So her spies, er, friends at the store told her that I asked Winona to have lunch with me – a strictly professional business lunch, might I add. And she knows Winona shot me down.
Unbelievably, amazingly, Winona doesn’t even want to eat a meal with me. I mean, I’m me. Blake Hudson. How is that even possible?
I shoot my sister an annoyed look. “Thank you for the unsolicited advice, Dear Blabby. And who ratted me out?”
“Pretty much everyone.” She grins at me.
Figures. Alice started working at Hudson’s very young, just like I did, and she was beloved by all her co-workers. She stays in touch with them, visiting a few times a year, and treats everyone there like they’re part of her extended family. The exact opposite of me – which is how I like it. I shudder to think how much time would be wasted if people felt like it was safe to just walk up and start chit-chatting with me.
“Do you think I could get my Sunni Sunni Singer doll a little early?” Tamara wheedles.
Oh hell no. Winona didn’t tell her she was getting one of those, did she? No, she must have dropped some hint that Tamara misinterpreted.
“Tamara!” Alice says with mild reproof. “We have talked about this. That’s not polite.”
“But I told Melanie she can play with it too. That’s polite, right? It’s sharing.” Tamara opens her eyes up really wide and blinks at her mother. Wow, she’s good.
“Nice try.” Alice looks at her narrowly.
Tamara replies with a smirk. “Thanks, I thought so.”
“I can’t believe she’s only six.” I shake my head. “When she hits her teens, look out, world.”
Tamara shrugs. “The world has it coming. Now, what were we talking about again? Oh yes…”
“The fact that you’re going to make an excellent politician someday.” Alice spears a bite of bacon and shoves it in her mouth. “Or lawyer. It doesn’t change the fact that it is not okay to bug people about what they got you for Christmas, your birthday, or any other occasion. I do not want you to ask your uncle about it again, do you understand?”
“Fiiiiiiine.” Tamara’s face turns sulky, but she’s not so sulky that she stops eating her pancakes.
“Winona didn’t actually specifically say she was getting you the Sunni Sunni Singer doll, did she?” I ask.
“Well, pretty much. When I asked her to give me a hint about my birthday present, she said that I was going to be singing sunny songs when I got it.” Tamara grins triumphantly. “So I figured it out. Like a detective.”
Well, damn.
That stupid doll costs a thousand bucks, it isn’t even on the shelves yet, and it’s pre-sold-out everywhere. It’s literally impossible to get – even for us. I’ve fielded phone calls from royalty and heads of state looking for it. The owner of the company, a software whiz named Marshall Perry, is a total douche who specifically dislikes me because he used to date Sloane – one in a long string of models and socialites he’s banged – and she dumped him for me. Frankly, he should have sent me a thank you card, but that’s neither here nor there. Normally I can hit people up for favors and pay them back with something from Hudson’s. Not Marshall. He wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. Winona just promised my niece that she’d be getting something that would be harder to obtain than a free-range dragon burger.
It may not seem like a big deal, but if one of my employees told Tamara that I was getting her that doll, it’s the same as if I promised I’d get it. If a Hudson makes a promise, he keeps it, as my father always used to say.
I manage a smile. “We’ll see, then, won’t we?”
After breakfast, I cast one more baleful look at the kitten posters, which earns me a smile from Alice.
“Revenge,” I mouth at her. She sticks her tongue out at me.
“You’re setting a bad example for your daughter,” I whisper as I pass her.
“Her daughter can hear you,” Tamara loud-whispers from her chair, where she’s poking at the remains of her pancakes. “And it was my idea.” She and her mother high-five each other.
As I flee my own house with the last shreds of my dignity hanging from my wounded ego, I send a quick text to Shanice. Normally I’d call Thérèse, but as sick as she was yesterday, I don’t think she’ll be in today. Personally, I haven’t taken a single sick day in my entire life, but not everyone has my work ethic.
I’m going to need to speak to Winona right away. Please arrange for her to come to my office at noon.
Almost immediately, I get an auto-response text in reply.
Out of town for two weeks. If you need anything, please contact Henry at extension 3275. Have a blessed day! (followed by a dozen smiley faces, a cross, and a little emoji of a Black couple, with the woman in a wedding dress and the man in a tux).
Out of town for two weeks?
And what’s with the emoji? She didn’t just get married. She’s already married. Did she get divorced and remarried and now she’s on her honeymoon? She still would have contacted me to ask for that time off. And I’d have told her no. Not until after the popup event.
So what’s the deal with Shanice? I’m starting to get a really weird feeling. Damn it – I hate surprises. Surprises indicate lack of control and lack of planning. The mere thought makes me tap my watch for reassurance. Whatever’s wrong, I will wrestle it to the ground and make it cry. Then I’ll fire it. That’s the Hudson way.
Henry is standing on the sidewalk when I get outside, waiting by my car.
“I assume you haven’t been checking your phone?” he says when I reach him.
“That sounds ominous.” I reach into my pocket and turn the volume back on. He holds the door open for me, and I quickly slide into the back seat. He joins me, and we pull into traffic. “I put it on vibrate for breakfast so I could spend some time with Alice and Tamara.”
“Very wise. All right, the good news, first. Thérèse will be back by Monday.”
“Monday? Seriously?” I glower at Henry. “Tell her to take herself off my Christmas list. I’m not kidding, by the way.”
Henry favors me with a pained smile. “Experience tells me that, sir. And now the bad news.”
My phone rings before he can finish, and it’s my best friend Nico’s ring-tone. If he’s calling me from Italy it must be serious. I pick up the phone.
“Nico? How are you and your lovely wife? Everything okay?”
“Not from where I’m sitting. You’re getting married and you didn’t tell me? Bro!” He sounds deeply wounded.
“You are too old to say ‘bro’. You were born too old to say ‘bro’.” We were roommates at Harvard. “Wait, what? Who’s getting married?”
“You’re not marrying Sloane?”
“Oh, thank God,” I hear his wife Renata say in the background. “That would have been awful. What do you buy for an engagement gift for a human-viper hybrid? Where do you even find a terrarium that big?”
“Babe!” Nico crows delightedly. His howls of laughter are not appreciated.
I look at Henry, who raises his eyebrows politely.
“No worries, bro,” I say sourly. “It’s all under control here. I don’t know why you thought that about Sloane, but you got some bad information. And by the way, the Hell’s Kitchen project continues to proceed nicely; construction’s ahead of schedule. You’re welcome. Bring me back a cannoli or something. Gotta go.”