Chapter 18
Summer's POV
I paid attention in class all week, and finally, the weekend arrived.
Sunday dinner was quiet until Mom's phone buzzed. I caught the name before she answered: Maya.
"Yes, I got your email about the quarterly projections," Mom said, listening. "That's a good point. Let me think about it."
She hung up and sighed. "Maya wants to handle the financial planning for the Seaport project. She thinks it would be good experience."
My fork paused. "Does she know how? She just started at the company."
"She studied business in college," Mom said, almost defensive. "And it would be nice to have family involved. Someone I can trust completely."
Trust completely. Those words echoed in my head, bitter and sharp.
I nodded and forced a smile, but inside I was screaming. Maya was already making her move.
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Monday morning, the doorbell rang at 6:45 AM.
I was already awake—had been since five, actually, lying in bed and rehearsing my lines like I was preparing for opening night at the Boston Opera House. The doorbell's chime sent adrenaline shooting through my veins.
Showtime.
Maya stood on the front step in a Burberry trench coat, her smile bright and practiced, a leather portfolio tucked under her arm. "Good morning! I know it's early, but I wanted to catch Victoria before her day gets too busy. I have some preliminary research on the Seaport project I'd love to discuss."
She moved into the kitchen without invitation, pulling out her tablet with the confidence of someone who'd already decided this was her territory. "I did some financial projections over the weekend. I know I'm still learning, but a fresh perspective could be valuable. And we're family—you know you can trust me."
Mom appeared in the doorway, still in her silk robe, coffee mug in hand. I could see the softening in her expression, that dangerous maternal instinct to help family, to believe the best in people.
I had maybe forty-five seconds before Mom agreed.
I flew down the stairs, my footsteps deliberately loud, and burst into the kitchen with my brightest smile, still in my pajamas—pink silk with little strawberries, deliberately chosen to look young and innocent. "Aunt Maya! Oh my god, you're here so early!"
Maya's smile flickered, just slightly.
I didn't give her time to recover. I threw my arms around her in an enthusiastic hug, the kind that's just a little too tight, a little too long, the kind that says I'm so excited I don't know my own strength. "I've been thinking about what you said last week—about how important it is to have family support—and I realized you're so right!"
I pulled back, clasping my hands together like I was about to make a wish on a birthday cake. "Mom's always so busy, and the car service drivers are nice but they're just... employees, you know? They don't really care. But you—you're family."
Mom set down her coffee mug, her attention shifting from Maya's portfolio to me. "Sweetheart, what—"
"I was thinking," I interrupted, my voice taking on that breathy, "what if Aunt Maya became my personal driver? Like, full-time? Well, not full-time full-time, but you know what I mean—for all my activities. Piano lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays near Berklee, student council meetings on Wednesdays, shopping trips on weekends..." I ticked them off on my fingers, watching Maya's face. "It would be so much safer, and we'd get to spend quality time together, and—"
"Summer, that's a lot to ask of your aunt," Mom said, but I could hear the consideration in her voice. The worry.
I bit my lip, letting my eyes get just a little shinier. "I know, but... Mom, can I tell you something? Something I didn't want to worry you with?"
Mom's expression immediately sharpened with concern. "What happened?"
"Last Tuesday, after my piano lesson—" I wrapped my arms around myself, a picture of vulnerability. "There were some guys outside that diner near South Boston. One of them followed me for like three blocks. I had to duck into a Starbucks and wait until he left."
Okay, so maybe there wasn't exactly a guy following me. Maybe there was just a guy walking in the same direction as me for half a block before he turned into a convenience store. But Mom doesn't need to know that. The woman practically bubble-wraps me every time I leave the house—might as well put that protective energy to good use.
Mom's face went pale. "Summer, why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to worry you! You have so much on your plate already." I looked at Maya with pleading eyes. "But if Aunt Maya could be my driver—she's so aware of everything, and she knows Boston so well, and I'd feel so much safer—"
"Absolutely," Mom said immediately, turning to Maya. "Maya, I know it's asking a lot, but if Summer feels unsafe with the car service—"
I watched the calculation happen behind Maya's eyes. She couldn't refuse—not without looking selfish in front of her meal ticket. But agreeing meant hours of her time, stuck in Boston traffic, playing chauffeur to a teenage girl instead of worming her way into Hayes & Co.'s finances.
Her smile turned brittle. "Of course. Family comes first."
"Oh, thank you so much!" I bounced on my toes, clapping my hands together. Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, I gasped. "Oh! And Mom, we should make sure Aunt Maya gets something out of this too. I mean, she's doing us such a huge favor."
Mom nodded, relieved. "Of course. Maya, we'll compensate you for your time—"
"No, no, not money!" I waved my hands dismissively, like the very idea was vulgar. "That would make it feel like a job. This is family helping family." I turned to Maya, my smile sweet as poisoned honey. "But Mom, doesn't Hayes & Co. have that partnership with Bella Vita Spa? The one on Newbury Street? With the diamond membership tier?"
Mom blinked. "Yes, we use it for client gifts—"
"We should get Aunt Maya a diamond membership! The full package—facials, massages, the works. And—oh!—what about Neiman Marcus? Don't we have corporate VIP status there?" I grabbed Maya's hand, squeezing it with manufactured enthusiasm. "Aunt Maya, you could use the personal shopping service! They have these amazing seasonal previews, and the VIP lounge has champagne and everything. You'd love it."
I could see the war happening behind Maya's eyes. The spa membership alone was worth at least fifteen thousand a year. The Neiman Marcus VIP perks—early access to sales, personal shoppers, private shopping events—that was the kind of status she'd been dreaming about since she started at Hayes & Co.
But it meant being my chauffeur. Spending hours every week driving me around, waiting in parking lots, fetching bubble tea.
"That's very generous," Maya said slowly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.