Mel frowned, then with dawning horror, recognized that whatever Brady had used to make his Tarzan loincloth had been expensive. It looked like leather—expensive, creamy imported leather. The kind she could never afford. And the kind she undoubtedly did not own.
April shrieked and flung herself forward. “My purse! I got this on a trip to Italy, you little twerp.”
Bingo.
“Look, now I’m pretty, too,” Kinsley said from behind April. Her crooked smile was painted an electric pink.
Mel’s mouth dropped open as April turned on her daughter and whipped the lipstick out of Kinsley’s grasp. “I. Quit,” April gritted out.
“No.” Mel raised her hands. “No. No. No. You can’t quit. Please, let’s talk about this. We can get you a new purse.” Mel frantically turned to her closet and tore a purse off the hook. “See? Here you go. You can use this one until we get you something better.”
April stared at the limp pleather grasped between Mel’s fingers in distaste. It may as well have been a giant bag of poo for how she was looking at it. “I know it’s not Italian leather per se, but I got it at Target. I only paid twelve bucks, but that was marked down from forty-five.” Mel waved the purse, her smile faltering at April’s glare.
April turned, practically running from the bedroom to the living room where she paused by the front door, her hand on the knob. “Don’t call me. Ever.”
“Wait!” Mel stepped forward, shooting an arm out, bracing herself against the door. “Stay. I’ll give you a raise, and we’ll forget all about the sunscreen and you calling my kid a twerp . . .” Who was she kidding? Unless she got one of those rumored promotions—which was a longshot—she could barely keep herself afloat, let alone pay April more.
“No.”
“We’ll be moving soon. I-I-I’m buying a new house. It’s beautiful. At least four times the size of this apartment. You can stay there rent-free in the finished basement, even after the kids go to their summer program.”
April rolled her eyes. “Oh, awesome. So I’d have to endure your little heathens twenty-four-seven.”
She tried for the knob, but Mel held firm, palm planted firmly on the door. “No. It wouldn’t be like that, I swear.”
“Still no.” April yanked on the door, this time, pulling it open. Her desire to flee had apparently granted her superhuman strength.
“There’s a backyard. You can tan in the summer,” Mel said in a sing-song voice, never expecting to even give her pause. But April slowly turned, her body half out the door.
“Are you talking about the house pinned above your desk? From the magazine clipping.”
Hope burst in Mel’s chest. Maybe she’d stay, after all. “Yes. Yes, that’s the one. It’s beautiful, right?” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the exact one. That particular house was a daydream, nothing more. Mel didn’t even know if it was still for sale. She cut that clipping out a year ago and hung it, kind of like a vision board for life goals. But she might be able to afford a modest version of that one somewhere, eventually.
April snorted. “Like you could ever afford that place.”
This girl was wise beyond her years. Either that or she could sniff out desperation like a hound dog.
“And even if you could,” April continued, bursting Mel’s bubble, “it’s not for sale.”
Blinking the real estate lust from her eyes, Mel grappled for the door as April slipped away. Stepping out into the hallway, she hurried after her retreating form. Panting, she placed a hand on her arm, turning her. She wasn’t below groveling. “April, please. I need you. I’ve gone through three nannies in the last two weeks, and none of the daycares with openings will take us back. You can’t quit. You’re my last resort. I just need you for six more weeks until Peter is back on track and KidzCare takes us back.”
It wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement, but it was all she had. Plus, the truth had to count for something, right?
Apparently, not for April.
She looked Mel dead in the eyes. “That’s not my problem,” she said, then left without a backward glance. “Oh, and I’ll send you a bill for my purse,” she called behind her.
The air whooshed from Mel’s lungs, and she slumped back against the walls, deflated. Tipping her head up to the ceiling, she uttered a silent prayer for strength, then made her way back inside the stuffy confines of her apartment. Her three children stood inside the entryway, staring up at her with equally shameful expressions.
“Welp, looks like we’re on our own,” Mel said. “Again.”
CHAPTER TWO
BLAKE
Blake’s watch read 9 a.m., yet he wished it were later. Maybe then it would be acceptable to clutch a cold beer in his hand instead of the tall black coffee scorching his fingers through the thin paper cup. Perhaps then, he’d get through this conversation with his brother, Grant, minus the guilt. A nice IPA would help his delivery
go down a little smoother. Especially while Grant was staring at him like he’d grown a third head. Alas, a caffeine jolt would have to suffice.