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"Wait, hold on, what are you all doing here?" I scowl at the women.
"We came to offer moral support, of course," Summer says sweetly.
"So that’s why you were on the phone?" I scowl at Zara, who has the grace to look ashamed.
"I figured we needed all the support we could get."
"I came here because I needed space to think," I admonish her.
"And you’ll think much better when you have your girlfriends to bounce ideas off."
Zara’s phone buzzes. She looks at it, then begins to type again. "Solene’s on a flight back to LA, so she can’t make it, but she’s rooting for you."
"Is there anyone you haven’t called? How about the guy at the corner shop? Or maybe the bartender at your local pub?" I huff.
Zara pretends to think. "That’s not a bad idea, actually. He’s a good-looking dude with this man bun, and he always has good advice for the lovelorn—"
The bell rings again.
"In fact, I think that’s him."
"What?" I gape. "You’re kidding right?"
"Nope," she says with a straight face.
The bell rings again.
"Tell me you’re kidding. Zara, if you’ve actually called him, I’ll—"
"Relax, of course I’m kidding. I actually don’t know who it could be." She walks to the door and opens it. A woman I haven’t met before steps through.
"Karina?" Summer blinks. "What are you doing here?"
41
Liam
I sprawl back in my seat and survey the glass of whiskey in my hand. It’s only noon, but what the hell? It must be six p.m. somewhere in the world, right? I take a sip, and the alcohol goes down smoothly. It hits my stomach and sets off a pleasant heat. My computer screen dings with an incoming email. For the first time in my entire career, I can’t be bothered. I shut down my computer, then pick up my glass of whiskey again. My phone rings. It’s a FaceTime call from my mother. Damn. How does she know when it’s the most inopportune time to call me? I can’t ignore her call. I can’t. I hit the audio on the FaceTime call.
"Liam? Why are you on audio?" my mother demands.
"Because I don’t want you to see me on video," I retort.
"Are you being impertinent, young man?"
I wince. The only person a grown man can still fear is his mother, apparently. I place my glass on the desk. Then for good measure, push it to the side, so there’s no chance of it being seen on screen. Not that I have anything to hide from her, but it would take a lot of explaining. And even then, I’m not sure I’d be able to convince her of my necessity to drink at midday.
I turn on the video screen and my mother’s face appears.
"There you are," she smiles at me.
"Hello, mother." I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the knots in them.
"Why do you look so tired? And you’ve lost weight since I last saw you."
"I’m busy, mother. It’s the middle of a working day."
"Not so busy that you’ve been drinking."
