Addicted to Santino - Amarie Avant Page 0,52

required of me.

By eight am, I’ve traveled past snowy trees as dominating as skyscrapers and breathtaking landscapes. The B&B that Mr. Turner owns is a couple of miles away from Lake Erie. A driver opens the backdoor of a continental. Dad’ll complain how I spent unnecessary company funds on a personal driver. One, I can drive. . .kind of. Two, I jot down the name of any overnight accommodations that I pass by. This is to have a well-rounded conversation with Mr. Turner about his competition. Three, I was born into a petty family, with high expectations, so no driving.

“Ohhhh,” I groan, not acclimated to the soft breeze. I tremble in my peacoat. Just as I’m gripping the handle of the rollaway that always accompanies me, I hear a voice. A voice I’ve known my entire life. A particularly judgey, annoying voice.

My older sister Gabriella saunters over in a Mulberry tweed suit. She’s holding baby R. Kel—ur, my nephew, as if the two perfect legs clinging to her hips are inoperable. Kissing his cold, red nose, she hands Little Stevie to Steven.

“Where’s the baby?” That’s probably not the most appropriate question under the circumstances. But my mom’s only claim to pettiness is how Gabby has everyone on rotation for diaper duty.

Gabriella replies, “With the nanny.”

“Okay . . . are you on vacation or something, Gabby?” I inquire, shifting in my leather boots in the snow.

“Dad thought it was appropriate for Steven to take over.”

My eyes bug out. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steven opens his mouth. Gabby’s hand sharply cuts the air. She then replies for them. “No, we made a weekend of it. Later today, the two of us should go for a massage.”

“Who? You and Assh—”

“What?”

“Gabby, I mean you and Steven or you and me? I’m sorely confused.” I drop the handle of my rollaway to knead my neck.

“Steven, take Little Stevie to the nanny. Hurry up, your meeting with Mr. Turner is minutes away.” Once finished addressing Steven, Gabby’s wrath turns toward me. “Gina, French toast is your favorite. The owner at the resort where we’re staying swore by this little shop around the corner. Let’s—”

“Gabriella,” I snarl, “I woke up at 2:30 this morning. I didn’t sleep a wink on the flight.”

“Turbulence?”

“No! Santi . . .” I clamp my jaws. The number one rule with someone who spews negativity is not to admit that the ship you call love has a minor hole in it.

“What is it, little sister?” Her long, faux lashes flutter. I can’t stop the feeling that my sister is smiling in my face.

“My coochie lips are ice-covered over, Gabby! Every orifice of my body is frozen. I’m meeting with Turner! Dad gave me the assignment after Steven fucked up, so you all figure that out. Tootles!” I hold a gloved hand to her face, grab the rollaway, and attempt to strut away. Each step feels like I’m sinking into a slushy.

Gabriella surpasses my stride. She holds open the door to the B&B. As we enter, I’m assessing all the reasons why Turner’s place is failing. With nobody to greet you upon arrival, why stay?!

Gabriella leans against the wooden counter, eyeing me. She says, “I was once in love with a stripper, Gina.”

Having ignored her, I glance around. With logs crackling in the fireplace, a stone wall would make the perfect focal point for the living room. The furniture is eclectic, and not in the I’m-scenting-homemade-chocolate-chip-cookies kind of way.

“It was this seedy little strip club. Shanda’s sister took me to it.”

“Good for you. When you were best friends with my best friend’s sister, your face wasn’t so shriveled and smirky. Maybe you miss Cora, um, I mean the stripper.”

“Maybe you should share your stripper.”

At this point, I’m beyond perplexed. Letting out a laugh, I tap my index finger on a silver bell. “Ring, ring,” I say in an attempt to garner some attention.

Mr. Turner comes from a backroom, his smile lighting up. “Gina,” he extends a hand. “I was just chatting with Steven. He shared that you weren’t able to—”

“There’s been a mistake.” I take his awaiting hand. “On behalf of Galloway Enterprises, I must apologize. I want to assure you that we’d like to work together to rectify . . .”

“Gina, please, all my doubts ended the day I met you.” His lips pull into a flirtatious smile.

“I’m Gabriella Galloway.” My sister's hand protrudes between us. “I held the position a few years longer than my little sister. I … would like to