A long sigh. “This is ridiculous. The hotel needed to at least give us a bigger bed if they couldn’t manage two rooms.”
“But this is what we have. We can either cry or solve the problem. Be flexible. I’m not sleeping on the edge of the mattress and falling off. I need a good night’s rest before another early meeting tomorrow. We also have to prep for Zoom calls with the investors. Pete confirmed his attendance.”
She nods, dissatisfaction darkening her eyes.
“I’m trying, but there’s nothing more I can do unless you come up with a better solution yourself.” I spread my hands and shrug.
“I know. I’m not ungrateful. It’s just…” She sighs. “There’s hardly any horizontal space between us.”
I glance at the floppy pillows. “Horizontally challenged, but vertically endowed.”
She lets out a soft chuckle. “This isn’t what I thought my first trip to Tokyo would be like.” She sounds almost wistful.
“Most things don’t go as planned. Keeps therapists employed.”
She shakes her head. “You’re such a cynic.”
“Life lessons. You have to be emotionally and intellectually unaware to stay optimistic after thirty.”Especially if you have a life like mine.
Her phone vibrates. She checks the message, then gives me a strange look. “Are you supposed to meet with your grandmother this Saturday?”
“How did she get your number?” I’ve avoided giving her Max’s contact info, even though she asked. Nothing good can come of Grandma knowing how to reach Max.
“It’s Camilo.”
Great. Camilo, Mom’s so-called assistant—more like a boytoy she keeps under the respectability of “assistant.” If the man knows how to open a Word doc, I’ll eat a garden snail—raw. He generally flirts his way out of any trouble with Mom, but can’t do that with Grandma, who has the sense of humor of a rock—unyielding and stern. “Tell him I’ve fallen a victim to a massive international murder conspiracy involving blowfish toxin.”
“But your grandmother—”
“Can wait until I’m not dying.”
Max’s phone vibrates again.
“Ignore that,” I order her.
“Can’t. It’s part of my job.”
“Camilo’s never been part of your job.”
“He has since I started working for you. Every time you ignore your parents, their assistants try me.”
“Ugh. Block them all. I’m not paying you to waste your time on them.” I pick up my phone. I’ve muted all notifications from my parents, grandmother and all their assistants. Why can’t they accept that I’m not interested in dealing with the nonexistent “pregnant girl scandal” or their attempts to disrupt my life from sixteen time zones away?
–Me: Jeremiah Huxley’s handling it right now. Wait for her update.
Then I copy and paste the exact same message to everyone else. Not starting a group chat with them. Might as well hand over a cock-shaped cactus to a bunch of sadists and bend over.
–Dad: When is this update happening? Is this going to be in person?
–Me: No.
I’m not taking Dad with me, no matter how much he wants some private time with Jeremiah. She tolerates him only because he’s a profitable client. And biddable.
–Czarina: This is hardly the type of event that requires her expertise. She’s a lawyer, not a PR rep.
Ignore.
–Mom: Prescott might be better for this because he’s a man. He could seduce the girl, prove that she’s just looking for her fifteen minutes of fame.
