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“No.”
If I had been sleeping, she would have scolded me on wasting my morning away in bed. Which would have inevitably led to how I will never land myself a decent man if I spend all my time in my apartment or at work.
“Oh, good. I was just calling to remind you about the gala this weekend.”
I hold in another groan as I slip my laptop in its case and grab my purse off the counter. In all honesty, I had forgotten about the stupid gala this weekend and I would have preferred to keep it that way. “Yep, I’ll be there.”
Even through the phone, I can hear her tsk and I roll my eyes. “Carly, what have I told you about speaking like that?”
“Mother, I promise you are one of the only people on this earth that gives a damn if I say “yep” instead of “yes”.”
“Carly Rae Mills, don’t you dare curse at me,” she hisses and my hand itches to end this call. “Now, what are you going to wear on Saturday?”
I scan through my closet in my mind as I rush out the front door and lock it behind me. I have plenty of dresses for the occasion but it’s impossible to know which one she deems acceptable for this event. “Uh, the blue one, maybe.”
“The blue one?” my mother asks, mocking me in the special way she does, and I already feel a headache coming on. “Please tell me how I’m supposed to know which blue dress you’re speaking of?”
“It’s the blue one I wore to the charity thing on New Years.”
She gasps in horror and I once again resist the urge to hang up on her. It’s too goddamn early for this shit. “Oh, god, no. Wear the black beaded one I got you for your birthday. It will look lovely on you.”
“Yes, Mother,” I reply through gritted teeth and wonder how much hell she would rain down on me if I really hung up the phone. No doubt, the black dress she’s talking about shows ample cleavage because my mother does not pass up an opportunity to set me up with my first husband.
“Good. I’ll see you this weekend, then.” She hangs up before I even have time to respond and I shake my head as I tuck my phone into my purse and step outside. The fresh air and bright sunlight makes me feel a little better and I decide to walk to work since I only live six blocks from the office. I can also grab breakfast and a coffee at a café along the way since I ran out of my house without caffeine - thanks to my mother.
I get halfway to work before I think maybe this was a bad idea. It may only be eight thirty in the morning but it’s still July in Louisiana and it’s the kind of hot that makes you think about moving to the arctic. A breeze quickly blows through the trees and I’m thankful for it as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck. Thank god, I was running late and didn’t wear my hair down today or it would be a mess by the time I showed up at the office. My phone buzzes in my bag and I pull it out.
Izzy:
Drinks on Friday.
You in?
Me:
Absolutely.
Slipping my phone back into my bag, I can’t help but smile. Drinks with Izzy is exactly what I need if I’m going to survive a charity gala with my mother on Saturday. I’ve hated going to these things for as long as I can remember. No matter which event you attend or what cause they are championing, you can break all the attendees down into one of three groups. For my mother, it’s about socializing. She’s always on the hunt for her next ex-husband and a benefit full of rich, eligible men is her playground. There are also those who go because of status. All they care about is being seen there, letting everyone know just how important and well off they are and then there is the tiny group of people that go to support the charity. On the plus side, after I attend on Saturday, I can get out of going to them for, at least, a few months.
When I reach the coffee shop, I duck inside and let out a sigh of relief before breathing in the rich aroma of my second favorite beverage. Behind wine. The air conditioning feels like heaven and I consider calling Mercedes to see if I can work from here, so I don’t have to walk the remaining block to the office. There are a few people waiting in line, so I stand behind them and pull out my phone, noticing a text from Chance.
Chance:
Are you allergic to anything?
Me:
Just you.
A soft giggle escapes me as I stare down at the screen, waiting for his reply before I shake my head and glance up to see if the line has moved. I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to him. Whatever. What’s the harm in flirting with him as long as he and I are on the same page? If we both know this relationship has a shelf life, we won’t read into things like that. My phone buzzes in my hand and I’m smiling before I even unlock it.
Chance:
You wound me, Princess.
Me:
You’ll survive.
