it’s your favorite, and being laid regularly has made me seriously philanthropic.”
There was no way Abby couldn’t laugh at that, so she did. “All right, fine. I need a break anyway. I’m starting to see in double vision.”
Roxy bumped her with a sharp hip as they left Abby’s bedroom. “When is this project going to be finished? You’ve been at it for weeks.”
Project? Is that what she’d told them? “Uh . . . soon, I think. I need to weigh the risk of a few more investment opportunities—”
“Abby, you’re making my head hurt. I’m an actress for a reason.” Roxy winked at her. “What I do know is how to keep your body instrument fine-tuned, and yours looks tired. Whatever you’re doing in there . . . I—we—think you need to scale it back.”
When they reached the living room, Abby glanced over her shoulder to find Honey looking cross-armed and downright mean. Recognizing an ambush when she saw one, Abby started backing toward her bedroom. “Oh no. What is this? An intervention?”
Honey blocked her entrance to the hallway. “Roommate style, bitch.”
“Come.” Roxy grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back into the living room. “Cupcakes and a chat never killed anyone.”
“There’s no Weekend at Bernie’s is there?” Abby groaned. “I really don’t need to be . . . intervened. Interventioned. Is there a word for this?”
“Worried.” Honey guided her down onto the couch. “We’re seriously worried, okay? You were already working too hard and not sleeping enough, but the last few days, it has gotten worse. Talk to us.”
“Yeah,” Roxy said. “You listen to us complain all the time. We want our turn to be good friends.” Since Roxy was usually the most emotionally closed-off of their threesome, Abby was surprised to see a hint of vulnerability creep into her expression. “I only learned recently what good friend means, and it sure as hell isn’t letting you waste away in your bedroom while we watch a music montage of a dead guy being carried around.”
Abby swallowed a smile. “So . . . there is Weekend at Bernie’s . . . ?”
“Oh, sure. Make jokes during my Full House moment.”
“This intervention appears to be getting away from us,” Honey broke in. “Tell us how we can help, Abby. Baked goods only go so far.”
Abby reached for a pink-topped cupcake, letting her breath seep out. Opening up felt like the right thing to do. She was carrying around too many secrets, enough to eventually topple her if she continued in this vein. But when she opened her mouth to tell them about Russell, about the scary, new feelings for him that had popped up only to be shot down, something else entirely came out. Maybe she just wasn’t ready to let their one-and-only moment fly away just yet. Or maybe it was her self-consciousness. Whatever the reason, she shoved it deep down into an inner cave for safekeeping, allowing an even bigger secret to finally break free.
“My father isn’t running the hedge fund anymore.” As soon as the words passed her lips, a stack of wet newspapers slid from her shoulders. “He . . . can’t. That’s why I’ve been working so much.”
Her friends were silent a moment before Honey spoke. “I don’t understand. Why can’t he run his own company?”
Abby bit into the cupcake and chewed slowly, so she’d have time to decide on the right words. She hadn’t anticipated telling anyone about this tonight, so there was no ready explanation. There was only the truth. A truth she’d been warned to keep to herself. “A little over a month ago, my father went on a golfing trip to Scotland. Alone. It was really odd timing, but the first quarter had been stressful, so my stepmother and I didn’t make an issue out of it.”
Roxy and Abby traded a look. Obviously, this wasn’t what they’d been expecting. Well, they could join the party because she hadn’t expected it either.
“While he was in Scotland, he . . . locked himself in his hotel room and refused to come out.” She grabbed a cushion and stuffed it behind her head, her neck suddenly too tired to function. “The staff eventually entered and found him . . . they found him huddled in the bathtub. He’d had some sort of mental breakdown. It was the pressure. It had gotten to him, and there were drugs involved, too. He couldn’t cope.”
“Oh, my God,” Roxy said. “Abby . . .”
“My stepmother went over with a