“I’d like to think so,” he said, “but we’ve only been together a little less than two weeks. We’re hardly serious enough for me to start making demands on you.”
“You can make a few demands,” she said coyly. “I like a man who’s in charge. At least in the bedroom.”
Georgia shifted on his lap, and all thoughts of his potential father’s potential illness vanished. He wanted to hike up the hem of her skirt, brush his fingertips across her bare thighs and take her on his desk. The fantasy played out so vividly in his mind that he had to squirm uncomfortably beneath her to avoid his building arousal pressing inappropriately into her. He was breaking a pretty sensible rule by having a relationship with one of his employees. He wasn’t going to compound the problem and blur the lines by making love to Georgia here.
Instead he palmed the curve of her rear end through her pencil skirt and gave her a wicked look. “Is it time to go home yet?”
She smiled and looked at his desk clock. “It’s only three thirty.”
“Yes, but I’m the boss. When the boss says you can go home early, you can go home early.”
Leaning in, Georgia pressed her lips to his, lighting the fire in his belly that quickly rushed through his veins. “Whatever you say, Mr. Newport.”
* * *
Georgia stood waiting anxiously outside the bus station. Tonight was the night her mother was arriving from Detroit. She had texted to let her know she made her connection and would be arriving at six thirty. A steady stream of people had started coming out of the station. Glancing down at her phone, Georgia confirmed it was almost 6:45. Her mother could be the next person to step out the door.
Her nerves were getting the best of her. This was a big moment for her. She didn’t know how it was going to go. Carson’s skepticism had planted seeds of doubt in her mind, but she was trying hard not to cultivate them. She was too scared to have big dreams about her fantasy mother and their new relationship, but she desperately wanted something with her.
Just then, a woman came out the front door. She was a blonde, in her early forties. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a small duffel bag in one hand. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her clothes were wrinkled from hours traveling on a bus.
When their eyes met, Georgia knew that it was her mother. She was surprised to find she looked so young. Misty had been a teenager when she had Georgia, but in her mind, she had envisioned her mother being older somehow.
“Georgia?” the woman asked, stopping a few feet away.
“Hi, Mom.” She didn’t know what else to say.
The woman approached her cautiously. It seemed both of them were at a loss for how to handle this momentous event. Finally she dropped her duffel bag on the ground and lunged forward to wrap her daughter in a hug.
Georgia buried her face in her mother’s neck and hung on. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes and hid them by letting them spill onto her mother’s sweater.
“Oh, my li’l Peaches,” her mother whispered as they continued to embrace. “Let me get a good look at you.”
They separated so Misty could study her daughter’s face. Georgia tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, focusing instead on the realization that her mother was really here.
“You turned out to be so beautiful,” Misty said. “I was a pretty girl, but you…you are the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in real life. Like a movie star.”
“Hardly,” Georgia said, awkwardly dismissing her praise.
“And you’ve done so well for yourself. Such nice clothes, so well-groomed. Seeing you on the news working for that big real estate development company… I was so proud.”
“Thank you.” Georgia was never comfortable with how she looked, but she’d worked hard for her success and would accept those compliments while she dismissed others. “Are you hungry? I thought maybe we could get some dinner.”
“You know, I’m really just tired from all the traveling. Would you mind too much if we just went back to your place and got some food delivered?”
Georgia smiled. Perhaps she had gotten her love of takeout from her mother without knowing it. “That would be fine. There’s a great Chinese place near my house, or an Italian eatery around the block.”
“I love Chinese,” Misty said with a smile and picked up her duffel bag.
That must be genetic, too.
“So, where are you parked?” Misty asked, looking around the parking lot.
“Oh, I don’t have a car. I stay in the city, so I usually ride the train.” Misty’s disappointed expression caught her off guard. Georgia quickly realized that she was probably tired and not really interested in navigating any more public transportation today. “But I can get a taxi,” she added.
The smile returned to Misty’s face. “That would be wonderful. I got hit by a drunk driver a few years ago and shattered my pelvis,” she said, shuffling from one foot to the other. “I can’t stay on my feet for too long or it aches.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. She didn’t even know how to respond. Instead she called for a taxi, and they rode back to her apartment in relative silence. Once they stepped out of the cab, she could tell that Misty was in a state of awe. She looked up at the tall building Georgia called home as though they were about to step into a lush European castle. They walked through the nicely appointed lobby with Misty seeming unsure quite where to look. The marble floors? The shining brass elevator doors? The giant floral arrangement at the front desk?