Madeline Carter - 01 - Mad Money Read Online Free PDF

anymore,” I said.
    “True.” Then a new thought, “Did Dad
remember to show you the pool?”
    He hadn’t and the existence of the pool was
a nice surprise, so off we went to peek at it.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    My own Mom seemed mixed about my new
situation. She’s worked hard all her life, for not much return. To
her the money I was making in New York was beyond the moon, my
lifestyle fabulous outside comparison and I was safe, as far as she
could see. Set. Even without a husband. Leaving my job before I had
a plan or another position seemed like insanity to her. And since
there were moments when it seemed like insanity to me, it wasn’t
hard to see things from her point of view.
    On the other hand, the fact that I was now
renting an apartment from her “favorite director in-the-world!” was
of considerable interest to her and would earn her some bragging
rights with her pals. I’d never heard her mention Tyler until I
told her about renting his guest house, but this didn’t minimize
her claim.
    “Is he incredibly good looking?” she said on
the phone.
    It was one of the first calls from my new
nest. A Saturday night around eight o’clock, I was snuggled into
the built-in bed, the Pacific Ocean at night a velvet curtain
outside my window.
    “Mom, you know what he looks
like.”
    “But in person. Does he have, you know,
charisma?”
    “He’s married.”
    “Oh. Well. Are you going to be OK for money?
What are you going to do?”
    That was a question I was trying not to
stress about myself, though this wasn’t something I wanted to tell
my mother. “I’ll be OK mom. I need to take some time and
reevaluate, you know? I... I need to heal a bit. I feel very
raw.”
    “I wish you would have come home,” other
mothers might have made this sound sullen. Needy. Mine made it
sound factual. It was what she would have wished. On one
level, it was even what I would have wished.
    “I thought about it. But it would have felt
like coming back with my tail between my legs.”
    She laughed. A cheerful sound. “I
understand. But sometimes that’s OK.”
    After I’d said good-bye, I thought about
what she’d said. “Home” was a carefully preserved Victorian in the
Greenwood neighborhood of Seattle. From “home” I could walk to my
old high school and poke around and look at the latest crop of kids
doing early preparation for their lives. I could go a couple of
blocks up the street and grab a fish taco or a well made espresso —
never tough to find in that city — or travel another block to the
friendly little tavern where they poured a lovely ale and the
bartender/owner knew you by name. “Home” was a pair of well-worn
slippers, comfortable with long use. And thinking about it all now
made me wonder if my mother wasn’t right. In New York I’d had a
career, friends, a neighborhood I knew and understood. In Seattle I
had history and a support system. In LA I had... possibilities.
Which was more than nothing, but would it be enough?
    A soft knock on my door broke through my
thoughts.
    “Open!” I called, while I swung my feet out
of bed.
    “Is open a good idea?” It was Jennifer,
smooth in well made jeans and a cutaway blouse, she brought the
scent of evening and barbecue with her. Tycho padded in behind her,
making amazingly little noise for a dog so large.
    I grinned. “Do you mean, is leaving the door
unlocked a good idea?”
    She nodded.
    “Sure. I don’t think anyone could even find
me down here. It’s like my little secret skycave.”
    Jennifer hopped up onto one of the kitchen
stools uninvited and Tycho plopped himself down at my feet with a
bit of a grunt. The place suddenly felt even smaller, but in a nice
way. “You thinking about getting, like, a couch or anything?”
    “Not really. I might get a TV for the
bedroom, but I guess the living room is going to be about work,” I
said, indicating the oversized desk.
    “You’re a day trader?”
    I blinked at her. “Do you even know