To Monica Yung, from Gina McCartney.
Pay Brenda two hundred for international calls. I owe you—take extra from the next.
And get my cell sorted so it works. I don’t wanna be paying her crap again. Thanks xo
I handed him the message with her contact details and touched his arm. “You’re a doll, Hillary. Thank you so much.”
“You’re… You’re welcome, Miss Gina. Oh, Mr. Stone. Can I help you?”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I turned to George. He was amused and pissed off simultaneously. I placed my hand against his chest.
“Hey, baby. Did your call go well?”
“It did.” He wrapped an arm around my back.
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s fine. Are you harassing the receptionist?”
