your energy on your internship and getting hired for that magazine you’ve always wanted to work for.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I bolt upright. “In fact, I’m going to get back to work right now.” I point to the cardboard box in the corner—the one filled with the three settled lawsuits I got from the courthouse the other day. For some time now, I’ve been meaning to read the third lawsuit Reed settled—the one filed by Troy Eklund for breach of contract, fraud, and assault—but I haven’t had a spare moment to dig into it. “Could you hand me that box? There’s something I’ve been dying to read, and there’s no time like the present.”
“Nope. You’re going to eat something now and read whatever is in that box later.”
“No, I’ll eat later. I want to capitalize on this burst of energy.”
“What have you eaten today, Georgina Marie?”
My middle name, again? “Coffee this morning, when I took Alessandra to the airport. And a banana.”
“And that’s it?”
I nod, grimacing.
“That’s what I thought. Your appetite is always the first thing to go when you’re upset. Well, you’re in luck, Amorina. I’ve been slow-cooking meatballs all day.”
I fist-pump the air, and Dad chuckles. He doesn’t always know how to talk through my feelings with me, though he tries. He doesn’t always know how best to console me when I’m down. But the man sure as hell knows how to feed me.
“I’ll put together meatball sandwiches for us,” Dad says. “While you take a shower and get into some fresh jammies.”
“It’s a date.” I hug him. “Thank you, Daddy. You’re the sweetest.”
Dad kisses my cheek. “I know you wish Mommy were here to talk to you about boy stuff. And I don’t blame you. But I’m here. Any time. If you want to talk.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, shower while I make us dinner.”
“I’ll shower after dinner. I’ve got some texts and voicemails to go through, real quick.”
“All right.” Dad rises from the bed and points at the cardboard box in the corner. “As long as you don’t start reading whatever’s in there. I know how laser-focused you get when you work. Two hours pass without you even realizing it.”
“I’ll deal with my texts and voicemails and come right out.”
“Good girl.”
Dad kisses my forehead and heads out. And the minute the door closes behind him, I grab my phone, steel myself for whatever bullshit explanations and apologies Reed has left me over the past two days, and swipe into his first voicemail.
Chapter 4
Georgina
I must admit, the desperation in Reed’s voicemails makes me smile. He’s miserable? Desperate? Tormented? Full of remorse and regret? Good.
After listening to his voicemails, all of which say basically the same things he said to me at the party, I swipe into Reed’s first text, which tells me only that he’s left me a voicemail that “requires my attention.” Pfft.
I move on to Reed’s next text, sent an hour later, after he hadn’t heard from me regarding his voicemails. This time, his text is about Alessandra. But he doesn’t apologize. On the contrary, he says he’s got “nothing to apologize for” in regard to my stepsister. “If she follows my advice,” he writes, “she could be great. If not, she’ll be stuck singing demos her whole career, if she’s lucky.”
“That’s your idea of an apology, you prick?” I say out loud. But, truthfully, I know he’s right. I’m still annoyed he said anything at all to Alessandra about her demo, given his promise not to do that very thing. But when I drove Alessandra to the airport this morning, she told me everything Reed said to her. And, by the time she was done talking, I knew in my bones, at least in regard to Alessandra, Reed didn’t do anything unforgiveable. He was clearly only trying to help her, just like he said.
But so what? Even if I were to forgive Reed for making Alessandra cry, he’s still got two other strikes against him. The grant and Isabel. In Reed’s voicemails, he said he “refuses” to explain himself about either topic, via text or voicemail, but, instead, “demands” that I call him to hear him out. But I’m not in the mood to meet his “demand.” Nor am I inclined to let him try to sweet-talk me. He already tried to do that as I was leaving the party, and I wasn’t impressed.
I move on to Reed’s next text, which he sent around noon yesterday (Sunday):