Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
The snow falls faster, though, and when my phone rings again, I debate not answering because I need to concentrate on the curvy highway. Seeing that it’s my dad, I’m obligated to pick up. He and Mom aren’t doing perfectly health-wise, and it breaks my heart that they still put in so many hours at the bakery. They had me later in life, so they’re not the spring chickens they used to be. They’re at the age where they should be planning a retirement.
Not keeping a failing business alive.
I answer him, though, so he’s not worried about me making this drive either.
“Hi, Lili,” he replies to my greeting, using the shortened name he always gives me. “Are you back yet?”
“No. I left later than I wanted to. Jenni and I were trying to repair that mixer for longer than we figured, and I got on the road late.”
“Maybe you should reconsider,” he advises, wise but worried, like always. He’s never been a risk taker, and his caution is partly why he’s in the bind he is now with the bakery. Never taking the step to put some capital in something that might pay off later. To make money, we have to spend money. Convincing him to believe that is a crusade I’ll never fully win.
“I just want those notes,” I remind him on the speaker call. “I spent too much time on them to dismiss it all. And we need those numbers I figured out to project what we can work with.”
“I don’t know, Lili.” His tone tells me he’s rubbing the back of his neck, agitated and unsure. “This delivery idea sounds good on paper, but making it work? I just don’t know.”
I bite my lip, peeved. That’s just it. Everything looks better on paper to him. None of us ever know how anything will turn out, but we have to take chances where we can.
“We can talk about the delivery options when I’m back,” I tell him, already distracted and skidding around a curve. I’m stressed, and it’s plain common sense not to talk business right now. I need to be careful this close to the house. Ornamental gates and fancy landscaping will make this drive a challenge.
“Okay,” he says. “But I’m just not sure this idea is something we can really rely on for much money, you know?”
“No, I don’t know, Dad. Neither do you. That’s why it’s an idea right now.”
After another minute, my dad lets me go, reminding me to be careful, but I’m too stressed to pay much attention anymore. Skidding and slipping on the long icy drive that hasn’t been cleared of snow yet, I grit my teeth.
As I struggle to steer the car, his words continue to clog my thoughts, hinting that he might not be able to rely on me.
Since I graduated from a culinary program out of state a couple of years ago and came home to work at the bakery, I’ve tried to be the best daughter and employee for them. I wanted to do my best for them at the same time I’d attempted to appease Roman.
And for what?
My parents can rely on me. And they should be able to trust my ideas.
“Because they’re not worthless. I’m not worthless.” I hold my breath as the tires spin around another curve in this ridiculously long driveway.
“I don’t need anyone to validate my worth,” I growl, stepping on the gas some more to get through this curve.
“I am a strong woman, dammit. And this can be a new year with new beginnings and growth.” I furrow my brow, turning too sharply to get back up on what I think is the driveway.
Instead, I spin out and smack head-first into a parked SUV that the snow shielded from my view until I was right on it.
“Fuck!” I lurch forward and then slam back against the headrest. Curling my fingers around the steering wheel, I tense up and stare ahead at one of the dark SUVs that the Sokolov men drive.
I just hit one of their cars. In the middle of a snowstorm, far from civilization.
So much for a clean cut.
Wincing as I lift my head, I dread that he might be here after all.
4
ANTON
Vivid red pulses at the center of a blob as it drifts from west to east. It freezes on the screen, but the glitch is short-lived. The weather radar map restarts, and the angry red middle seems even larger and wider, with rings of orange, yellow, and green around it.
It paints the same picture though.
A storm is passing through. And it’s bringing a lot of snow.
“Ice, too,” I mutter, working my head side to side to get rid of the kinks. Driving out of the city usually calms me. Or rather, Viktor driving my car out of the city does. It’s an escape, and I sure as hell needed one after this shitty morning.