The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(90)

 

That immediately made me think of the employee manual at Starr Media. Was it possible to have homesickness for a company? I missed everything about it—well, maybe not Jackson or that traitor Zelda—but everything else.

 

And Bruce. I missed his cute pudgy nose.

 

Mom was completely right. I wouldn’t be happy living at home. I’d outgrown my old life, and I needed more. Unfortunately, more was two hundred miles away and thought I’d actually try to sabotage his company.

 

I nodded, resigned to the fact that I had to stay true to myself and give myself the best chance to get ahead in my career after such a disastrous setback. She was right. I was a Taylor, and I was going to land on both feet like a frickin’ Olympic gymnast and find another job. “Thanks, Mom.”

 

She kissed my forehead and shifted off my bed. “Any time.”

 

I needed to make a plan to get my life back.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #99

 

Gossip shows can be very educational.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked. Anything to keep busy while Mom was strapped to the machine.

 

“Kid, if you keep loading me up on drinks, I’m going to have coffee coming out of my eyeballs.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

She skimmed her hand over my cheek, and a calm smile creased the corner of her lips. “Hey, I know this is all new to you, but I’ve been around the block a few times with this. I appreciate it, though.”

 

I nodded, frowning. She’d done this alone for months and every ounce of my coffee-flooded neurons felt like crap about it. “I wish I could have been with you for all of them. I’m sorry, Mom.”

 

“Honey, I didn’t raise you to be sorry for everything. The only time you have to apologize is if you’re the first one up in the morning and you don’t make any coffee.”

 

She pulled me into a hug, and I wrapped my arm around her, avoiding the IV hooked to her arm. Her very last treatment. This nightmare was finally going to be over, and she could finally start to heal. Even if I didn’t have my dream job anymore, I had what counted most—my family.

 

Which reminded me—since I didn’t have a high-paying job anymore, I needed to reduce the payments to the hospital. It’d be much easier to do in person than over the phone.

 

“I’ll be right back.” I untangled myself from my mom’s embrace and stood.

 

Mom lifted up the arm hooked to her chemo meds. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

I walked down the corridor until I found the accounts office. A woman wearing a black pashmina sat behind the desk, taking a sip from a mug that said, “My book boyfriend’s better than yours.” Unless that book boyfriend was Mr. Darcy, she was probably wrong, but now wasn’t really the time to tell her this.

 

“Can I help you?” She put the mug down and typed something into her computer.

 

“I’d like to change the payment options for my mother’s account.”

 

She looked up, bored. “Name.”

 

I gave her my mother’s name, and she typed a few more things on her keyboard. Her brows furrowed as she scrolled her finger over the toggle button on her computer mouse. “The account looks like it was paid in full.”

 

I froze. Could a miracle have happened? A mistake? A computer glitch? “Excuse me?”

 

“The account is closed,” she repeated, fidgeting with her scarf.

 

I leaned my elbows on the counter and held my head between my hands, staring down at her. How could this be? “As of when?”

 

She squinted at the screen and hummed under her breath as she scrolled through the account. As soon as she found the information, she stopped the tune and looked up at me. “Yesterday.”

 

“That’s impossible. We owed…” A shit ton of money. “A lot.”

 

“It was paid in one large sum yesterday.”

 

“Can you tell me who paid it?” Who the hell would pay Mom’s medical bills? The only explanation I could think of, with a glimmer of hope, was that my father had grown a conscience and stepped up to cover the costs. But that was about as likely as the damn bill being paid in the first place.

 

“It doesn’t say on the account, sorry.”

 

I looked around her desk, leaning over to check for camera crews or a television host that said this was all a big joke. “You’re sure I’m not being punked?”

 

She shot me a look, and I could tell this conversation was getting a little old on her end, but I just couldn’t let it go. Who could have paid off that sum of money? And why?