“You’re such a riot, Clea.” Mama Simons giggles behind her palm.
“Just feeding the humor pool.”
She fluffs her red hair—the same auburn shade as mine. We don’t discuss the fact that she has to dye hers these days. “And you do it well, dear. Laughter keeps your heart young.”
I squint at her through my relaxed haze. She’s an expert on the subject. Even in her mid-sixties, Jillian Simons is a fox. Her skin is still naturally smooth considering her age. The wrinkles she has are well earned, and she wears them with pride. Those good genes are being passed down to me.
Another slow exhale escapes me as the massage feature kneads my lower back. This salon is top-notch, which comes as no surprise since this outing is on my mom’s dime. She likes to pretend we’re still teenagers with dismal funds. I’ll never complain about a free pedicure. That’s a small handout I accept from my parents. A sour gurgle erupts in my belly. My father is damn lucky to have her. I’d be salty about that if he didn’t treat her like a goddess. Regardless of his bitterness towards me, he adores my mother. I’m well aware that he loves me too. It just wouldn’t kill him to express that more often.
Can someone say daddy issues?
Guilty as charged.
With a huff, I shake off the negativity. “Give me all that positive juju, Mom. Fill my cup.”
She shimmies in place. “Happy to oblige. It’s been too long since we’ve done this. How about we stop somewhere for lunch next?”
“Absolutely, and that will be my treat.” I hold up a floppy palm when she starts to interrupt. “No, I insist.”
Lord knows I can afford to cover the bill with my new client promising me a fortune. A familiar sense of suspicion snakes down my spine, sending a chill to follow close behind. That man isn’t to be trusted. I’m pretty much waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under me.
“You’ve been working too hard lately.” Her eerie ability to guess what’s on my mind never ceases to amaze me. She calls it maternal instinct. I’m sure she’s just very well versed in the art of prying. “That big raise better be yours.”
I purse my lips at the additional reminder of who has me so busy, and why. If she knew the truth, my mom would likely encourage me to quit and apply for law school. She shares that opinion with my dad—go figure—but is far less adamant about it. They’re finally coming to terms with the fact that the point is moot. I’m determined to make my own success along the path I choose.
It’s only been a week since Landon convinced me to become his personal realty agent. That title still doesn’t make any sense, nor does his persistence, but I’m choosing to focus on the bigger issues. He wasn’t joking about being demanding and making me earn my commission. I’ve been busting my hump ever since we shook on the deal. Forcing a deep inhale grants me another lungful of nail polish remover and flowery soap. The benefits will pay off soon enough.
My only saving grace is that he flew back to Chicago the following afternoon. Not having his presence looming nearby allows me to breathe easier. That doesn’t stop him from pestering me with emails, calls, and text messages. Every morning he floods one inbox or another with tasks to complete. The freaking list never ends.
I can feel the stress creeping in along my shoulders despite the soothing atmosphere trying to console me. Watching the pedicurist attack my callouses with that cheese grater tool doesn’t even hold the same amusement. A twinge tugs at my muscles when I adjust my position. It’s the weekend, dammit. Landon cannot dictate my days off.
Mama Simons quirks a sculpted brow at me when I shift in the chair again. At her continued stare, I recall she had hinted at my promotion. “Uh, yep. Vince has all but made an official announcement that the leadership role is mine.”
I’ve been wondering how that change will impact my new agreement with Landon. Seeing as my faith in him is less stable than a newborn calf, I’m choosing to cross that bridge if it arrives.
“Oh, good.” Her palm flutters to my arm. “You deserve it, sweetie.”
“I agree.” Screw modesty.
Clea leans forward to address my mom, but her words are meant for me. “Does she know who you’re working with?”
The sharp jerk of my head paired with a death glare are greeted by Clea’s wide smile. She erupts in laughter.
I narrow my eyes until only a thin slit remains. So much for keeping my mom in the dark and blissfully unaware. “No, I don’t think she’s been informed yet.”
“Oh, this sounds juicy.” My mother wiggles her brows. She’s always been a gossip hound.
“Don’t make a huge deal out of this,” I warn.
“That tactic doesn’t work on me, dear. Just rip off the bandage. You know this.” It’s true. She overreacts about everything.
“Landon Winters.” There’s no sense in concealing my wince.
My mom lets her jaw hang. Unlike me, she’s rubbed enough elbows with local high society to put a face to his name. Not to mention a pile of sordid details that lack any real accuracy. Well, maybe not in Landon’s case. He’s probably hiding all sorts of skeletons. But that’s beside the point.
Her lips are still parted comically. “How… when… why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’s just another client. Nothing special,” I offer.
My mom snorts for maybe the third time in her life. “Vannah, honey, I’ve always been quite fond of your carefree spirit. You’ve always done things your way, which is great. I can appreciate that you see everyone on a level playing field. But this aloof attitude is extreme, even for you.”
“I didn’t know who he was, okay?” It’s a bit of a sore spot for me. I will freely admit that lacking a general awareness of his existence was an oversight on my part.
Clea is trying to muffle her laughter. “This just makes my entire month.”
I pin a twitchy eyelid on her. “Oh, shut it.”
Meanwhile, my mother remains in a contemplative state. “Is this one of those pranks you kids like to pull?”
If only I were that creative. “No, Mom. This is real.”
“Wow,” she mouths.
“Again, not a huge deal.”
“Landon Winters is a very huge deal, Vannah. This is very exciting.” The twinkle in her eyes confirms as much. “Are you two an item?
I cackle—very loud—garnering attention from everyone in the salon. “That’d be a hard no.”
“But he’s so handsome.” She leans forward to add, “And very rich.”
He’s also a raging egomaniac. “Good for him. I’m just trying to sell him some properties.”
“Just wait until your father hears about this. He’ll be so proud—”
“Please don’t tell him,” I blurt.
“Vannah,” she admonishes me.
“This is only a trial run,” I rush to say. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“What could go wrong? You’re the greatest at what you do.” I doubt she fully understands the complexity behind being successful in my occupation.
“Let’s just say he’s… challenging.” And that’s a generous description. Aside from a few chuckles and lopsided smirks, the guy could be mistaken for concrete. It’s a talent to remain that stoic for hours. That’s without taking his sunny personality into account.