Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(10)

“As long as you’re not dropping out of the wedding.” She sniffed. “But you really should find a nice young man.”

“I’m not dropping out of my best friend’s wedding just because he’s the best man. That’s like saying you’re not going to visit your favorite coffee shop anymore because your ex-boyfriend who’s rarely there owns it.” Must. Not. Bang. Head. Against. Wall.

“Hmph.”

“Hmph? What is hmph?”

“Your attitude, Mia.”

I could picture her running her hand down the side of her face the way she always did when she got frustrated.

“It’s very upsetting when you speak to me like that.”

I closed my eyes and, pinching the bridge of my nose, counted to three in my head. Three times. It worked—she thought it was when the guilt was setting in when, in reality, it was so I could rein in the attitude and apologize without meaning it.

“Sorry, Mom.” Next, the excuse. “I’ve been working a lot this week and I’m pretty tired.”

“That’s okay, dear.”

I was done with this. “I gotta go. Another call is coming in. Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, dear.”

I hung up and let out a long, tortured breath before putting my phone on the counter, grabbing the edges of the kitchen counter, and dropping my head. Dear god. The woman was insufferable. As if a degree and a successful career in freelance marketing weren’t enough—she wanted me settling down, pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen, making sure dinner was on the table at five p.m. She never failed to mention that she had been married at twenty-two and pregnant with me at twenty-three. It was like a sick form of delight for her. Never mind that the most work she’d done since then, aside from raising me, was browsing Amazon for a new book for the book club.

Not that I was judging. I’d also put in several hours searching Amazon for a new book, but one day, maybe she would understand I held the dubious title of Queen of Dating Disasters, and to settle down, I needed to lose that title.

It wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

I straightened, finished my glass of juice, and set the glass in the sink. I’d actually woken up in a good mood this morning, but now... Well. Let’s just say I felt like a menstruating Satan. That was the delightful effect Mom had on me.

I could only guess that Dad was playing golf, because she knew better than to call me when he was around. He told her to shut up and give me a break if he caught her ripping me a new one.

And to think she assumed I’d relinquish my duties as maid of honor for Allie’s wedding just because Darren cheated on me. We were only seeing each other for six months, and for at least four of those, he was banging his way around town—and the surrounding ones. My friendship with Allie meant a hell of a lot more than that shitstick and his shitty actions.

Besides, I was over it now. Way over it. I was determined that, in two weeks, when she got married, I’d march in like the badass I was, show the dickmonkey what he was missing, then... Well, not walk out, because that wouldn’t go down well.

Meanwhile, I’d be convincing her of that fact. I was also pretty sure I’d have to do it every single damn day until she watched me lead my best friend down the aisle.

My phone rang again, and I groaned, reaching for it. Damn it. If this was my mom, I was gonna lose my mind. Luckily, the screen showed that it was my boss’s assistant, Emily.

I say luckily. It was a f*cking Sunday and my one guaranteed day off.

“Hello?” I buried my hand in my hair, leaning forward on the kitchen side.

“Hi, Mia?” Emily’s soft voice traveled down the line. “Michelle wants to know if you can come in to speak with her this afternoon.”

“I...” I glanced at the clock that ticked away next to my fridge. “Sure. I can be there by two. Is that good?”

“Perfect. I’ll let her know. Thank you.” Emily hung up before I could say another word, and a sigh escaped me.

Wonderful.





Even though it was Sunday, I knew I needed to dress professionally. That was the exact reason why the Devil Shoes’ heels were clicking their way down the empty hall toward the offices. MM Marketing was my boss, Michelle’s, lovechild. The literal equivalent of having a baby in her eyes.

Her second marriage came with her stepson, Jamie, so I guessed she figured her lady bits could do without the torture of childbirth.

That and the woman would never take maternity leave anyway. And she was, well, fifty. So a little on the old side for babies now.

Besides, she had no need to. She’d cemented MM Marketing as the number-one marketing firm to hire in Southern California with grueling hours and determination, but it had been worth it. We rarely had space for last-minute jobs, and she could count any number of Hollywood stars among her friends.

A few had even come into the offices. Not that I’d spoken to them. If I had, I’d have vomited in the nearest trash can. Or on their shoes. Probably the shoes.

After four years, I still wondered how I had been lucky enough to intern here during my senior year and get hired right after graduation. I wasn’t going to question it though. Some surprises were worth accepting at face value.

“Hi, Mia.” Emily beamed up at me from behind her desk and tucked her honey-blond hair behind her ear. “Michelle’s waiting for you in her office. Go right in.”