I feel like shit. We were going to have so much fun in Paris together, and now she’s not even speaking to me. I wish Corrie had never told me.
I’ve ruined everything.
* * *
I’m paintingmy toenails when my phone rings. My heart swells, hoping it’s Mom wanting to kiss and make up. My hopes are dashed when I hear Maeve’s voice.
“So, how is everything with you,” she asks. “Getting ready for Paris?”
“Yes, it’s be great,” I tell her. “How about you? Got all your outfits picked out?” Maeve is a bit of a fashionista and always wears the best clothes. She and Corrie are similar that way.
Her voice is not as cheerful as it usually is when she tells me, “That’s the reason I’m calling you actually… I can’t go.”
My heart sinks. “Why? What happened? You were so looking forward to it.”
“I know… I was. It sucks. But the store is crazy busy right now with the new Spring line, and I just can’t take the time off.”
I blow out a breath. “That’s too bad.”
“Maybe Oscar can take my place,” she suggests. “Paris is pretty romantic in the spring,” she adds in a teasing tone.
I smile at the thought of Oscar and I in Paris… it could be fun… and pretty sexy.
After I hang up with Maeve, I call my mom. She doesn’t answer, of course. It goes to voicemail.
“Hi mom, listen… forget about today. Just forget about the whole thing. I’m very excited about Paris and just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to take Oscar. So you can let Mark’s assistant know. She can books the ticket under mine and Oscar’s names. Oscar Cohen.”
I pause for a beat.
“Forget I said anything. I love you, Mom.”
I hang up, feeling lower than I’ve felt in a long time. The last time I remember feeling this horrible was when I broke mom’s prized vase, an heirloom which once belonged to her late grandmother. We patched it up with some Krazy Glue, but it was never the same. I wonder if our relationship will ever be the same after this. Especially after what I’m about to do.
I’ve decided to bring Oscar because I need all the backup I can get. Corrie can pay her own way, and I know she’ll be a willing participant.
I text Oscar.
Get your sexy ass over here, now.
His reply comes about five seconds later, and makes me laugh.
Booty call?
Top-of-the-line male specimen at your service, ma’am. Hard and ready for action.
I shake my head.
He’s at my door about two minutes later, hair mussed up, t-shirt inside out.
I smile at the sight of him. “Were you naked when I called?” I ask. Oscar is always buck naked, walking around, making toast, watching TV. I just don’t get it — it must be a guy thing.
He grins. “What do you think?”
“Get in.”
He smirks. “Feeling frisky, are we?”
“You know how I told you about Mark?” I start.
