Page 25 of The False Flat

I shouldn’t have pushed the conversation right before dinner, but I didn’t cave in to him, like I usually did when his voice was low and I liked how he wanted me. “I’m serious. Everything is better here.”

His arms dropped with a slap on his thighs. “Business is better here?”

I threw too much enthusiasm into my voice. “Yes! My business is thriving.” Wow. My business was not thriving. I had one new client, a guy who thought two thousand dollars was a ton of money. But in the last couple of weeks, with Michelle’s help, I’d developed a website and marketing collateral. And I’d also created an account with BNI, a referral organization. My materials were thriving, and that was part of my business. Part of my business was thriving!

“You know you’re probably only staying afloat right now because you manage my family’s money. My dad was a little concerned when you left Twin Cities.”

Why is he mentioning this?

A week after I’d met Chad, I’d started managing his money. A week after that, he’d talked his family into signing with me, though they knew a good planner when they saw one. And I knew full well that Chad had talked his dad into staying with me when I left TCF, but that was less for my sake and more for theirs. It’d been sticky keeping them all as clients, but I needed them. He knew I needed them.

“Are you threatening to pull your family’s money if I don’t go back?” My body shook.

If he pulled their business, I’d be crippled, and I might be forced to go back, exactly what he wanted. Because I couldn’t grow my own money fast enough, given all my recent expenses, without a lot more smaller clients or at least another large one.

I turned away from him, trying desperately to harness my breathing. I eyed the stationary bike I’d purchased a couple of weeks ago, which was positioned by the window, for the stormy days. A mental necessity.

He sighed again. “Of course not. I’m worried about you. I feel like these people are changing you. You’re not the same girl I loved in the Cities.”

“You mean I’m not the same girl who goes along with everything you want to do?”

“See, this is what I mean! We’re arguing over stupid stuff, like Vicki and I used to.”

Vicki. For the past several weeks, I’d cyberstalked her just to confirm to myself that she was happy, but there was no need. She was already engaged to someone else, anxiously awaiting her and Chad’s divorce to be final so she and her new guy could wed in Maui—she’d indeed been in love with her best friend. She looked really happy. Ironically, I wanted what she had.

“Well, you don’t have to worry, Chad, because I’m not like Vicki.”

“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I—”

My phone started ringing on the dresser Deanna had helped me pick out, white wood that matched the white sleigh bed I’d also purchased. All the white made the royal purple accent pillows and fleece throw pop; the room was morphing into a livable space, like a real human lived here.

I went to my phone.

“Hello, Mother,” I said, and then held up a finger to Chad, not the finger I wanted to either.

His lips curled in satisfaction as he returned to my bed, propping himself up on his arms and crossing his legs at the ankles. He was glad my mother was calling. They both wanted me to return to Minnesota, something they discussed during their weekly lunches without me. Gross.

I turned my back to Chad.

“Eight calls, Penelope?” My mother’s tone radiated high and mighty.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. I was planning to call you tomorrow when I had more time. Chad and I were about to leave for dinner.”

“At least you have a good excuse.”

Bingo.

“Give Chad my love, will you?” she continued. “Has he convinced you to come to your senses and move back here yet? What’s that noise? A saw? Is Chad sawing?”

That had been my teeth grinding, little pieces of enamel shearing straight out of my mouth.

“I’m putting on lipstick,” I lied. “It must’ve been the phone against my cheek.”

“Oh, speaking of! I found the most perfect perfume for you. It’ll go flawlessly with the summer outfit I found. I can see it now, you on Chad’s arm floating into summer garden parties, impressing everyone. I’ve been keeping in close contact with Houston. TCF still wants you back.” Duh, so they could have me work my ass off, then serve said ass with a chilled chianti during a celebratory dinner where they congratulate Dougan or Frenchy or some other equally douchey-named finance sleaze on his new client acquisition.

I wanted to scream, but I held it in as my lips twitched and I stared at the wall like a psycho in an asylum.

My mother’s mission was to mold my life into her perfect vision. I was her Barbie doll. Now, she had a dream house, matching Ken doll, and high-profile career picked out, all in demure shades of beige, black, and white, all made of plastic. And not the good kind of Beige and Black who inherited money. Some part of me still wanted to bend to her will. It was easier when she made all the decisions.