Reggie:In fact, forget it. I’m blocking them.
“You texted Reggie, not me. Remember how I keep telling you that you have our numbers mixed up?”
Only her parents would text and, hearing nothing in response, assume they were still welcome.
“Oh dear,” her father said.
“I can’t imagine why he didn’t reply and correct us,” Kitty, affronted, said.
The bone tingling started again.No.“Why don’t we regroup tomorrow?” Blair said. “That was a good idea.”
“Only if you have time for us,” Kitty said, ramping up her signature passive aggression. “You don’t need your old parents derailing your plans.” Kitty glanced at Jack again. “Or your work. I can’t wait to hear about what fun projects you have on the go.”
“Fun” from her mother was not a compliment, but Blair ordered herself not to take the bait. Her priority now was getting them out of the house. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, so I’m not in the office. Why don’t we meet for breakfast at your hotel?”
“Are you sure? Breakfast isn’t too early?” Kitty looked around at the chaos of the house. “I’m surmising that you had a party here.” She rested a hand on Blair’s cheek. “You look tired.”
Blair felt the comment as the barb it was meant to be. She didn’t want to be the kind of woman who could be made to feel ashamed by something her mother said, but here she was. Tears prickled behind her eyes. She looked away so her mother wouldn’t see. “Breakfast isn’t too early.”
“We can amuse ourselves until you’re rested and ready.”
No. She was not this person. “Mother. Do you want to have breakfast or not?”
Kitty held her hands up like she was being robbed. “Of course we want to have breakfast. We didn’t fly here all the way from the Eastern time zone tonotsee you.”
Do not take the bait.“Let’s say eight, then.”
And with that, they were gone. Blair rested her back against the door after she closed it. She felt like she might crumple. Actually physically crumple. She didn’t like feeling that way. Weak and… young. The debutante daughter with her little projects.
The tingling was getting stronger.
“You don’t want them here,” Jack said, and for God’s sake, would he justleave already?
“No shit, Sherlock.” She closed her eyes. Shehadto stop swearing. “Sorry. It’s not you I’m mad at.”
“I don’t think you should go to breakfast with them tomorrow.”
As if he had any jurisdiction over her. She opened her eyes. “Noted.” Gah. She sounded like her mother, her tone, even though she’d uttered a mere word, dripping with condescension.
After looking at her for a long moment, Jack went back to his sweeping. And to his earlier question. “What happened here?”
“I broke some glasses.”
He looked up. “What really happened?”
“I broke some glasses.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Don’tlieto you?”
She was taking the bait. It might be the wrong bait from the wrong person, but the anger she’d been keeping leashed was breaking free of its restraints.
“All right, how about this: I lined up all these glasses in neat rows even though the catering company is coming to collect them tomorrow and it doesn’t matter one bit what state, or arrangement, they’re in. I was doing that to try to distract myself from the overwhelming urge to hand-wash them, even though, once again, itdoesn’t fucking matter.”
There. What would he do with that info? Maybe finallyleave?
Nope. It just made him set down his broom and look… tender? That was the opposite of what she’d been going for. She could handlehis snobbery, his disdain; she’d grown practiced at that. She had no defenses, though, against kindness from this man.
