Stealing From Me For Her Son Chapter 2

Mrs. Albright had been with me for a month. In the beginning, she was fine—professional, even motherly in a distant way. But lately, the boundaries were blurring. She was sliding into my life in ways that made my skin crawl.

She finally set a plate of pasta on the coffee table.

"Blaire," she chided, pointing at my feet. "Put some socks on. Walking around barefoot is bad for a woman's constitution. You need to protect your fertility." She fetched my slippers and placed them right in front of me.

Despite her annoying commentary, she wasn't bad at the job. The apartment was clean, the food was edible. I didn't want the hassle of interviewing new candidates, so I let it slide.

Halfway through dinner, she hovered near the sofa, wringing her hands. "Blaire, did I upset you earlier?"

I looked up. Her eyes were wide, pleading. I softened. Maybe I had been too harsh.

"Look," she started, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm not trying to boss you around. But seven grand is... it's a lot. The economy is terrible right now. Making money is hard. Your parents work themselves to the bone for every cent. You're a college student now; you should learn some empathy. Your classmates aren't buying things like that. They care about value. A bag that expensive needs maintenance. A nice hundred-dollar tote is just as good, and you can toss it when you’re bored."

She sounded so reasonable. So maternal. For a second, the guilt pricked at me. My parents were always working. Maybe I was being a brat.

"You have a point," I admitted, putting down my fork. "Okay. You know that extra two hundred a week I’ve been giving you for 'inflation' costs on groceries?"

I looked at her with wide, innocent eyes.

"I’ll stop giving you that. I should be saving, right? I asked around, and five hundred a week is plenty for one person's groceries. I’ll start being thrifty right now."

Mrs. Albright’s face fell. The sympathetic mask cracked. She tried to stammer a protest, but I had already turned back to my pasta, my expression closed off. She shut her mouth, but I could feel her glaring at the back of my head.