Somebody to Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

expected to follow. He stood up, then turned to Parker, who was staring at the snake. “I’m really sorry about all this, Parker,” he said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
    She gave him a look they must’ve taught her at her fancy prep school. I’m sorry, and you are…? “Save the ass kissing for my father, Thing One.”
    Sigh. Some people never changed. “I mean it.”
    “So do I.”
    Okay, enough with the princess act. “I am good for some things,” he said. “As you might remember. Carpentry is one of them.”
    “Really. How fascinating. Bye-bye, Thing One. And tell my father I’m not taking that snake.”
    James stood there another minute, torn between guilt—his favorite pastime—the desire to help her in some way and the fact that he could see down her shirt a little bit from here. Fantastic view.
    You don’t take anything seriously, do you? his father’s voice demanded in his head.
    Hard to deny. “I loved the last Holy Rollers book, by the way,” he added.
    “Then your IQ is even lower than I thought.”
    He couldn’t help a smile. Parker looked away. “Call me and let me know what happens on Monday,” she said.
    “Will do.” He picked up his briefcase and turned back to her. “See you in Maine.”
    She shot him an icy look. “Not if I see you first. The gun laws are pretty clear about intruders on private property.” He said nothing. “Go, Thing One. Your master awaits.”
    James obeyed. There was nothing else he could do.
    For now, anyway.

CHAPTER THREE
    I N THE TWO WEEKS since her father’s bombshell, Parker thought she’d done a pretty good job of holding it together. She was a mother…you don’t get to walk around cursing like Job or crying. And Lucy had been amazing that first weekend, helping her through the initial shock, going through the house, determining what could reasonably be called Parker’s as the movers tagged and wrapped her family’s belongings.
    Not a lot was Parker’s outright. Her Mac, of course. A few pieces of furniture, a couple of paintings, a few little things for the house—a vase, some throw pillows, nothing tremendously valuable.
    “You know I’ll help with money,” Lucy’d said at least fifteen times. “I have Jimmy’s life insurance, and—”
    “I appreciate that,” Parker said. “But you know what? It’s okay. It’s shocking, sure, but Ethan’s got a nice bit tucked away for Nicky’s college, and I can flip the house in Maine and have a little money and write some more books. Or get a job doing something else.”
    She smiled firmly, trying to forget that she’d A) ignored her father’s advice to major in economics and had instead double-majored in two such ridiculously unemployable fields that she actually woke up covered in a cold sweat one night—English was bad enough, but Ethics? Ethics? —and B) she hadn’t had a new idea for a book series since the hideous Holy Rollers had been conceived. It was such bad timing that she’d given the little suckers their wings and halos. She could’ve milked them forever.
    But honestly, after the initial shock, it was a little hard to feel as if a great injustice had befallen her. For thirty-five years, she’d had more privilege and wealth than ninety-eight percent of the world. When she’d watched the footage of the Occupy Wall Street gang, back before she was broke, she couldn’t help thinking they had a point.
    And now the point had been made. Now, she was normal. Better than normal, according to Lucy—she had a little over eleven grand in her bank account, no debt and a house on the coast of Maine. By Paris Hilton standards, she was destitute; by normal-people standards, sitting kind of pretty.
    “I’m going to miss coming over here,” Lucy said as she folded a sweater. “Guess I’ll need to find another friend with a mansion.”
    Parker smiled, appreciating Lucy’s attempt to keep things light, not to mention her help at packing. Lucy was very organized. “Good