Page 32 of Please Open Me
God. DidItalk this much?
No. There was no way.
“Sophia, you’re not listening again,” Momma said, her patience clearly wearing thin.
…If I kept pushing, could I make her mad enough to hang up?
I folded my hands on the desk and tilted my head, staring at her through the screen. All crow’s feet and no smile lines. I hoped I didn’t look like that when I got old; I mean, come on—Momma could totally afford Botox.
“No, I’m listening. We just had this meeting yesterday, and I’m bored.”
Plus, I needed a greasy breakfast, a cup of coffee, and a fistful of aspirin.
“And you never responded with a clear plan on how to prove Sebastian’s innocence.”
A groan clawed out of my chest. Seriously? She couldn’t just trust me?
“I told you—he doesn’t want to get her pregnant. That means he’s not in a cult!”
I couldn’t remember much from last night, but the sensation of his bedazzled dick was etched into the nether regions of my spank bank. He only chose me because he didn’t want to knock anyone up.
“I have no evidence supporting that,” she said coolly. “And he could be lying.”
My eye twitched.
Were there consequences for killing your mom? Other than joining the dead moms club? Sure, she was the head of S.H.A.D.E., but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d killed someone I knew. Definitelynotthe first time I’d killed a mother.
Plus, each unsanctioned murder only cost five years of service. I’d killed eight people and only gotten caught for seven. Even if I got caught for one more, I’d only be breaking even. Right?
Girl math.
I slumped back in my chair and rubbed my temples.
“Momma,” I said slowly, “I don’t have to prove he’s innocent. You’re the one trying to prove he’s guilty.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It should be.”
She didn’t respond. Just gave me that look. The one that said,you’re lucky I didn’t tell Mom she raised a murderer.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh, buying myself time to form a plan—but before I could, a knock sounded at the door.
Oh, thank God.
“We’re not done here. Tell whoever it is to go away,” Momma ordered.
Fudge.
“I’m not doing that. You know my family, and I’m wearing headphones.” I tapped the speaker covering my ear. “So I’m not worried.”
Her jaw tightened. “Sophia—”
“Come in!” I called, loud enough to hurt my own head.
Ugh. This was the worst. I’d say I’d never drink again, but that would be a big, fat lie.
I paused long enough to Google whether more alcohol actually helped a hangover. I didn’t find the answer before the door creaked open on old hinges.
