Penthouse Prince(35)
“This looks wonderful.” Mom takes a large bite and her face breaks out in a wide smile. “And it tastes even better.”
The conversation is as pleasant as the food and early summer weather. Lighthearted chatting about the TV shows we’ve seen lately, the cute or funny things Grier has done, the novel series Mom’s been working her way through. For a while, there’s no such thing as cancer or even my troubles with Corrigan.
“So I’m really looking forward to finding out what’s going to happen between the duchess and that one knight,” Mom says, sipping her tea. “Oh, but would you listen to me, going on and on. How has your work been?”
I shrug. “Pretty much the same as ever—crazy busy, but good. I’ve been riding hard on the New York guys, and things seem to be going fine up there. Some contractors are coming to work on the beach house starting tomorrow, and I think it’ll be ready to rent in less than a month. I’ve also been looking for a good place to buy downtown.”
“Wonderful. And how’s Corrigan? Did you two ever make up?”
I should have known this was coming. “Everything’s fine,” I say, not knowing or caring whether it’s a lie. Desperate for any way to steer the conversation in a different direction, I ask Grier, “You wanna tell Grandma about all the fun stuff you’ve done with Corrigan?”
Lighting up, she says, “We do sketti and ice scweam and paint big picture lotsa messy paint and make a castle ’n dig sand and water so big on feet and . . .”
She babbles on excitedly, her words coming faster and faster until even I, with all my practice at “Grier-ese,” can barely understand. Gail looks completely lost.
When Grier finishes, Mom says slowly, “All right, I think I got the parts about food and art.”
Laughing, I summarize. “The three of us have been to the beach a couple times, and she loved it.”
Mom’s brow furrows in confusion. “Three? You’re paying Corrigan to look after Grier, but you’re also looking after Grier yourself?”
Shit, I revealed too much. “That only happened once.” I’m aware that I sound ridiculously defensive, but I can’t turn it off. “And I think it was helpful to have an extra pair of hands there. The second time at the beach, we just ran into each other by chance.”
“Oh, I’m not criticizing you—far from it. I’m pleased as punch to hear you’re enjoying quality time with your two girls,” Mom says, beaming.
The hell? “What do you mean by that? Corrigan isn’t my girl.” No matter how much I wish that were the case. “She’s my employee.”
Mom gives me a look. She has many looks, and I know most of them pretty well, but this one is complex. A contradictory mix of you’re such a fool sometimes, and you’re smart enough to figure out what you need to do here.
I’m too tired to try to decode her meaning. If she has a point to make about Corrigan, she can say it. “What?” I ask tersely.
“Nothing at all.” Mom takes a delicate bite of her eggs benedict.
Nothing, my ass.
Fortunately, before we can get into it further, my phone rings.
“One sec,” I mumble as I pull it out of my pocket. “Let me check this . . .”
The name on the screen definitely isn’t work-related.
“Corrigan?”
“Lex!” she shouts loud enough for the whole table to overhear. “I’m really sorry to call you out of nowhere but my car won’t start and I have to be at the dentist in forty-five minutes and I tried calling roadside assistance but my membership expired literally two days ago and Dak isn’t answering his phone, he’s probably still asleep or forgot to turn on his ringer again, and Sarah Jo’s gone to friggin’ Wyoming to visit her parents, so I didn’t know who else to—”
I reflexively put my hand up, even though she can’t see it. “Hey, slow down, don’t worry about it. Send me your address, and I’ll be right over.”
“Are you sure? I can call a tow truck.” At least she’s calmed down enough to pause for breath again.
“I’m not going to make you pay an arm and a leg for towing when I’m right nearby. Seriously, it’s fine.”
Standing, I look to Mom and Gail. “Sorry, I have to go help Corrigan real quick. Should I bring Grier or would it be okay to leave her here?”
Mom shakes her head. “We’ve got her.”
I nod, and press a kiss to the top Grier’s head. “Stay with Grandma.” I glance at my mom with appreciation. I’ll be back in . . .” I check the map link she sent me. “Twenty minutes. Here’s my credit card in case the waiter wants our payment.”
Ignoring Mom’s renewed look, I jog out to the car, and a few minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of an apartment building that looks like it’s seen better days. I drive slowly around until I spot Corrigan standing next to a small silver hatchback with its hood standing open. I maneuver as close as I can, pop the latch on my own hood, and get out.
Corrigan is wearing a pale blue sundress and strappy tan sandals. Her long bare legs are tanned, and her hair lifts in the breeze.
Shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, she turns and gives me a little wave and a nervous smile. “Thanks for coming.”