A Moment Like You (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,24

ever say no to because well…I’m the baby of the family.

If it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t be pleading my case.

Is it good for everyone?

That’s debatable. Blaire swore that Mom was totally fine to travel. She promised me that by the end of the period she’s going to be more independent than she currently is. Hayes has some friends in San Francisco who agreed to work with Mom, but Henry is going to have to fly my parents.

Good luck with my parents, asshole. He wants to have the Aragon experience and hangout with my family. He should be careful about what he wishes for.

Dad looks at me, and I’m sure he remembers the three weeks I was down in Baker’s Creek. I barely had time to call them, and I didn’t see them until I came back.

“Well, if the doctors say it’s safe for your mom, then we will visit you, sweetie,” he agrees. “I’ll talk to your mom tomorrow. Do you want me to schedule the tests?”

I hug him. “Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll take care of everything, Dad.”

“You’re the best daughter a father could have—just don’t tell your sisters,” he says. “You shouldn’t be sacrificing yourself for us.”

“It’s a job, and after this, I’m sure I’ll get something so much better you’ll be proud of me.”

“I’m already proud of everything you do, mija. And thankful because you sacrifice a lot for your mom and me.”

“It’s not a sacrifice. I’m happy to do it.”

“You should go home,” he reminds me as the grandfather clock announces its nine o’clock.

“Right. The car service is waiting for me, and I still have a few calls to make.”

“When are you leaving?” he asks.

“Not until you have the green light to travel,” I declare, as I’ve decided that’s my new condition to live in Baker’s Creek.

“What’s going to happen to your place in the city?” Dad asks.

“It’s still mine, at least while I keep my employment with Merkel hotels.”

He stares at me and shakes his head. “You should let us take care of you. Everything you’re doing isn’t right. I only hear you talk about work. When do you have time for yourself?”

“I have plenty of time, and now that I’m going to live in that small town, I’ll have my friends close by.”

It’s not like I don’t have friends in the city. We are just not close anymore. Most of them are either dating, engaged, or already married. Hanging out with couples only reminds me of what I’m missing.

Once I’m in the car, I call Henry.

“Sophia, are you okay?” he asks concerned.

Instead of answering his question, I tell him what I’m doing, “The doctor needs to run some tests before he agrees to let Mom travel. If I can set everything up, they’ll start tomorrow, but Dr. Carmona doesn’t think she can travel right away. I’ll be there once I have the guarantee that they’ll be visiting me often.”

“When is that?”

“A week or two,” I tell him. “In the meantime, we can set up interviews to choose a new vice president of operations. I have a few people in mind, as long as you’re open to sponsor work visas and listen to my ideas.”

He lets out a loud exhale. “I need you tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Sophia,” he says my name and it’s almost a whisper. “It’s been almost a week. You left without saying goodbye. You have to be here tomorrow.”

“My father is thinking about moving to South Carolina,” I mention. “The properties are cheaper and so is the cost of living. Maybe I can find a job that pays good enough for the area. The benefits wouldn’t matter since everyone can pitch in.”

I cross my fingers hoping he’ll take the bait. If I see him tomorrow, I’m going to punch him—or kiss him—and I shouldn’t be doing either of those things.

“You can’t be serious,” he states.

Of course I’m bluffing because we have the debt. We still owe twenty years of mortgage payments, and I doubt there’s a suitable job for me that will let me help my parents.

“I need more time.” It’s all I say, hoping he doesn’t ask me why because I might be honest with him.

What is the point of bringing up Saturday night when it’s obvious he doesn’t care about it while I have the kiss replaying inside my head over and over again.

“How long?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“Ten days,” he says, almost growling, but not with anger. It’s more like with misery. “I don’t give a fuck if