Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I’m so relieved he gets it, but I’m not surprised. Of course Nick would know why this weighs on me.
I swallow roughly. “It’s just…the take care of Mom promise? I’ve always thought that meant I had to work for her, to look out for her, to make sure she’s happy.”
“I can see why you’d think that.” He’s careful when discussing my parents. I can tell he doesn’t want to overstep.
“Nick, I need to know what you think it means…as a father,” I implore. I never thought to ask him before. I didn’t want to take advantage of his insight as a father. But I sure do now. “Tell me. It’s been chasing me for years.”
No, that’s not true. The promise has done more than chase me. “It’s defined me,” I say, correcting myself.
Nick sighs deeply, shaking his head, but it’s not a sad sigh. It’s contemplative. “Layla,” he begins quietly, importantly.
“Yes?”
He takes my hand. His gentle gaze stays on mine. “I believe it means he knew you’d be okay without him. He knew his strong, brave girl would be all right whatever she did, whatever she chose, whatever she decided.”
Damn him. He’s making me cry. Leaning close, he swipes a thumb across a tear on my cheek.
“He told you he loved you. That’s what he wanted you to know. Then he told you to take care of her because he wanted someone to remember the woman he loved. But as a father, he’d never have wanted you to do something just for her. He’d have wanted you to be free to make the choices that are best for you. The choices you want to make.”
My shoulders shake as relief and something almost like joy clobber me, but I swallow the next wave of tears. “You really think so?”
“I believe it completely,” he says.
“You’re not just saying that because you…”
He gives a tiny laugh. “Because I love you?”
“Yes.”
He cups my cheek, runs his thumb down my bare face. “I’m saying that because it’s what I believe to be true.”
I feel lighter, freer. And I feel loved. “Nick,” I whisper, a new kernel of hope pushing me on.
“Yes?”
“I think this is my dream job,” I whisper reverently.
“I think it is too.”
I climb onto his lap, straddle him, and kiss the hell out of him. “I love you more every day.”
He wraps his arms around me then kisses my cheek. “Good. Your love is all I want.”
Then I show him how much I love him. I take off my jeans and panties, then I undo his zipper, and sink down onto him.
“Yessss,” he groans, leaning his head back against the couch cushion.
I don’t rush. I just indulge in the feel of him and our intimacy. The way we grow closer in everything we do, in and out of bed.
For a while, I dodged any kind of connection. I was terrified of it.
I’m still scared of losing him. I’m sure I always will be. But I’d rather live with that worry than live without love.
48
THE COUNTER OFFER
Layla
I ask my mother to meet me at Neon Diner that weekend. I like it better than the club. I have a feeling she does too. No one whispers things about that Layla Mayweather or about Anna.
Only this isn’t a typical mother-daughter outing. And I sincerely hope I’m not about to wallop my mother with a one-two punch. But a businesswoman has to do what a businesswoman has to do.
With the confidence of someone who finally knows what she wants, I yank open the door to my favorite diner. A Monkees tune blares overhead and servers scurry by in mint-green uniforms.
I smooth a hand down my shirt. It’s new. I went shopping yesterday and Jules and Harlow helped me pick it out. “It’ll be perfect for your first day on the job,” Harlow had said.
That made me a little giddy, thinking about my first day at work. But today feels like my first day on the job, so I’m wearing it now. The top is a light blue peasant blouse from Champagne Taste, and I paired it with a short black skirt that Jules picked out for me.
It’s not my mother’s pink pantsuit, thank you very much.
When I find Mom at the table, she’s dictating an email on her phone. She’s like Jules.
Only Jules isn’t always on. She turns it off. Maybe my mom needs someone to help her turn it off.
After we say hi and order, I begin. No deep breaths. No preamble. I’m direct and clear as I tell her about Mia’s offer. “And it sounds like an incredible opportunity,” I finish.
She’s quiet and honestly a little terrifying as she sits so tall, so poised. So very Anna “Take No Prisoners” Mayweather.
“Interesting,” she says at last, cool and professional. But then she’s silent again.
I gulp, but I don’t say anything. I don’t try to fill the quiet by backpedaling or reassuring her.