Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
An idea strikes. “I know what to do,” I say with excitement.
“I suggest you go make your calls then because we have about five more minutes until dinner is ready. Hopefully Leo will be here by then.”
“On it.” I kiss Mom’s cheek. “Thanks.”
Rather than head upstairs to my room for privacy, I step out onto the back patio through the glass-paned wooden door off the kitchen. My father is an absolute craftsman and created this outdoor living space to match the rustic charm of the stone house.
It’s an open-air chamber of tranquility that marries the house with nature. The expansive stone, all uniquely shaped and sized, has been laid in a random pattern of autumn colors like sienna, ochre and charcoal. The ceiling is comprised of thin boards in a dark polished wood with subtle recessed lighting and a large fan in the center for hot summer nights. The beams supporting the wood canopy are rough cut and unadorned, contrary to the polished ceiling, but somehow it all works together.
My favorite parts are the gas lamp sconces my dad installed on both sides of the kitchen door and the cut stone columns that surround the edge of the patio. The lamps come on automatically at dusk, which is imminent, and the ambience of the flickering lights is truly magical.
Someone has already set the table—most likely my father, as he likes to be helpful when Mom is in cooking mode. It’s not fancy but it doesn’t need to be for our family. Regular plates, worn and scratched over the years, a folded paper towel on top of each, along with a fork and butter knife. In the center are trivets to hold the hot dishes and we’ll pass the food around family style. There aren’t any cups or glasses for drinks, as we’ll all help ourselves to whatever we want, but you can rest assured there’s a large pitcher of sweet tea my Georgian mom made chilling in the fridge. I know a lot of my northern friends gag over the sweetness of the drink but I was practically raised on it, and I drink far more of it than is healthy.
I pull a chair back from the table’s end and place a call to Foster McInnis. He answers on the third ring which surprises me as I assumed I’d get his voicemail. He clearly has my name programmed in his contacts because he merely says, “Mazzy?”
“Yeah… hi. Is this a good time to talk?” I ask.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “It is if you’re accepting the job.”
Laughing, I tuck a wavy lock behind my ear, then sift my fingers through the back of my hair. “I want to talk further about the job,” I correct him. “I have to admit I’m interested but if I accept with you, I lose out on the other opportunity. If you, God forbid, don’t get Bowie Jane, then I’m screwed.”
“So tell me how to make you feel better about it,” he says.
“You agree to pay me the monthly salary I would have gotten with the other offer until I can find another position. I’ll, in turn, promise to look diligently for something else, but I’ll need at least a three-month commitment from you to pay me. I should be able to find something easily in that time frame.”
“Deal.”
“Deal?” I echo back incredulously.
“Did you not want me to do what you just asked?” There’s playfulness in his voice. For some reason, it doesn’t irritate me but in turn amuses me.
“No, it’s just… I thought you might balk or at least make a counteroffer. Isn’t that the way normal business negotiations are done?”
“I suppose,” he drawls. “But honestly, I just want to get you on board so I have that in my back pocket when I ask for full custody. So yes, I agree to your terms and any others you want.”
“Um… well… okay then,” I say hesitantly.
“Okay, as in you accept my offer?” he probes.
“Yes, as long as you cover my salary up to three months if your job falls through.”
“Then we definitely have a deal. I’ll call you as soon as the hearing is over and I know what’s going to happen. But assuming I get custody, I’ll be heading straight to California to get Bowie Jane. You’ll need to be ready to start probably by Thursday and I have an away game on Friday.”
A flush of concern moves through me, heating the back of my neck. “Oh, wow… that’s moving kind of fast.”
“You can’t start that soon?” he asks, worry evident in his tone.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… that’s going to be a lot on your daughter. A switch in custody, a cross-country move, then you dump her with a stranger and take off to an away game.”
Foster huffs into the phone. “Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that but you’re absolutely right. It’s going to be hard on her to leave her mom but I also know she doesn’t want to go to Singapore. The timing on the preseason games starting isn’t great.”