Read Online Better Than Chocolate by Sheila Roberts - Free Book Online
Authors: Sheila Roberts
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I
want to.”
Liza’s eyes flashed. “I want my money back!”
Good luck with that, thought Cecily. That money was long gone,
just like her patience. “You got your money’s worth. I’ve matched you up with
six eligible men. It’s not my fault you blew it.”
Liza glared at her. “Fine. I’m telling all my friends never to
come to you. Ever!” And with that, she grabbed her Kate Spade bag and teetered
out of the office on her three-inch heels.
Cecily ran a hand through her hair. This was abysmal. Not
losing Liza as a client—she’d had a feeling all along that she wouldn’t be able
to help the woman. No, it was the way she’d reacted to Liza’s threat—so tacky,
so unprofessional. What was wrong with her? She was burned out, plain and
simple.
She told Willow, her secretary, to hold her calls and locked
herself in her office with a cup of chamomile tea, but the tea didn’t make her
feel any better. She tossed out the remains and went back to her emails. And
with each new one she opened, she kept asking herself, What
are you doing here?
Good question.
* * *
Samantha was about to leave the office when her mother
called to ask how she was doing.
“I haven’t slit my wrists yet,” Samantha reassured her.
“Don’t even joke about things like that,” Mom scolded. “I just
talked to Cecily. It sounds like we’re set for a brainstorming session tonight
and I was wondering if I should make dinner.”
While Samantha always preferred other people’s cooking,
especially her mother’s, the idea of sitting across the table from Mom after
everything that had happened, and now this latest development—she couldn’t face
it. “I’ve got a million things to do before we Skype.” Please don’t ask what. “Can I take a rain check?”
“Of course,” Mom said. “But let me send some food home with you
after. I’m up to my nose in casseroles.”
Free food. That would work. And stuffing herself with Mrs.
Nilsen’s triple-threat mac and cheese was a step above medicating her pain with
goodies from their gift shop or chewing off what few fingernails she had
left.
She pulled up in the driveway at 6:55, turned off the ignition
and sighed. It was wrong not to want to spend one-on-one time with her mother.
She loved her mother. But right now she felt a big, lumpy wall between them, a
misshapen, awkward pile of resentment, guilt and who knew what else, that she
wasn’t sure how to scale. Mom was trying, though, God bless her. Which, of
course, made Samantha feel all the more guilty.
Learning that Waldo had no life insurance hadn’t helped. Mom
had felt awful when she called with the bad news and Samantha had felt numb. But
not so numb that she couldn’t exclaim, “How could he have been so irresponsible?
My God! First the business and now this.”
“Let’s not panic,” Mom had advised.
“Mom,” Samantha had said sternly, “we’re in a burning building
and the fire department is on strike. What do you expect me to do?”
“We’ll think of something,” Mom had assured her.
Easy for her mother, the queen of clueless, to say. She knew
nothing about business or finance. “You’re right,” Samantha had lied, trying to
make up for her gaffe. “I’d better go.” Before I
explode.
After she hung up she’d felt awful. If there was an award for
the most insensitive daughter, she’d win it hands down.
Now she made her way up the walk, slo-o-owly, and then let
herself in, hoping to hear Mom’s voice drifting down from the loft as she talked
to Cecily and Bailey on the computer. Instead, she found her mother rooted in
her favorite yellow leather chair, nursing a cup of chocolate-mint tea. The
aroma drifted across the room to greet her.
“I have a pot of tea on the counter,” Mom said as Samantha bent
to kiss her cheek, “and Pat brought over white-chocolate raspberry brownies.
Vitamin C,” she added, referring to the family joke that chocolate was the
equivalent of vitamins.
At the
want to.”
Liza’s eyes flashed. “I want my money back!”
Good luck with that, thought Cecily. That money was long gone,
just like her patience. “You got your money’s worth. I’ve matched you up with
six eligible men. It’s not my fault you blew it.”
Liza glared at her. “Fine. I’m telling all my friends never to
come to you. Ever!” And with that, she grabbed her Kate Spade bag and teetered
out of the office on her three-inch heels.
Cecily ran a hand through her hair. This was abysmal. Not
losing Liza as a client—she’d had a feeling all along that she wouldn’t be able
to help the woman. No, it was the way she’d reacted to Liza’s threat—so tacky,
so unprofessional. What was wrong with her? She was burned out, plain and
simple.
She told Willow, her secretary, to hold her calls and locked
herself in her office with a cup of chamomile tea, but the tea didn’t make her
feel any better. She tossed out the remains and went back to her emails. And
with each new one she opened, she kept asking herself, What
are you doing here?
Good question.
* * *
Samantha was about to leave the office when her mother
called to ask how she was doing.
“I haven’t slit my wrists yet,” Samantha reassured her.
“Don’t even joke about things like that,” Mom scolded. “I just
talked to Cecily. It sounds like we’re set for a brainstorming session tonight
and I was wondering if I should make dinner.”
While Samantha always preferred other people’s cooking,
especially her mother’s, the idea of sitting across the table from Mom after
everything that had happened, and now this latest development—she couldn’t face
it. “I’ve got a million things to do before we Skype.” Please don’t ask what. “Can I take a rain check?”
“Of course,” Mom said. “But let me send some food home with you
after. I’m up to my nose in casseroles.”
Free food. That would work. And stuffing herself with Mrs.
Nilsen’s triple-threat mac and cheese was a step above medicating her pain with
goodies from their gift shop or chewing off what few fingernails she had
left.
She pulled up in the driveway at 6:55, turned off the ignition
and sighed. It was wrong not to want to spend one-on-one time with her mother.
She loved her mother. But right now she felt a big, lumpy wall between them, a
misshapen, awkward pile of resentment, guilt and who knew what else, that she
wasn’t sure how to scale. Mom was trying, though, God bless her. Which, of
course, made Samantha feel all the more guilty.
Learning that Waldo had no life insurance hadn’t helped. Mom
had felt awful when she called with the bad news and Samantha had felt numb. But
not so numb that she couldn’t exclaim, “How could he have been so irresponsible?
My God! First the business and now this.”
“Let’s not panic,” Mom had advised.
“Mom,” Samantha had said sternly, “we’re in a burning building
and the fire department is on strike. What do you expect me to do?”
“We’ll think of something,” Mom had assured her.
Easy for her mother, the queen of clueless, to say. She knew
nothing about business or finance. “You’re right,” Samantha had lied, trying to
make up for her gaffe. “I’d better go.” Before I
explode.
After she hung up she’d felt awful. If there was an award for
the most insensitive daughter, she’d win it hands down.
Now she made her way up the walk, slo-o-owly, and then let
herself in, hoping to hear Mom’s voice drifting down from the loft as she talked
to Cecily and Bailey on the computer. Instead, she found her mother rooted in
her favorite yellow leather chair, nursing a cup of chocolate-mint tea. The
aroma drifted across the room to greet her.
“I have a pot of tea on the counter,” Mom said as Samantha bent
to kiss her cheek, “and Pat brought over white-chocolate raspberry brownies.
Vitamin C,” she added, referring to the family joke that chocolate was the
equivalent of vitamins.
At the
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