Billionaire With a Twist 3(15)
“You’re a lifesaver,” I told her, before my chowing down in an exceedingly unladylike manner meant that talking was no longer a possibility. The meat was flavorful and indescribably tender, practically falling off the bone, and drenched in a sweet and fiery barbecue sauce. As I licked the last of it off my lips, I caught Hunter’s eye. His gaze tracked the path of my tongue, and my heart stopped for a second, heat rising in me as if we were the only two people there.
We weren’t, though, and Paige definitely noticed. “Damn, girl. I know you two are talking again, but are you two…”—she hesitated—“you know, a thing again?”
I sighed, setting my plate down and taking another swig of beer to buy time before I replied. “I don’t know. Not really. I mean, we did kiss—”
Paige made a noise like someone had sat on a parrot.
“No, but then we got interrupted,” I said quickly. “So it was romantic, but maybe also sort of not? Like, maybe it was just a thing, like, we were just both excited or something? And, er…I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it. Still.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “Well, what’s stopping you? I hope you’re not just hanging on until one of you develops telepathy, because that could be a long wait.”
“We only just recently got back to being civil,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’m willing to risk that. He’s been so charming and great, and I…I don’t know. I want to hold onto that a little longer before I try for anything more.”
“Well, I hope he’s worth all this second-guessing.”
“Paige—” I started reprovingly.
“Sorry!” she said with a laugh. “Your big sister worries, that’s all. Didn’t you know that’s in the contract too?” Then her laugh died down and a slight frown creased her brow. “I’m glad to see you looking so happy, Ally, and I don’t want to rain on your parade, but…well, you put a lot of time and effort into this. What do your bosses in DC think about you jetting around on their time? And isn’t Chuck technically your client now?”
I looked down, drew a line with my toe in the dirt. “Well…”
“Ally…” Paige said in a ‘you’re-not-getting-away-with-anything’ tone.
“I’ve been faking a family emergency,” I confessed in a rush. “I have to get back to the office the second this shindig is over or they’ll suspect something’s up.”
Paige shook her head disapprovingly. “Ally, you know that’s not going to work forever. They’ll figure it out eventually.”
“It doesn’t have to work forever,” I said. A pleading note crept into my voice, as if I were once again the little girl who wanted her big sister to assure her that Santa Claus was real. “It just has to work for a little while.”
Paige probably would have said more, but then an oh so familiar and shrill voice called out through the idyll.
“Ally!”
A real family emergency: my mom had shown up.
#
I took a deep breath as my parents crossed the lawn towards me at a rapid clip. My mother was wearing a dress that looked like she was still taking fashion tips from Jackie O., and it appeared that my father had been bullied into his best pinstriped suit too. They were both perspiring under the hot sun, but grinning.
Mom greeted me with a brief spasm of a hug before pulling back and immediately launching into a lecture: “Is that really what you’re wearing, Allison? It’s entirely the wrong color for spring, what can you have been thinking? You can’t let the little things slide like this, you’ve only just got Hunter back in your clutches again, you need to lock this down before he—”
Without warning, my anger bubbled over, a pot left on boil for far too long. “This is not the time for this, Mother!”
Mom stopped mid-sentence. What was this, someone questioning her interpretation of reality? “Allison, I know this is hard to hear, but you do have an unfortunate tendency to squander perfectly good opportunities. Now, I’ve brought a nice selection of pastel skirt-suits in the car that should fit you, so you can change quickly and discreetly and it probably won’t be too late—”
“I’m not a child!” I snapped.
“You’re certainly acting like one at the moment—”
“Mom. I will not go to the car with you.” Each word was short and sharp and bitten off with cold, fierce precision. “I am my own person, making my own choices, and if you don’t like them—any of them—you can bite your tongue or you can go somewhere where you don’t have to see them.”
I could hear my volume rising, but I couldn’t seem to stop it, all the years of accumulated resentment breaking through like water through a faulty dam. I went on, “I’ve been working and working and working, trying to make you proud—” my voice broke, “but nothing makes you proud! You act like nothing matters except getting me married off and baking pies and popping out babies!”
Mom stumbled backwards a step, her face blanching deathly pale. My father caught her elbow automatically, but still she faltered. Dad’s eyes were wide, verging on panic—it had been so long since any of us had really talked back to my mother, I think he had no idea how to deal with it now that it was actually happening.