IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(72)

I wondered if she could feel my thudding pulse through our joined hands. “Oh, well… that’s good, right? You can always use better insurance.”

“My health insurance through the university is already good, Conor. What’s going on?”

“Well then. That’s settled. They were just probably trying to be nice. You know, since you agreed to sell them your patent.” I wasn’t really a good bullshitter, but I was especially a bad one where my mother was concerned. She had a built-in Conor Bullshit Detector.

“I finally got around to looking a summary of the final contract terms.” Her eyes bore into me. “Conor, they paid full price.”

“I told you that,” I said defiantly. “I told you they paid what you were asking.”

“When you said they agreed to our terms, I thought you meant one of our offers during a negotiation process. I never in a million years thought you meant That Asshole had actually agreed to our original asking price!”

“Don’t call him that,” I blurted, realizing my mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Mom’s expression turned from confusion to surprise. “I mean… it’s not nice,” I mumbled. “And… he’s a person, you know?”

“Conor Matthew Newell,” she said slowly. “What the hell happened in New York?”

I glanced at her before looking away. “I closed the deal like you asked.”

She barked out a laugh that started a coughing fit. “You sure did,” she sputtered through her cough. When she got it under control, she studied me. “So, am I hiring you out as the world’s greatest negotiator, or is there more to this story you’re not telling me?”

So much more.

“I… well…” I looked at the ceiling in the hope I’d find answers there. When that didn’t work, I glanced out into the corridor hoping to see a nurse who needed to draw Mom’s blood so I could go ahead and faint already. No dice. “I may have accidentally kind of dated him.”

She frowned in confusion. “Who? James?”

Apparently the idea I might be referring to That Asshole was so absurd, she’d picked a practically married guy to flesh out the idea instead.

“Not James,” I said with a sigh. “Wells.”

“Wells,” she said slowly. “Wells Grange.”

As if there was another Wells.

I nodded.

She pushed herself up in bed. “Let me get this straight,” she said, gearing up a head of steam. “I sent you to New York to negotiate an important sales deal and you slept with the man to get him to give us full price?”

“What? No,” I sputtered. “Are you crazy? Who the hell do you think I am?” I couldn’t believe she would even think such a thing. It’s not like I was known as a Man About Town. I’d barely been on two dates in the last year.

She blew out a breath and sunk back into her pillows. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… the idea of you falling prey to That Asshole makes me nuts. So, yes. I guess I am crazy.”

I looked down at my hands, my shoulders falling. “It wasn’t like that,” I said softly. “I would never do that. How could you—”

Her fingers slipped around mine, squeezing. “I’m sorry. I’ve been stuck in here watching soap operas all week. I guess my brain jumped straight to the dramatic. I know that’s not who you are. Hell, even if it was, as long as the sex was good…”

“Mom!” I cried.

She laughed. “All right, all right. Tell me what happened. What do you mean by ‘accidentally kind of dated him’?”

I let out a long sigh, the weight of the past several days and the heaviness of my heart making me feel suddenly more exhausted than usual. “It’s a long story.”

She made an exaggerated visual inspection of the room before looking at me. “I seem to have nothing but time. Spill.”

So I told her an abbreviated version that didn’t include my texts with Trace. The last thing I wanted her to know was that I’d accidentally sent a dick pic to a stranger and then proceeded to have mind-blowing sext with him. Instead I basically described Wells’s and my getting to know each other on the carriage ride and at dinner together, and I explained that there were reasons he was the way he was. That in reality, he wasn’t always cold but could be warm and generous.

I didn’t mention how good he was in bed. Or what an amazing cuddler he was.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked.

“What problem? There’s no problem,” I lied. “He lives in New York, and I live here. Plus, he’s a self-proclaimed commitment-phobe.”

She waved a hand. “Clearly he cares about you.”

“Pfft. Don’t know what makes you say that.” The sweet words written in his own hand floated in my mind’s eye, but I shoved them away.

“Conor, he paid full price. In his world of corporate negotiation, that’s equivalent to losing his shirt and his reputation. He hasn’t paid full price for anything in his life. Add to that this ridiculous offer of health insurance they called about this morning. He’s looking out for you. There’s no other explanation.”

Yeah, well. If he cared that much, he wouldn’t have lied to me.