While I write in the amount and sign her name, I justify what I’m doing by convincing myself I’m some kind of modern-day RobinHood.
This isn’t wrong. This isn’t stealing. I’m distributing money from someone who will never miss it and giving it to people who are going to lose everything without it. I’m actually ahero.
She’ll understand when I pay herback.
Twenty-Four
Shiloh
My accountant’sheartfelt text came in bright and early Saturday morning, four days after walking out of Cary’soffice.
MONEY SUCKER: Transactions aredone.
ME: All ofthem?
MONEY SUCKER: Yes. You’re a goddamnidiot.
His words aren’t as harsh as they seem. He really loves me. You just have to read between the “goddamn idiot” part to find theaffection.
Afterward, I spend all morning shopping for what I consider to be the perfect outfit for the occasion. Now here I am in a pair of red lycra shorts and a fitted white t-shirt with a red and orange ribbon swirling across on the front, and I can’t help but laugh. Cary’s right. I’m riddled with guilt, but not enough of it to swing from a tree into a mudpit.
Moral support itis.
I know the race events have gone on since early this morning, so I have no idea what I’ll be walking into. However, determined to be there whether he wants me to or not, I climb into the back of Malcolm’s limo and wait for Bianca to blow up myphone.
It’s a proven fact that even the slightest disturbance in a financial force makes her Spidey Sensetingle.
She doesn’tdisappoint.
Not ten minutes into the ride, my phone flashes. Her texts arrive one after another, and I listen for each ping the whole way to the park, entertained as shit to watch herunravel.
BIANCA:I saw. Call me. I will not be ignored, younglady.
BIANCA:I know you’re ignoring me. Do you think this is funny? Answerme!
BIANCA:Have you been kidnapped? If you’ve been kidnapped typeyes.
Seriously? What kidnapper lets his victim check phonemessages?
BIANCA:No, they’ll expect that. Type fruitfly.
The fuck kind of distress call is fruitfly?
I can’t help it. I know I’m a horrible daughter, and this will probably secure my place in hell, but honestly, the dark side calls me more than a B-list fuckboy who thinks my vagina will make himfamous.
Two words are all I typeback.
Fruitfly.
I hit send and turn the phoneoff.
Half an hour later, Malcolm’s limo sits in the crowded parking, lot taking up four horizontal parking spots. I’m mad as hell and crouched on an overgrown lawn with bugs crawling up myass.
Why? Because convinced I’d been taken hostage by terrorists, Bianca slugged a bottle of Napa’s best and called Malcolm to inform him that she was calling the White House. Malcolm ratted me out and told her where I was and what I was doing, threatening to make me walk to work unless I turned my phone back on and answered hercalls.
I toss a self-indulgent glare over my shoulder, and he just looks up from his phone through the windshield and shakes hishead.
Right on cue, my phone rings, and I don’t bother to glance at the caller ID before answering. There’s noneed.
