Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I’ve only gone so far to inspire my parents’ constant ire. I don’t have a death wish.
“I’m sorry, but I have to be brief.” Despite my effort to remain composed, I find myself fiddling with the button on my rolled-up sleeve. “This is my problem, how?”
Amalphia’s eyes practically cross. Her cheeks get even redder, and her hands clutch open and close, fingers flexing and releasing.
Maybe I do have a death wish.
“Reg never talked about you. I always got the vibe that you were a deadbeat dad who thought money could fix everything.”
She says this like she wants to hurt me, but she delivers it without heat. This is just a fact for her, though I do get the feeling that if the situation was different and she wasn’t here, frazzled and ripped straight from October of 1982, she’d wince at her own words and apologize for being mean.
“You’re one of those men who thinks they can throw big bucks at a problem, and it will just magically go away.”
I’m not going to comment on my relationship with my son or his mother. It hurts like getting impaled, and seriously, I’m not sure that’s anyone’s idea of a good time.
“Do you know how nervous a rescue dog can be?” Her voice suddenly goes shrill, rising another octave. “Booty Sue has been howling nonstop! My grandma needs to use the bathroom every twenty minutes. My mom is the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, and even she’s getting peeved, and my dad is a wreck. Also? I now have no job because after going to my apartment, the thugs tried my place of employment. I don’t work on Sundays, so I didn’t have to call in, but I didn’t even think to warn anyone. I guess that shortly after I left my apartment yesterday, those thugs threatened my boss. She called to tell me not to bother coming in again. It’s a family-friendly establishment, and those guys weren’t family, and they sure as farge weren’t friendly.”
“I’m still uncertain what it is you want from me.” I walk over to the edge of my desk and perch there, hoping I seem less threatening but doubly hoping she’ll get the hint and wrap up whatever this is, fast.
Her eyes shoot so wide that she looks like a cartoon character.
In the lobby, she told Gerald everything, and he relayed it to me. She knows I heard. It seems pretty obvious what she needs, namely me fixing the huge mess Reginald somehow managed to create. Again.
Her lips purse out in a very accurate fish impression that causes me to fixate inappropriately on them. “I’m not sure what isn’t understandable about your son and this hot mess I’m in. Reginald stole every single cent my grandma and parents had, and that was after cleaning me out. He got in deep with some people who aren’t going to take, oh, shoot, sorry, I can’t pay you, my bad, as a legitimate answer. Because of him, I have lost my job and my savings. My apartment is no longer safe. My parents have worked hard their whole lives, and they have nothing now. My grandma can’t even afford her pills, let alone the nursing home fees. My mom and dad might still have their jobs, but that’s not the point. Your son is a fraud and a liar, and now he’s fled town and left us to deal with the fallout. I could go to the police, but I’m coming to you first. Consider it a kindness. I figured you wouldn’t want this story to get out.”
Yup. Here we are at last, with ten minutes to spare before my meeting.
“Are you blackmailing me?” I deadpan, but I’m also completely serious. Obviously, that’s exactly what she’s doing.
“Uhh, I…don’t know. Maybe?” She throws her hands up in the air and shoots me a scorching look that makes my balls tighten uncomfortably. “No. Yes…I’m definitely blackmailing you.”
I’m struggling over here…struggling to keep a straight face. Struggling to conjure another campfire in my brain. I won’t need one soon. Not when this meeting is going straight to the dumpster-fire category.
Amalphia can tell. She’s a born actress, and she dials up the apparent rage, her face contorting, eyes lighting up, hands on her hips. She has to know exactly how the pose pushes out her chest, defining the curve of her breasts, her small waist, and the muscles in her legs. A determined flare that is hotter than any pose flashes in her eyes.
“If you don’t man up and do the right thing, including getting your son out of this trouble before he gets himself killed, then I’ll have no choice but to resort to threats. I apologize. I’m not that kind of person, but I’m desperate.”
She rakes her hand through her hair, making it stand up at odd angles even though it’s long. She truly does look wildly desperate with her flushed cheeks, heaving breaths, and rapidly blinking eyes that keep sweeping around the room.