Page 42 of Love Marks
“What’s up?” He asks.
“Clearly not much, since it’s a Friday night and I’m here. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Jamie’s traveling again.” He sips his beer. “Luna has reached the ‘why’ phase. All she does is ask me why, why, why. I’d like to know myself.”
“Me too. Like why Quinn was crying today,” I wonder out loud.
“Your sexy housekeeper? You made her cry?”
“No!” I shake my head and suppress a groan. “I mean — maybe. I don’t know.”
“Whatever it is, just apologize. Always apologize.”
“Good advice, coming from a guy who sees his wife twice a year.”
“Ouch. First of all, I see Jamie more than twice a year. Don’t be a dick. Secondly, we can’t all be chronically single bitter assholes.”
“Ouch.”
We clink our beers together and drink in silence. Seems like I have a few things to apologize for where Quinn is concerned. Maybe one blanket apology will suffice. Too bad for me, I won’t be seeing Quinn tomorrow because of her fake illness. So, for now, we drink.
* * *
I wake up with a killer hangover. It’s my own fault. I should’ve never convinced Ben to bust out the whiskey we’d confiscated from our dad a few months ago. Vague memories of karaoke in my brother’s living room flash through my mind. I pray that was a dream.
Once I’m settled in at my desk, I check my phone. A text from Ben with a video attached:
Thank God for smart phones, Mariah.
I only watch the video for a few seconds before smacking my forehead in mortification. I respond quickly:
Show anyone and I kill you.
Wouldn’t dream of it. My eyes only. And maybe the American Idol judges.
I toss my phone on my desk with a groan and pop two Advil with a glass of water. Pushing my drunk mistakes aside, I start on today’s work. I glance through an email from my assistant with yesterday’s trades highlights. None of them concern me, really, but one catches my eye:
Mason Corp Faces Allegations of Fraud, Embezzlement
I grimace, thinking of the last time I saw Tim Mason. He’d been wasted and high on pills, crying on my shoulder about how his wife slept with their gardener. Classic. I knew Tim was an idiot, but fraud? Really?
For now, I push it to the back of my mind and get to work so I can enjoy the rest of my weekend. I’m finishing up with most of my urgent tasks when my mom calls.
“Darling! How are you?”
“Fine, mom. How are you?”
“Oh, bored as all hell. But guess what? Quinn signed me up for a cooking class and I went last night.”
I grumble at the mention of Quinn.
“That sounds nice,” I reply.
“The teacher is quite handsome, too.”
I laugh. “You’re still married last I checked.”
“Sure, sure.”