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I do everything to avoid looking directly at Jordan, so as not to get sucked into those blue eyes again, and I succeed. That is, until Leticia reaches up and starts to comb his hair back from his forehead, not even missing a beat in the conversation, as if it's the most natural thing in the world for her to do.
I see red.
Chapter 10
Jordan
One Week Ago
“Mrs. Farrington is in the lobby.” Danny’s voice comes over the intercom as I’m about to join Ethan for lunch.
Since I opened up about Bree and me last month, Ethan has been acting like my therapist, wanting us to have lunch together a few times a week, just to get me talking more about the last eight years, and especially about my time in the army. Having gone through therapy himself, he keeps banging on about the importance of simply talking.
There is only one person I want to talk to. And she refuses to speak to me. But grudgingly, I went along with Ethan's advice and before I knew it, actually started looking forward to our lunchtime meetings.
“Should she wait until after you’re back from your meeting with Mr. Hawthorne?”
“No, send her in. Cancel lunch with Ethan and let him know why.”
“Right away Mr. Farrington.”
I shrug off my jacket, hanging it on the rack by the wall.
The door opens and my mother, Agnes Farrington breezes in, impeccably dressed in an ice-blue pantsuit and matching heels. It's uncanny how she continues to defy age.
At fifty-four, she could almost pass for a woman two decades younger. Although she makes up for that by often sounding like she’s eighty-four.
She takes me in her arms and I bend to kiss her cheek, catching a whiff of the calming, jasmine scent I've loved since I was a toddler.
“Mother, you look beautiful.”
“I know right? I’ve just been to my hairdresser.”
I stare at her blonde hair, not seeing anything different. "Hmm…"
She shakes her head, exasperated at my puzzled look. “Of course, you wouldn’t notice, just like your father.”
My lips thin in disgust.
Her tone gentles when she sees my dark look,“Probably uncalled for, I know, but honestly, do you think I conceived you all by myself? Of course, there's going to be parts of him in you. I swear talking to you can be like walking through a minefield—”
“Mother, you’ve not even been here two minutes and already—”
“Alright! I’m sorry. I didn’t come to get into an argument with you.” She raises a large brown cardboard box. “I come bearing gifts.”
She goes to the sitting area, whips out a gingham tea towel from the box, and starts to lay fruit and homemade sandwiches on the coffee table. “Are you coming?" she looks back, realizing I'm still standing at the same spot.
“Mother, I enjoy your visits, truly I do, but why are you here really?” She comes to my office once every two or three months, but never without warning.
“Because you wouldn’t come home.” She gestures again to the seat opposite her.
“Yes, for the last eight years. What else is new?”
I haven’t stepped into any of our family homes in eight years, Mother and my sister Meredith, either come to the office or to my penthouse if they want to see me.
Father would never come to me, not that I’d want him to anyway, so it's a stalemate.
I lower my frame into to seat opposite her and wait for her to tell me the real reason she's come today.
