Chapter 36 – Remington
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
If she weren't my mother, I would flip her the bird
Remington
“Good morning, Your Grinchiness,” Mindy says when I walk into my office on a Monday morning in November.
“Good morning, Ms. Espinoza,” I say, clocking the three trees in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows to the right. “A little early for Christmas trees, isn’t it?”
“Thanksgiving is this week,” she reminds me. “A lot of people put their trees up on Thanksgiving weekend. I found those in the storeroom down the hall and wanted to see how they looked in front of the windows.”
“I’m sure the birds flying by will appreciate them,” I say wryly.
She ignores my sarcasm. “I have ideas for these three already, but I need to know what you want for the one in your office.”
Peeking in, I see there is indeed an eight-foot silver tree in the corner. “I don’t need a tree in my office.”
“Oh, excuse me, Senor Scrooge, but you need a little Christmas spirit in your life. Just tell me your favorite color, and I’ll go from there.”
“Black,” I say.
“Right. Just like your soul,” she quips, picking up her notebook and writing something. “Got it. I’ll head to Hobby Lobby for ornaments for these trees after work. I didn’t see any in the storeroom. And then I’ll stop by the graveyard to find decor for yours.”
Shaking my head, I enter my office and set down my things before going back to Mindy’s desk. “You know, if it would save you the trouble of going to the store, my mom has a ton of Christmas ornaments at her house. She has multiple trees and switches the decor around every year.”
She looks up at me with concern on her face. “Does she live within walking distance?”
Why the hell did she ask that? Does she think I won’t give her time off to go get the ornaments? “No, but I can give her a call and then have Antonio go pick them up.”
Mindy perks up. “That would be great. It would save the company a lot of money if we could repurpose them. Better for the bottom line, you know?”
I don’t tell her I could afford to buy an entire Christmas store because honestly, I appreciate her money-saving attitude.
Ninety minutes later, my mother strolls into the office in a cloud of Chanel No 5, followed by Antonio and a guy from the mail room, who are both pushing dollies loaded with large tote tubs.
Mom swoops off her black wool trenchcoat and scarf, and I see she’s dressed down—for her anyway—in designer jeans and a red button-down top.
“Hello, sweetheart. Just tell me where to start,” she says, kissing my stunned face as she hands me her coat and scarf.
“Mom, hi. I didn’t realize you were coming.”
“Of course, I would come. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see my son in his element. I’m so proud of you.” She pats my cheek. “What do you need me to do?”
“Um, actually, Ms. Espinoza was working on the decorations. Come on, and I’ll introduce you.” I take my mother’s hand and guide her to Mindy’s desk. “Mom, this is Mindy Es—”
“Oh, I’ve already met Mindy. She came to my house to visit with her Aunt Lorraine. How are you dear?”
Mindy rises and rounds her desk to give my mom a hug. I never thought I’d be jealous of my own mother, but here I am, wishing it were me. “It’s so good to see you again, Ms. Hale.”
“Pssh, I’ve already told you to call me Ophelia,” Mom scolds gently. She pulls back and holds Mindy by the shoulders. “I can’t get over how beautiful you are. And your hair is longer than last time I saw you. It’s lovely.”
“Thank you, and you look fantastic, Ophelia. You’re killing this look.
” She waves a hand up and down my mom’s form.
“I’ve seen clothing models do this where they only tuck in one part of their top.
I’ve tried it, but I just look like I ran out of the apartment without getting fully dressed. I wish I could pull it off like you.”
I smile as I listen to Mom and Mindy swapping compliments.
There are some women who live for snarky comments and tearing each other down, and then there are women like these two, who build each other up.
They’re the types to comment “Slay, Queen!” on each other’s social media posts, complete with the crown and painting fingernails emojis.
I glance over at Antonio, who’s smiling at the scene. When he sees me looking, he busies himself with unloading the dollies.
“Now, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” my mom asks Mindy. “Are you going to Lorraine’s? You know you’re both welcome at my house.”
“Aunt Lorraine and I are going to Galveston to celebrate with my friend Caroline, her husband, and her parents. Erica and Phil have been like bonus parents for me since I was a teenager.”
“That’s good, sweetheart. I know it must be hard around the holidays without your parents.”
The pieces are starting to fall into place now.
When I danced with Lorraine at the wedding, she mentioned her sister had died.
So that must be Mindy’s mother. I remember Mindy told me her father passed away when she was a teen, and now she’s lost her only other parent.
My chest constricts. That has to be so hard for her.
“Don’t you have some work to do, Remington?” My mom’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look over to see her shooing me away. “Go take over something or yell at someone, Mr. CEO. Mindy and I have this handled.” She loops her arm through my assistant’s, and I chuckle.
“I can see I’m outnumbered here. Do your worst, ladies.” I check my watch and see that lunchtime is approaching. “I’ll order you something for lunch. Any preference?”
“Hmm,” Mom muses. “It’s such a brisk day. How about soup?” she asks Mindy, who agrees.
“Okay, I’ll order the soup flight from Girard’s,” I say. “It’s a nice selection.”
“Don’t forget the crusty bread,” Mom calls as I retreat into my office.
When I emerge two hours later, I have to blink a few times because I think I might have been transported to Whoville.
The Christmas tree nearest me is decked out in red and gold, while the one on the far side is done in green and gold.
The larger one in the center is a mixture of all three colors, complete with coordinating plaid bows that give the space a classic, elegant feel.
They’ve apparently recruited Antonio into their little decorating extravaganza because he’s up on a ladder, placing red velvet bows exactly where Mindy is directing on the pine garland swooping over the tall windows.
And the lights. Good lord, there are so many lights.
“I might have to wear sunglasses just to come to work,” I comment, earning me an eye roll from the women. “Kidding, ladies. Everything looks beautiful. I can’t believe y’all got all this done in just a couple hours.”
“I think Mindy is part elf,” Mom informs me. “She’s so crafty.”
“You got really good at bow making,” Mindy praises.
“Once I got the hang of it.” My mother holds up her hands, curling her fingers like claws. “I need to go soak my hands now.”
“I’ll drive you home, Ophelia,” Antonio offers, his Irish accent thick as he climbs down the ladder. “Just let me load up the tubs.”
“I can help.” I manage to load two of the totes onto a dolly, and I’m bending to grab another when a rip sounds through the room. And I feel a distinct breeze on my backside. Fuck.
My hands go to my ass, and I feel the ripped seam. “Well, this isn’t ideal,” I say flatly. Mom has her hand covering her mouth, and Mindy’s lips are rolled in to contain what’s obviously a very amused smile at my situation. Antonio is belly laughing, not even attempting to hide his delight.
“I didn’t realize this was a strip club,” Mindy teases, a giggle escaping. “I would have brought some singles.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. My backside is at least worth a couple twenties.” My slight smile turns to a frown. “Shit. I have a meeting in an hour with Sulley O’Shea about a potential endorsement deal. I can’t meet her with my ass hanging out.”
“Oh, the basketball player? I just love her. You know, if you were wearing festive underwear, you could totally pull it off as a fashion choice,” Mom adds helpfully, tapping a well-manicured finger against her smirking lips. I give her my best evil eye. Antonio is still laughing, the fucker.
“Why don’t you put on your coat to cover your… situation and go home to change pants?” Mindy suggests.
I nod. “Good idea.” Backing into my office to get my coat, I call, “Thanks for your help, Mom.”
“No problem, honey. Try not to flash anyone else today.”
If she weren't my mother, I would flip her the bird.
I make it back to the office with intact pants and time to spare.
“Hello, Your Mooniness,” Mindy says when I enter.
I sigh. “Are you keeping up with all the names you call me every day?”
“No, but I should probably start a spreadsheet or something. Just so I can go back and read them all for my own amusement.”
Stopping at her desk, I rest my hip on the edge. “Can I ask you a question?”
She looks up at me curiously, and I want to tell her how damn pretty her eyes are. “Sure.”
“What happened to your mother?”
Her lips turn down at the corners. “It was stage-four pancreatic cancer. By the time she was diagnosed, it was too late to do much.”
“Ooh,” I wince. “I’m so sorry, Mindy. I had a friend in college who lost his dad to pancreatic cancer. He said the same about the prognosis.”
“They gave her less than six months, but she managed to hold out for eight,” she says, rolling her pen absently back and forth across her desk.
“How long ago was it?”
““It will be seven years in January.”
I count the months backward in my head. “So your mom was diagnosed in May?”
She swallows hard. “Yes, it was actually the week after…” She waggles a finger between the two of us.
“The week after our night together?” I ask quietly, and she nods, averting her eyes to her hand still rolling that pen across the desk.
I stop the movement, taking her small hand in mine.
Her gaze lifts to my face in question. “I’m really sorry about your mom, and…
and I’m here if you ever need anyone to talk to. ”
The tiniest of smiles crests her red-painted lips. “Thanks. I guess you’re a pretty okay boss when you’re not trying to fire me.”
Though I don’t want to, I force myself to release her hand and stand up. “And I guess you’re a pretty okay executive assistant. When you’re not calling me Your Mooniness.”
She giggles, and I love the sound. “I guess you should probably keep me around then,” she suggests.
“I’ll take that under consideration,” I say, making my legs carry me into my office.
Because I’d love nothing more than to keep her around. The problem? My reasons aren’t altogether professional.