Chapter 7
Tough Calls
Arielle Nygard
Itake a sip of coffee and mentally roll my eyes. I’d thought he’d dropped the issue much too quickly the other day.Here we go; Sir Tim to the rescue.He’s been looking out for me since Steve passed, fixing things around the house, fixing my car, taking me out to dinner to make sure I get some adult time, showing up with groceries when I’ve been too busy to go shopping. I didn’t want to tell him about my money troubles because I knew he’d take it upon himself to fix this problem too.
“I’ve got some money put away, and my business is doing well. I don’t want you to worry about losing the house.”
“The offer is very kind Tim, but I can’t take your money. I have to stand on my own at some point, and I think that point is now.” I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his. “I’m so grateful that you look out for me, and you’ve been such a help since Steve passed, but I can’t rely on you forever. It’s just not right.”
An expression flits across his face and I’m not sure if I’ve convinced him to drop the issue or challenged him to try harder to help. For now, at least, he concedes. With a sigh. “Alright, but if things get desperate, I want to help.”
“There is something you can do for me, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course,” he says. “Just name it.”
“Could you babysit on Monday night? I was thinking of grabbing a drink with some friends to celebrate my birthday. It’ll just be for a couple of hours.”
“Sure, I can hang out with Austin on Monday.”
“You’re too good to me, you know that?”
“I do,” Tim says with a grin.
∞∞∞
Samuel Foster
I end the call and lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. I’m frustrated and exhausted and pissed off. Yet again.Fucking Cory!
As if it’s not enough that my diary is packed with gigs, he’s just scheduled another New York show. Why the hell he thinks this is necessary, is beyond me.
Scrap that. I know exactly why.
Money.
I’m Cory’s meal-ticket, and he pimps me out like a ten-dollar whore. It’s getting to the point where I’m seriously considering replacing him. If only the fucker wasn’t so good at his job. And I know I can trust him. Mostly. This time he’s told me I’ll be performing for charity. Probably the Cory Smith Benevolent Fund.
But maybe it’s the real deal.
I sigh again. As if sensing my mood, Munchkin hops onto my lap and rubs his whiskered little face up along my jaw. I scratch behind his ears. His rattling purr immediately lifts my spirits...and raises another issue.
What am I going to do about Munchkin?
As it is, I’ve been worried about his declining health with my increasingly long hours. His last trip to the vet left me with an even longer list of healthcare requirements, including daily medication. Fortunately he takes the tablets without too much fuss if they’re disguised by the tasty pill-pockets the vet suggested – but he needs them night and day. And he hates it when his world is disrupted. There’s no way I’m putting him in a kennel. I reach for my phone again and hit the re-dial button.
“Samuel, I—” Cory begins.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I snap, “but you need to find someone who’ll take care of Munchkin for me. Someone good.”
“I can book him into one of those kitty motels. Your vet has that place—” he begins.
“No,” I cut him off. “He needs to stay home. Find someone who’ll come here. I don’t care what it costs. It’s my only condition, so make it work.”
“Consider it done,” he says quickly, and I disconnect the call. Munchkin is head-butting me gently. He hates sharing the limelight.
“There ya go, buddy,” I smile. “We’ll make sure you’re happy.”
