Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(11)

Sage made a pained face. “Mom.”

“I told her you’d meet her for dinner tonight and texted you her contact information. If you can’t make it, if you’re so damn wrapped up in your own life, then cancel with her—but don’t think I’ll be very happy with you.”

“You never are.” That actually felt good to say.

“Don’t try to twist this into an argument.” Her mother made a frustrated guttural sound, then in a forced pleasant tone said, “I heard that your father is coming to London.”

“He’s not. Just his wife.”

“Have you met her? It’s so sad what the plastic surgeon did to her nose.”

“I don’t want to talk about her, Mom.” Not with you.

“Fine. Sage, wear something nice when you meet Mrs. Westerly, and try not to speak too much. I hear she’s a real stickler for formalities.”

“I already said I can’t g—Why do you care what she thinks of either of us?”

“One day I’ll get news that you were switched at the hospital. There’s no other explanation for the way you are.” With that, her mother hung up.

Sage let herself into her apartment and stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself. What would accepting that my relationship with my parents will never get better look like? Would I stop seeing them?

They’re all the family I have.

Them and Bella—that’s it.

Until I have my own. If I ever do.

She sat on her couch, kicked off her shoes, and opened the text message from her mother. Delinda Westerly. I have to at least tell her I’m not coming. She touched the number to make the call.

“Hello,” a woman answered.

“Mrs. Westerly?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Sage. I’m Victoria Revere’s daughter. About tonight—” Sage paused, trying to decide on a polite way to cancel.

“Six o’clock,” she said in a sharp tone. “Don’t be late. I abhor being kept waiting.”

She sounds delightful. “I’m actually calling because I won’t able to make it this evening.”

“Pardon me?”

“Although I appreciate that my mother recommended me for your garden project, my schedule is packed at the moment. I can, however, send over a list of other highly qualified candidates.”

“Nonsense. I’ve already cleared my schedule for you and made arrangements with my cook. Surely whatever else you had planned for this evening can wait one more day.”

Growing up as she had, Sage was no stranger to Mrs. Westerly’s attitude. Rich. Demanding. Entitled. The problem with the wealthy was that they were often surrounded by people who wanted something from them, and therefore they weren’t often told when they were out of line. An unchecked ego could grow to ugly proportions. “Unfortunately, that’s not the case—”

“Miss Revere, I would think very carefully before turning me down.”

“Mrs. Westerly, how old are you?”

“What a question!”

“Seventy? Eighty? I’m guessing by your voice.”

“What does my age have to do with anything?”

“More than you think, but either way, I don’t have time for another client.”

“With your lack of professionalism, I can’t imagine you have any at all.”

Sage leaned back and closed her eyes. If I were a better daughter, maybe I’d apologize and say something amazing about my mother, but both of them are more privileged than either deserve. “Listen, my mother is a horrid, social-climbing, English-accent-faking American. My gut tells me you’re a hypercontrolling socialite battling chronic loneliness with a tangible amount of regret. I’ve never been able to reach my mother, and you are likely beyond my skills as well. So, although I must pass on your dinner invitation, please consider inviting my mother instead. The two of you have quite a lot in common.”

Sage hung up without giving the other woman a chance to respond and dropped the phone beside her on the couch. It didn’t take long for Sage to feel bad about what she’d said. Even though Mrs. Westerly had been condescending, she hadn’t deserved what Sage had volleyed back.

I took out my frustration with my mother on a little old woman, who will now likely eat dinner alone because of me.

She glanced over at the Polyscias in the corner of her living room that a client had given her after she’d brought it back from the brink. It had done well in her apartment for years, but suddenly it was drooping.

Great. Just great.



It had been several days since Eric had gone on the walk with Sage, and he’d spent most of his time telling himself he didn’t care if he saw her again. Yet he swore as he entered the coffee shop, looked around, and once again did not see her. He gave his order, then took it to the table that was no longer his haven.

Where was she? Had she already come and gone? Perhaps his poor attempt at being charming had driven her to choose another shop. He knew next to nothing about her, but the uncomfortable truth was that he wanted to see her again.

It wasn’t just her rounded little ass or her lush curves that stood out against the reed-thin women in his circle. By entertainment-industry standards, Sage’s hair was too wild, and the color in her cheeks looked as if it might be . . . gasp . . . from actual sunlight. He knew many in his circle would have considered her beauty natural but unpolished.