I checked the cheese for mold, but it looked good. Perfect.
Omelets it is.
I carefully cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them to a perfect fluffy texture. Next, I added my seasoning. I continued to whisk them as the coconut oil warmed on the pan. Once it started to sizzle, I poured the eggs, watching them cook into a nice even-looking pancake shape.
As the omelet fried, my mother stumbled into the kitchen.
I could tell by the way she held her head that she was hungover. She walked like a zombie, dragging her feet over the floor and grunting with every step. Her makeup was smeared, and her hair was a mess. I didn’t know which one of us looked worse. Clumsily, she plopped onto a kitchen chair, nearly knocking over the flower pot. She hastened to catch it, but it had already toppled over, and dirt spilled onto the table.
“Crap,” she cursed underneath her breath. “These poor daisies.” She slowly pushed the dirt back into the pot and placed it back in its proper place.
The flowers themselves were in a miserable state. I bought them about a week ago, hoping to add some cheer to our otherwise dismal apartment but they lasted for about a day before they wilted and turned brown. Now, most of the petals had fallen off and the stalks looked dry and dead.
My mother groaned and rested her head on her arms.
My heart tightened at the sight of her.
I felt bad.
So I started up the coffee machine, knowing that a nice, strong brew would make her feel better.
I grabbed a mug from the cabinet. It was tall ceramic mug with the word Beatles printed in all black letters. I had gotten it for my mother one Christmas when I was younger, and now it was chipped and cracked. I offered to buy her a new one, but she refused to throw it away. Too many memories, I guess. I turned the mug in my hands, trying to see what she saw, but in the end, I just shrugged and placed it under the coffee dispenser.
As the coffee brewed, I sprinkled cheese onto my omelet, using the rest of the bag. I waited a few moments until it started to melt and bubble before folding the omelet in two. The cheese oozed out the side. Mmm. Perfect. Carefully, I transferred it onto a plate. My stomach growled even louder this time.
Ding!
The coffee machine went off. The sound startled my mother who had fallen asleep at the table. She looked around, wide eyed and bushy tailed. “It’s all right, it’s just the coffee machine,” I soothed her as I added a splash of milk and sugar to her drink. “Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better,” I said, placing the mug in front of her. “And these too.” I held out a couple of Advil.
She took them with a half-smile, popping the pills in her mouth before washing them down with a sip of coffee.
“What would I do without you, sweetheart?”
I smiled, a little sad. It’s sort of heartbreaking, but this is our usual morning ritual.
My mother stared into her coffee, still suffering from her hangover.
“Did you want breakfast?” I asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure? Some food would probably help. You shouldn’t take medicine on an empty stomach,” I urged.
“What did you make?” Her voice was low and drawn out.
“A cheese omelet. There’s more than enough for the two of us.”
“I’ll just have some crackers.”
“All right.” I grabbed the saltines from the cabinet. “Here.”
With shaking fingers, she removed them from the package as I sat down and began to eat my breakfast.
“Don’t you ever get sick of eating omelets?” Mom asked, scrunching up her face in disgust when she saw what I was eating.
I shrugged. “Eggs are cheap. Besides, it’s the only thing we had left in the house. I need to go grocery shopping today,” I answered, inwardly groaning at the fact that I would need to leave the house on my day off. All I wanted to do was enjoy myself, but instead I’d have to deal with all the people who packed into the supermarket on weekends.
So much for rest and relaxation.
“Yeah, I guess,” she agreed. “So, how’s work?”
“Good, good,” I responded. “I mean, there are a few hiccups here and there but for the most part, it’s all right. Just the other day, there was a particularly cranky customer. I don’t know what his problem was, but he kept finding fault with the food. I think we went through five orders before he finally settled on a salad.” I shook my head. “And he ended up eating it with this really sour expression on his face like he hated every bite he was taking.”
“Maybe something happened,” my mother suggested blearily. “We all have our bad days.”
“That’s true. But I just wish people wouldn’t take it out on others. It’s not my fault he was having a bad day.”
“Sometimes you just can’t help it,” Miranda said darkly.
I sighed. “Yeah, that’s the sucky part about being a waitress. You’re always getting the butt of everyone’s bad days.” My mom sighed.
“It used to be the same way when I was working down at Keith’s.”
“Right. Times don’t really change, do they?”
She smiled knowingly. “Depends from which angle you’re looking at it from.”
Oh good. I could tell by the way she spoke that she was feeling more like herself again because sometimes, I really missed my mom and the woman she used to be before my father died. Back then, she used to be my best friend. We did everything together from coloring to playing tennis in the park. She was my hero in every sense of the word but when my dad died, it was like a part of her died too. She was never the same again.
I looked up at her and studied her face. Before I could say anything else, the doorbell rang.
My mother’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! I totally forgot about him. It must be Aaron!”
“Who’s Aaron?” I asked, cocking my head in confusion.
We rarely got visitors, and especially not this early in the morning. Most of mom’s drinking buddies were probably still hungover or hugging their toilet bowls. Probably both.
“Wait…” Realization dawned on me. “He’s not that guy you were telling me about last night, is he?”
“No, he is.” She looked around with an almost panicked look on her face.
“You mean, that was true?” I asked with shock.
“Of course, it was!” she said hurriedly. “And, he’s here. Who else would it be?”
My heart leapt into my throat and I got to my feet, bumping my hip on the table and wincing in pain. I shot a panicked glance at my mother before rushing to the door. But my mother reached the door first and yanked it open.
We both gasped at the sight before us.
Parked on the street was a shiny black limousine. I blinked, thinking this was some kind of dream.
It had to be.
Because why would there be a limousine parked outside our apartment?
It didn’t make any sense.
Dazed by the luxury vehicle, it took me a moment to register the older gentleman standing right in front of me. He wore a black suit with a matching tie. A jaunty black hat sat on the top of his head. He smiled kindly, white mustache twitching.
I stepped back, startled.
“You’re not Aaron,” my mother said. She sounded confused. She edged forward and peeked her head out the door, looking all over for someone who did not exist.
Who was this Aaron person, anyway?
“No, ma’am. I’m his chauffeur,” the older gentleman answered gently. He had his hands clasped behind his back and seemed to be waiting for a response.
Wait. Chauffeur? What was going on?
“Wait! Chauffeur!” my mother exclaimed, echoing my thoughts exactly. “Only super rich people have those.” She looked over at me, eyes sparkling with her excitement. “Did you hear that, Mel? Mr. Black has a chauffeur.”
“I heard,” I answered, still a bit taken aback by the whole thing. My mind was having a hard time believing that this was reality. All I could d
o was stare – I felt like I was on the verge of having a panic attack. My chest tightened, and my lungs felt like they were being squeezed tight. My throat narrowed to the width of a bendy straw.
I had to do everything in my power to keep calm. I took deep breaths through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. By my side, my fingers were shaking as crazy thoughts ran through my head. If this Aaron person was real…and this chauffeur was real…then that means my mother’s bet was real. I gulped.
“Mom, I—”
“Mel, this is amazing! Just look at that limo! It’s huge!”
“Mom,” I said firmly. “Mom, what is going on?”
She ignored me.
Crap.
Did this mean I’d have to be a random man’s live-in girlfriend for three months? Why did my mother always get me into these terrible situations?
My mind worked a mile a minute trying to come up with some kind of solution for this whole ordeal. There had to be a way out of this. I kept looking at the limousine and imagining a handsome billionaire sitting behind the tinted windows. What did he look like? What was his personality? Would I like or hate him? What was he doing at a cheap bar last night?
These questions swirled around in my head like a swarm of angry bees.
What was I supposed to do?
The chauffeur waited for my mother to calm down a bit before he tipped his hat in proper greeting. “I have been sent by Mr. Black to pick up Melanie Carmichael.”
“That’s you, honey!” My mother announced gleefully, already pushing me out the door.
I hung back, digging my heels into the ground. I was still wearing my pajamas.
“She’s ready. You can take her,” my mother insisted, still pushing me out the door with all her strength.
“No. I’m not ready,” I protested. “I’m in my pajamas. Plus, I don’t have anything packed. Plus this whole thing is wrong,” I practically hissed, shooting my mom the evil eye.
The chauffeur gave a knowing smile. Somehow, he didn’t seem fazed by anything that was going on. Maybe this was an everyday occurrence to him. “Not to worry, I’ve been directed to take you shopping right after your spa treatment.”
“Spa treatment?” I stammered. “What spa treatment? What are you talking about?”
My mother suddenly clapped her hands. “I’m a millionaire now! You hear that, world? I’m rich!” she yelled, tilting her head back.
“Mom, wait!” I hissed loudly. “What the hell are you talking about? You can’t send me off with this guy! You don’t even know who he is. What if he’s some axe-murderer or something?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, you’ll be fine.” She shook her head. “Stop worrying so much, Melly, it’s unbecoming.”
“Mom!” I protested, shooting her the evil eye again.
But Miranda was in her own world. The happiness on her face seemed so genuine that it broke my heart: here she was, happy and glowing, all because she’d struck a dirty deal. Did she even understand what she’d done? At the moment, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I should have Miranda committed to a hospital and examined. But my mom turned to me then.
“It’ll be okay, honey,” she said comfortingly. “Don’t worry.” This time, she placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to soothe me. I felt conflicted. On one hand, I was glad she was happy, but I hated that she was doing so at my expense. Literally.
“Mom, I—“
My mother stood in front of the door, beaming down at me. “I’ll tell you what, honey. If this all works out, I’ll use the money Mr. Black gives me for rehab. I know I have a problem and I promise I’ll try to fix it.”
That made me pause.
“Are you being serious?” I asked. Usually, I was the one that insisted she go to rehab. Most of the time, she would shake it off, saying she could quit whenever she wanted. Obviously, it wasn’t that easy. A few days into her promise, I’d find her with a bottle in hand and delirious. Most of the time it was already empty, and she was already drunk out of her mind. I had long since given up hope that she could quit on her own. It scared me because I knew that one day, she would take it too far. I’d come home from work and find her passed out on the couch and…
The thought was too painful. I pushed it out of my mind.
“Yup.” She nodded. “This will be the perfect opportunity for me to turn my life around. I know I haven’t been the best mother since your father passed away, but I promise that is going to change.”
I looked at her, studying her face. As far as I could tell, she was being genuine. Maybe this really was our chance to start fresh. “You really promise to go to rehab if you get the money? If this really works out? I mean, Mom, this is a deal you struck with a random guy in a bar. Let’s be serious, Mom.”
But Miranda, as usual, was in her own world.
“Oh sweetie, you’re always so negative. You know men don’t like that,” she smiled, taking the sting out of her words. “Trust me, this is real, and by the time you get back, I’ll be my old self again.”
I returned the smile as I tried to imagine what life would be like once I got my old mom back.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we must get going or you will be late for your spa treatment,” the chauffeur said gently, tipping his cap.
My god, I thought as I let my mother propel me forward and into the waiting back seat. Was this really happening? Well, the worst that could come of the first day was a free spa treatment and shopping spree, right? I hoped for the best and held my breath as the door was opened for me.
I was almost disappointed to find that it was empty. Aaron wasn’t there. My imagination continued to fester with thoughts of what he looked like. I shook my head. What was I thinking? It didn’t matter, did it? The agreement was for three months. That was no time at all. Still, I wouldn’t complain if he happened to be attractive.
I sat down. As soon as I felt myself sinking into the supple leather seat, it dawned on me. This was really happening! It was like a dream, only I knew that no amount of pinching my arm would make it stop.
“You be good, okay?” My mother ducked inside the limo for a second to give me one last parting hug.
“I will.” In that moment, I could feel my heart breaking. I wanted my mother to get better but the only way to do that would be to leave her. I bit my bottom lip in hesitation.
Would I really be able to do this?
I had no idea who this Aaron Black man was. And yet, I was willing to try anything, and sacrifice anything, if it meant my mom had the opportunity to go to rehab. I was going to go with this chauffeur and act like all of this was totally normal.
“Well, Mom, I guess I have to go.”
She hugged me a little tighter. “I’ll miss you, sweetie.”
I tensed. She wasn’t making this any easier for me.
Still, I straightened my shoulders and put on a brave face. I had to do this for her. For us. Because it’s been years since my dad died, and my mom still hasn’t pulled it together. So with another sad smile, I hugged Miranda goodbye, and then the limo pulled away from the curb … and towards my future.
Chapter Four
Aaron
Ugh.
What the fuck did I do last night?
As I slowly woke up, it felt like someone had rammed into my head with a sixteen-wheeler. Ever so gently, I turned on my side and faced the wall, trying to protect my aching eyes. I followed the pattern of the wallpaper and cursed the interior decorator for convincing me that wallpaper in my bedroom was a good idea. I should have known better.
When I tried to remember who I’d hired for the job, my temples began to throb.
Ugh.
Seriously, what the fuck did I do last night?
I burped a sour belch that tasted like cognac. Great, I had spent the night drinking again, hadn’t I? Frustrated with myself, I ran my fingers through my hair. It felt greasy and lank.
I squinted and looked toward the window where the sunlight peered through sheer curtains.
Wh
at time was it?
Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I have anything to do besides nurse this stupid hangover.
I lingered in bed for a while longer, enjoying the feel of the silk sheets against my skin. My hand glided across the empty side of the mattress. I frowned as loneliness came crashing back, making it hard to breathe. How long had it been since I had been with someone? Months? Years? I honestly couldn’t remember my last meaningful relationship. It had been so long ago. Not to mention, it ended in one hell of a fight. I’d rather not bring back those memories, come to think of it.
I turned over and stared at the ceiling. I took a deep breath and sighed.
And then, I suddenly remembered the ‘deal’ from last night.
Had that really happened?
I couldn’t really remember, cobwebs clouding my memories. I definitely remembered Miranda, at least. She had gotten me trashed.
Ugh.
I felt like shit.
Given my vicious hangover, how did I get back home last night? There’s no way I drove. I would be dead by now.
I furrowed my brow and tried to piece my night back together. I recalled walking into the bar. It was rundown and shady but that was exactly why I’d walked in. I didn’t want a single soul in that place to recognize me. I just wanted someplace to drown my sorrows.
Ah, that’s right.
Victor drove me home.
I smiled to myself. Even if the world was coming to an end, Victor would still be my most reliable staff member. I could trust my assistant with anything, even if the Great Flood came again.
Which means I had probably told him about the deal I made with Miranda Carmichael. Hopefully he didn’t take me seriously.
I shook my head.
Fuck.
Bad idea.
My mind felt like it was rattling inside my skull and my stomach churned vilely.
Take it slow, Aaron, I told myself.
Eventually I managed to roll out of bed. I stumbled into the bathroom and once inside, I turned on the shower and let the water run for a moment. I stripped off my pajamas and threw them into the hamper before stepping up to the mirror. I stood there, taking in the sight of my reflection. Most people would consider me attractive, I suppose. After all, I spent a good part of my day in the gym, keeping myself in shape. Plus, I was naturally gifted with chiseled facial features that women seemed to like.
Buying A Bride_A Romance Collection Page 3
