila. “Hello, Heather. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your girls' night. I can hang out in the other room until you guys are done.”
“Oh, no, please stay,” I told him and grinned. “Go ahead and apologize, might as well do it in front of Heather. It will save me from having to explain it to her later.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gregory
We all gathered in the conference room to discuss the op. Even though I wasn’t going, I was still part of the discussion. The private cargo plane that was transporting the supplies was next Saturday. It would leave on Monday. The travel time was going to be about thirty hours, with two stops for refueling and changing pilots. It should take two days to transport the supplies if everything was in place and working in their favor, a day there to make sure everything was okay and help unpack things, then another two days to return to the airport. The trip would finish with a commercial flight back to the US that would take them another thirty-six hours with layovers.
If things went on schedule, they would be back in ten days.
“You sure you don’t want to go, Greg? I can hang back here at the office,” Mike said.
“Nope, I’m staying back.”
“Just can’t trust yourself around her, can you?” Trevor joked.
“She has nothing to do with this,” I replied as I leaned back in my seat and laced my fingers over my stomach.
