“It might not be all of this,” I said, gesturing around the custom kitchen, “but it’s all we have left ofher.”
Libby turned off the faucet and tapped a foamy, rubber index finger against my chest. “She lives here,” she said, “not in that house. Notanymore.”
“I hear you,” I said, or else this conversation would continue in circles, “but my answer is no. I’m willing to pay the mortgage. I’m not willing tosell.”
“When was the last time you were even inEastie?”
She knew the answer to that—a year ago. Mom had wanted to spend her final days at home, so we’d arranged it. I’d spent that week making sure she was comfortable, then maintaining my sanity by fixing rain gutters, cleaning out the shed, or touching up theexterior.
I couldn’t even attend her wake. I hadn’t been back to the house or anywhere near downtown since the funeral. “Any time I’ve come out, it’s been to see you.Here.”
Libby might’ve lived in Newton now with her white picket fence and driveway basketball hoop, but gritty East Boston was our home. Only a year after Mom’s death, I couldn’t understand how Libby was ready to give that up. Without that, who were we? Without my past, was I anything other than the New York City playboy persona I’d meticulouslycreated?
“I’m glad she didn’t see the exposé,” Iadmitted.
Libby shrugged and wiped down the counters. “She’d have called the reporter agringo, then turned around and given you an earful. She was the only person allowed to talk shit aboutus.”
I smiled. “Then she would’ve told me how to moveon.”
She looked over her shoulder at me. “You know, good advice is genetic. Not for you, clearly your advice sucks, but I’m great atit.”
“And I suppose you’ll give it to me whether I want it ornot.”
“Look at this exposé as an opportunity to make some changes, Sebastian. Both at work and at home. If you listen to this woman—Georgina—and do as she says, you win eitherway.”
“How do youfigure?”
“Either she’s right and you’re better for it, or sheleaves.”
I cocked my head. “Leaves?”
“That’s the secret.” She peeled off her rubber gloves and draped them over the lip of the sink. “You wanted to know how to get rid of her? Be so good that the magazine doesn’t need heranymore.”
Well,thatwas fucking simple. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it. I’d been putting up a fight about everything, even if it was just to disagree with her when I had a nagging suspicion she was right. But was getting rid of her still what I wanted? I couldn’t shake Libby’s suggestion that another guy had potentially taken my shot withGeorgina.
Finally, I had exactly what I needed to take her out. Now I just had to ignore the disturbing thought that I might ratheraskherout.
10
Georgina
Justin satin front of his computer making a case for watching Netflix at his desk. And the strangest part was—I agreed with him. Then again, not much about this working environment had beenroutine.
It was the most engaged I’d seen him yet. Apparently, he’d even arrived before Sebastian today. I’d found him feet up at his desk halfway through season two ofRay Donovan. “It’s research,” he explained. “I want to profile AnthonyPellicano.”
“The private investigator,” Isaid.
“And real-life ‘fixer.’ His life story has sex, violence, and Hollywoodscandal.”
I was glad I’d nixed Justin’s story on the manliest floaties to bring to a pool party. Even though it took a certain kind of skill to write fifteen-hundred words around Shamu references and breast implant jokes, I’d had a feeling Justin could do better. “You have my blessing,” I said. “In fact, we can make this a five-pagespread.”
“We rarely do more than four pages,” he pointedout.
“I want to see more thoughtful, in-depth pieces that’re still sexy—like this—and less filler junk,” I said. “Quality overquantity.”
Justin ran a hand through his blond hair, and I thought I detected a hint of doubt, but he nodded. “I can dothat.”
“Good.” I smiled. “And make itgrizzly.”
