Tequila, Tequila

“No kidding.” She paused right as the sound of Aunt Grace screaming about someone being a cheater broke through the air. “Oh no. Did they—”

“Bring out Trivial Pursuit?” I sighed. “Sounds like it. Gotta go. I’ll call you if I hear anything from that job.”

“All right. I have bail money if you need it. Ciao.”

The chance that I would was pretty great.

***

My ears were ringing.

It was really irritating. And it wouldn’t stop. Over and over and—

Oh, shit. That wasn’t my ears. That was my phone!

Rolling over with my eyes still closed, I threw my arm out to the nightstand and swatted at the surface for my phone. My pinky finger barely connected with it, yet a dull thud told me I’d sent the phone flying straight to the floor.

It stopped ringing.

“No, no, no!” I opened my eyes and flung myself over the side of the bed, just missing the corner of the nightstand with my forehead, and grabbed the phone.

It still worked.

Thank God. I’d only missed the call.

It was an unknown number, but one that was familiar to me. I stared at the screen for a moment with sleep in my eyes until a text popped up that I had a voicemail.

Immediately, I called, rubbing my eyes to wake up a little, and hit the button to listen to a new message.

“Hello, this is Casey Owens from Reid Real Estate. I’m calling for Mallory Harper regarding our interview for the personal assistant position yesterday. I’ll be in the office until twelve-thirty. You can reach me at…” She trailed off, reciting the number, and I scrambled out of bed to grab a pen and paper from the desk under my window.

I’d missed it, so I listened again and jotted down the number before calling back. It was picked up after three rings.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Cameron Reid’s office. Casey speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Ms. Owens?” Great, my voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “This is Mallory Harper returning your message.”

“Oh, Mallory, hi!” Her voice brightened. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all—sorry, we have family over, and I just missed your call. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I was calling to tell you that I was very impressed with your interview yesterday.”

Well, thank God someone was.

“If you’re still available, I’d like to offer you the position. Pending a trial period, of course.”

Holy shit.

“Wow. Thank you so much—of course. I’d love it.” Woohoo! Finally!

“Great! Can you come in tomorrow morning so we can get started on your training? Say, eight-thirty?”

“Oh, of course. That’s not a problem.”

“Brilliant. I’ll see you then, Mallory, and congratulations!”

“Thank you,” I said, dazed. “Goodbye.”

I hung up and dropped my phone.

Holy shit. I got the job. I actually got the freaking job.

Yanking open my door, I almost tripped over the rug in the hall as I made my way to the stairs. “Mom! Dad! I got it! I got the job!” My footsteps thundered against the stairs as I ran down and into the kitchen. “I got the job!”

Aunt Grace looked up from her paper. “But you didn’t get any pants on.”

I glanced down. She was right. I was in a tank top and panties. Damn it. “But I got the job!”

“What job?” Grandpa groused from behind me. “Are you a hooker?” He shuffled past me into the kitchen. “Where’s my breakfast?”

Mom rolled her eyes and hugged me. “Well done, sweetie. Go put some pants on and then you can tell us all about it.”

The urge to make a snarky comment about the irony of her telling someone else to put their pants on, but I was on too much of a high to do that. Or even care that I had my ass out, to be honest. As long as I remembered to put them on the next day, I was good.

“Mallory. Put your pants on. Don’t be like your mother,” Aunt Grace snapped, giving the snark for me.

“Aunt Grace!” Mom gasped.

“She ain’t wrong, Helen.” Grandpa looked around the kitchen. “Where are the pancakes?”

Mom gritted her teeth. “I didn’t make them yet. Oliver had to run to the store for milk, and he isn’t back.”

Grandpa muttered something under his breath and popped out his teeth. At the table.

“Eddie! Nobody wants to see those gnashers! They’re bad enough in your mouth when you smile like a serial killer!” Aunt Grace shouted, reaching over with the straw from Mom’s glass of water and prodding the dentures with it.

Mom gasped.

That was my cue to leave.

Granted, my cue probably should have been when Aunt Grace told me I had no pants on, but whatever.

The front door opened right as I stepped onto the bottom stair. It was Dad, returning from the store with a brown bag tucked against his body.

“Run. Save yourself,” I hissed at him. “It’s a mess in there.”