Addicted(85)

So that’s where I am when it happens. In the kitchen, bent over and rummaging in the refrigerator for the last of the tortellini salad. I’m humming at the top of my lungs and composing a law school application essay in my head when a cultured, well-modulated voice sounds from behind me.

“Well, well, nice to know nothing has changed. You’re still a low-class little thing, aren’t you?”

I whirl around at the voice—I’ve only heard it once before but I know exactly who it belongs to. Aural memories are powerful things and the last time I heard it was the most miserable day of my life. I’ve never forgotten it. Never forgotten the woman it belongs to. And never forgotten the emotions I was feeling the last time I heard it.

Sure enough, Vanessa Frost Jacobs is standing at the doorway into the kitchen. Ethan’s mother. Brandon’s mother.

She’s dressed in a pale pink suit that costs more than my entire wardrobe—the Armani suit Ethan just bought me notwithstanding—and she looks like a beautiful, blond viper. It’s truth in advertising, if you ask me. I’ve never met a more cold-blooded, scaly and poisonous woman in my life. Not to mention the fact that she’s more than willing to take a bite out of anyone who gets in her way.




Judging from the narrow-eyed look she’s giving me at the moment, I’m the latest offender—and more than likely her latest victim. But I’ve already been one of her victims, and I swore to myself when it happened that I would never let it happen again. No matter how much she scares me, no matter how intimidated I am by her frigid, frankly terrifying confidence, I’m not going to back down to her. Not here. Not now. Not this time. I’m a far cry from the fifteen-year-old girl I was when she last tangled with me.

The thought gives me comfort, or it would if I wasn’t so damn drunk. As it is, I stand frozen to the spot, swaying and seeing two of her as I try desperately to sober up.

“Chloe, isn’t it?” she says as if we’re at an afternoon garden party. As if she has no idea who I am. As if she isn’t here specifically to see me.

I know it’s all part of a plan—she can’t make it seem like she actually cares enough to remember my name. But she does, oh she does. I wonder how much it must be grating on her that I’m with Ethan now. A hell of a lot, judging from the fact that she’s here. And looking like she swallowed a lemon.

“It is,” I tell her after a long minute of trying to decide how I want to play this. Besides plucking her bald-headed and then rolling her and her pretty pink suit down the huge hill at the back of the house, I mean. “And you’re Vanessa.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes narrow even more at that. Ethan’s mother definitely doesn’t like being on a first name basis with me. It’s a feeling that is completely mutual. But no way does she get the advantage here. No freaking way.

“It is. Nice to see that you have no problem making yourself at home in my son’s house.”

“Yes, well, he’s a generous guy. And since we’re practically living together anyway …”

“Are you, now?” She looks past me and for the first time I realize I’m still standing in front of the fridge, the door wide open. Damn it. Stupid wine tasting. Faced with this—with her—it doesn’t seem nearly as fun as it did just a few minutes ago. Not when I know I’ll need every last one of my wits about me to deal with her.

I move to close the fridge, but my balance isn’t quite right and I end up stumbling backward with the door, bumping my hip on the handle.

“Good Lord, you’re drunk. And it’s only two-thirty in the afternoon.” For the first time, she doesn’t bother with the mask and simply lets her disgust shine through.

It’s a lot of disgust and I can feel myself wilting under her disdain. The knowledge infuriates me and I straighten my spine. Force myself to maintain eye contact. Keep at bay the memories of that long ago day in the lawyer’s office when she was so icily polite and horrendously rude all at the same time. She has no right to judge me. Not this woman who has done so many truly awful things.

“Look, Vanessa,” I say, forcing myself to put my big girl panties on and deal with the situation at hand instead of lingering in the past that seems to be closing in on me from every side. “Ethan isn’t here right now. But when he gets back, I’ll be sure to let him know you sto—”

“Are you kicking me out of my son’s house?” she interrupts and for the first time I see a flicker of surprise on her overly Botoxed face. It actually looks more like incredulity, but I’ll take what I can get.