The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

Right now, there was nothing gleeful about her. “Oh, honey, no. You can’t cancel on us now! Your cousin Ricky just got back from Afghanistan. We were going to take the first big family picture since grandpa died.”

Ouch. I was not only missing Christmas, I was ruining the family picture. I wiped a tear from my eye and made my voice stay level through sheer force of will. “I know, I know. But it’s for a good reason this time, I promise.”

“Well, let’s hear it,” mom said with an exasperated sigh. “Your bitch boss wants you to decorate her dog for Christmas?”

“No. Um, I don’t work for her anymore. I... kind of lost my job.” There was really no reason she had to know that I’d lost my job because I couldn’t keep my personal and professional life separate. Or that I’d gotten a promotion, then immediately blown it. I had to reframe the whole thing quickly. “The magazine got sold, and Gabriella didn’t take me with her to her new job.”

“Sweetie, I am so sorry.” My mom was at least good at admitting when she was wrong. “I would never have joked—”

“It’s okay, I know,” I reassured her. “There’s more. Just stick with me.”

“You’re not...” Mom’s voice lowered. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

“No!” Not anymore. That was my mom’s number one fear; that I would end up a single mother, like her. Any time I had bad news to break, pregnancy was her first guess. “I’m seeing somebody. It’s pretty new, but things are moving kind of fast.”

“And you’re missing Christmas with us to be with him?” Mom sounded a little accusing.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But like I said, I have a good reason. He has cancer, and he has to start chemotherapy soon. It’ll be nice to spend the holidays together just, you know. In case.”

“Oh, honey.” My mom was more shaken up about it than I was. Of course, I was mostly ignoring the cancer part right now, and probably would until the day we set foot in a hospital. It was easier to delay the unpleasantness than to face it and deal with it.

“I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone. Why didn’t you tell me? You must be so scared.”

“I’m not, he’s going to be fine.” If I just kept telling myself that, it would be true. “He’s going home to England to have chemo, and I’m going to go with him.”

“He’s English?” Leave it to my mom to concentrate on the important details. “I bet he has a cute accent.”

Oh, barf. I did not need my mom to be attracted to my boyfriend. Especially when she was closer to his age than I was. That added a whole new level of creepy. Besides, cute wasn’t the word I would have used to describe the way Neil spoke, but I also wouldn’t use the word I would have used to describe it to describe it to my mother. “I don’t know about cute, but I like it.”

“Well, we’ll miss you.” There was no way I would get out of a little guilting, so I endured it as my mother went on. “But you’re not moving permanently, right? You’ll be able to come home at some point? Maybe for Easter?”

“It depends on how Neil’s doing, but maybe. I just... I don’t want him to be alone.” And I didn’t want to be an ocean away, wondering every minute if the man I loved was miserable or suffering or dying.

“I understand. Sweetie, if you really care about this guy, then you’re making the right choice.” Mom laughed softly. “I’m just relieved you’re finally showing an interest in somebody. I thought you would be single forever.”

If I’d been feeling a little less down, I would have lectured her about how being single forever isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and how I would still have value without a man. Instead, I accepted it as she intended it, as a misguided but very genuine expression of worried mom love.

“So, tell me about him,” mom prompted. “Does he work in publishing?”

“Um, yeah. He does. We met on the job.” I felt like I was stepping through a minefield, but I didn’t want to tell mom I had gotten involved with my boss. The way my emotions were running haywire, I couldn’t handle her disappointment.

“What are you going to do in England? You can’t work there, right? Because you don’t have a green card?”

“I can freelance. If I have to stay longer than six months, I’ll have to get a visa and it’s this whole pain-in-the-ass process that Neil’s lawyer is going to work on.” Was that the kind of thing a normal guy could do? Call up his lawyer and have things fixed? How did it work when you weren’t moving overseas with a billionaire? It was probably exhausting.