The comment set off a flare of annoyance inside him. He tamped it down because she’d just spent the evening immersed in his family, listening to his mom preach the Best Life gospel. Best Life wasn’t his life, but he understood why the distinction might be blurry for her about now.
He could afford a little patience.
Chapter Twelve
“What’s the word from Maui?”
Laurie held her phone to her ear with her shoulder while she unlocked her apartment.
“A cautious thumbs up,” Chelsea replied from the other end of the phone. “I had meetings this week to try and resolve the snag I told you about in the sale of the hotel. The parties reached an agreement, in concept. Nothing’s final until the contracts are signed, but I wanted to let you know my bonus is back within the realm of possibility.”
Hope expanded in L
aurie’s chest. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing.” She walked into her apartment, shut the door behind her, and then absently picked up the silver commuter mug Booker had left on the end table on his way out that morning. Somehow, spending last weekend together had evolved into spending every night of the past week together, and as a result she had a little collection of Booker’s stuff at her place: the coffee cup, a six pack of his favorite beer in her fridge, a dark blue Montenido Sheriff’s Dept. sweatshirt that smelled like him—and swam on her, but she had commandeered it anyway.
“Save the thanks until I come through with the money.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Like I said, the deal’s not done until the deal’s done, but things look decent.”
“You sound tired.” She put her purse on the kitchen counter, along with Booker’s mug, and leaned on the opposite counter.
“I’m okay. A little tired. I’ve been working a lot.”
Guilt gnawed at her. “No bonus is worth your health.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m fine. Any word from the insurance company?”
Laurie sensed the deflection beneath the sarcasm, but she went with the subject change because she actually couldn’t mother Chelsea from this distance. “I spoke with the adjuster today. They have my itemized claim, and they received the report from the Montenido fire inspector, which states the cause was an electrical short.”
“So, that’s good, right? They should be able to process your claim soon?”
“God forbid they be that up-front. They’ve got their own investigator, who still has to submit his report, but as long as it raises no, quote ‘new information or questions,’ I should be good to go.”
“Great. That means they’ll issue payment soon. What new information or questions would there be? An electrical short caused a fire that resulted in a total loss of your business. End of story.”
Information like I stopped by the bakery that morning, and emptied my safe? “I have no idea.”
“I know this is impossible, but try not to stress about it. How’re you holding up?”
She forced some lightness into her voice. “I’m okay. Concentrating on things I can control, like earning money. Earlier this week I called my old boss at Las Ventanas and let him know I’m available for catering and special events. He brought me on as extra help for the re-launch gala next Friday.”
As soon as she mentioned the resort, she wanted to bite her tongue. Chelsea had been the assistant manager of Las Ventanas until her boyfriend, Paul, got promoted to manager, cheated on her with the director of HR, and then dumped her at the holiday party after informing her he and Cindy were expecting a child. Chelsea had quit on the spot, and packed up for a fresh start, not to mention a better job, in Maui. But Cindy and Paul had hit the skids now, and they were managing to cause her grief from five thousand miles away. “If I see your ex or the skank he knocked up, I’ll be sure to spill something on them.”
Her best friend’s laugh flooded the line, quickly covered by a cough. “Don’t. You’ll get in trouble, and I’ll get a crazy phone call. Neither of us needs that.”
“You’re taking away all my fun,” she complained, and fiddled with Booker’s mug.
“There are better ways to have fun. Got any big plans tonight?”
“Actually, I’ve got this combo bachelor/bachelorette event—”
“Wow. You’re working a lot, too.”
“Not really. This is more like a—” Her thumb stilled midway along the mug handle as her eyes snagged on a small rectangular piece of paper on her counter. A check. From Booker. For three thousand dollars. A ball of ice landed hard in her stomach.
“More like a what?” Chelsea prompted.
A date? Uh-uh. It’s a temp job, and you’re 50 percent complete after tonight. Rehearsal dinner, wedding, reception, and then you’re done. You’ve let this past week of sleepovers mess with your head. “No, you’re right. It’s a job.” The laugh she mustered up sounded forced. “But it won’t be too difficult,” she finished lamely.
A few minutes later they said good-bye, but Laurie couldn’t have repeated any portion of that conversation to save her life. She’d been too blindsided by the check to concentrate. Stupid. The money was part of their deal, and frankly, she needed it. Cindy would be in her face—and in the right—if she didn’t get her deposit back on time.