Surrogate For The Mafia Lord

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en, my mind spinning with the weight of the phone call. A million dollars. It felt like some cruel punchline to a joke I didn't understand. My stomach twisted as

ad days. But today, they tasted like ashes in my mouth. Even my milkshake-a creamy orange Creamsicle blend-had lost its usual appeal, the condensati

ental treatment could save him. But the price tag felt like an insurmountable wall. I'd barely been scraping by as it

mething bot

he middle-aged waitress had been a steady presence in my life these past two years, offering comfort and u

ck of a phone call," she

y go-to for venting about life's misfortunes. She had a knack for listening without judgment and

" I muttered,

ting her free hand on her hip. "Forgive me for saying so, but you look like

ll a groan from me, but I shook my head aga

slid into the booth across from me. Her presence felt stea

eight of it all was too much to keep bottled up. "It's ab

diately. She nodded for me to co

ental treatment I tol

that fancy G

ng it into the ketchup more out of h

th cautious hope. "Ren

felt at the beginning of the phone call came rushing back, f

opping the fry onto the plate

ed, confuse

th frustration. "It's 'experimental,' so they can just wri

ropped. "A mi

I can for his physical therapy and care facility, but it's not enough. Unless Donald suddenly decides to give me

l. "You deserve a raise," she said firmly. "

e around here, it's you," I said, trying to inject some levity into the conv

Baldy at the counter starts a riot over his empty coffee cup." She gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze

back, my face fell. Hope felt cruel, distant, unattainable. Not for me. Not since the

piraling thoughts. My stomach dropped wh

sharp voice barked

until one today," I

ven," he snapped. "The reference sectio

l handle it when I get there. Did Professor

aid, irritation clear in

He hu

able to cover the bill and tip, then grabbed my untouched fries and milkshake and dumped them into

until I collided with him. Hard. My tote bag slipped off m

said, kneeling t

ice calm and deep. "No, it's my

unning. Sharp blue eyes, red-gold hair, and

ed, a small smile t

pping?" I asked, r

y. You weren't ex

my books, but as I stood, I stumbled, my foot catching on somethi

d somehow, our faces ended up close-too close. Then, as if the

oft. Un

face flaming. "That was an accid

ver. "If that was an accid

..." I trailed off, shakin

t but firm. "I'll give you $2

ng to face him

tion goes well..." His lips curved into a faint smile. "I