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That gets a chuckle from my stressed out little brother. “Man, I hope you’re right. I just want a stress free week with the family.” I let out a noise of agreement. “Alright, I have to go. This honey ain’t going to collect itself. See you soon, dude.” The line clicks signifying he’s hung up before I can tell him—for the millionth time— to not call me dude.

Little shit.

I toss my phone into the top drawer of my desk and turn my focus to my computer screen, internally groaning as I take in all the emails I need to address before I can go home for the night.

Hours later, I’m finally at a point I feel comfortable stopping. I make quick work of shutting down my computer, stretching my neck until it cracks as I wait for it to power down.

I’m irritated, on top of this situation with my unplanned houseguest, my partners sent me multiple emails about selling our company.

Again.

I’ve maintained my stance of not selling out to some uber-corporation that only sees its employees as numbers, but all they see is dollar signs and the possibility of not having to work for the rest of their lives.

Like those jackasses do any real work around here. I’m still amazed how three dumb teens who didn’t want to earn extra cash flipping burgers or moving lawns turned into this company that’s filled our wallets more than anyone could imagine, or realistically need.

I’m disappointed how quickly those other two stopped caring about the people who we employ. Now they only want to know how they can grow the amount of zeros in their personal bank accounts. Without my assistant helping to keep everything afloat, I fear I’d give in to the pressure to sell to the highest bidder.

It fatigues me to think about how hard I’ve had to work to make sure this company keeps some semblance of integrity, and how hard they are trying to push us to the dark side. My joy in working at this company disappeared years ago but I refuse to leave all the hard-working employees that rely on us in the dust.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text message, pulling me out of the spiral that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

Mother

Good news, darling! Sage has agreed to come for the holiday. I can’t wait for the family to meet her.

Good lord.

I text my mother back, confirming I will update her travel arrangements to now include her companion. She leaves my message on read which is classic Beatrice Snyder. She’s probably returned her attention to her chef, rattling off on how much fun they’ll have spending even more time together just in a different location. I shake my head at the thought.

I love my family and this week away from work, celebrating these two pushed together holidays is the highlight of my year but I’ll be the first to admit the Bergen clan is an eclectic bunch…

What has this poor woman gotten herself into?

2

SAGE

TUESDAY

What have I gotten myself into?

How have I let this woman manipulate me into traveling over 600 miles to spend a week with her and her family while they celebrate not only Thanksgiving but Christmas as well?

I’m a giant push-over, that’s how.

Bea’s emotional reaction to me being ‘unable’ to travel home for the holiday nearly broke my heart enough to have me confessing I was completely able to travel home, she paid me handsomely, but that I'd not been home in over three years and had no plans to go back any time soon.

I should have recognized the mischievous flash that appeared in her expression a few days later. I had foolishly thought she would let it go but that was naive. My fault for underestimating my employer and friend.

“Oh, dear! You do not need to carry all of that!” Bea’s voice makes me jump, I’d been lost in thought as I tried to scoop up our luggage from the rotating conveyor belt thingie that I always thought would be fun to ride along but was too much of a rule follower to ever entertain the idea of actually doing it.

The last thing I needed was to end up on the “No Fly” list.

“Sage, don’t over exert yourself before we even leave the airport.” I can hear the humor in Bea’s voice as she chastises me again. I shoot a sheepish smile as I grab the last of her bags, three for her and one for me. My smile drops and my cheeks heat when I see the giant standing next to Bea.

He’s obviously some kind of employee of the airport. I don’t know why I’m surprised that Bea worked her magic so quickly to get assistance with her bags but I am. I’m not used to all these perks and I’ve had to remind myself that Bea’s taken this trip annually and must have coordinated everything in her sleep. Or maybe it’s one of her sons that pulls all the strings to get Bea any and everything she needs to travel in style and comfort.

“Sorry,” I squeak out as the giant employee starts to load our bags onto a push cart.