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“Did you fall and smack your head? I know you’re still mourning the loss of your snooze-fest relationship with Kent, but Kyle Lane is bad news.”
“Noted.”
She’s irritated, but her not continuing her rant confirms this isn’t a courtesy call. She wants something from me.
“Go ahead and say it,” I finally mutter.
“I need you to watch the kids tonight.”
“I can’t. I have plans.”
I’m not a fan of helping and enabling her, but normally, I have no problem with babysitting my niece and nephew, Gloria and Trey. I wish she’d act like a mom and take responsibility for them instead of putting it all on me.
“With who?” she snaps, the attitude resurfacing. “Kyle?”
Even though she can’t see me, I tip my chin up. “My plans are none of your business.”
We’ve never had a relationship where we share beauty secrets or boy advice. We only share conversations when it concerns the kids or she needs money.
“Do thoseplansinvolve Kyle?”
I release a long sigh. “It’s a work thing, not that it’s any of your concern. I’m available after seven.”
“Cool. I’ll drop them off then.”
The line goes dead.
Claudia is as grateful to me for watching her kids as those obnoxious twits onMy Super Sweet 16for their extravagant birthday parties.
Helping her is expected of me—has been for years. Like my mother, whose demise will be her strict diet of vodka and endless opiates, she’s entitled. If someone has something of value, she demands a slice. Free rides are hitting the jackpot, and Claudia views me as her money train to support her partying.
I drop my phone in my bag before getting out of my car and heading to my office. My head throbs with every step I take up the stairs. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’ve already dealt with Kyle and Claudia.
“Homegirl, you are introuble,” Melanie sings as soon as I walk in, her feet kicked up on the desk.
Her loud voice makes my head hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the shrill of Claudia’s.
I shrug off my jacket and settle it on my arm. “I can be late for once.”
She snorts and drops her feet, smoothing out her skirt. “I don’t give two shits about your punctuality. What I’m referring to is, you looking like you were up all night, drinking or sexing it up—or possibly both.”
“You have no idea,” I grumble while heading toward my office.
“The rumors are true then?”
I stop mid-step. “What rumors?”
She sits on the edge of her chair in excitement. “Word is, you left Down Home with Kyle last night and then had breakfast with him this morning.”
Seriously?
Joke’s on me. The woman who writes other people’s stories is now the face of the town gossip.
“Word is, people need to mind their damn business,” I grumble.
This is not what my hangover needs at the moment.
“He took me home and left last night. This morning, I spilled my coffee when he came over to give me my keys, and he offered to buy me another. Just two neighbors sharing a meal. No biggie.”
