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There was no skirting around the subject. As much as I wanted to keep my relationship with Phillippe a secret, I was outed by a simple text. I gathered up my newfound boldness and repeated my question, “What do you want to know?”
My mother looked at me with a stone face. I looked at her, waiting on her to answer my question. This silent standoff wasn’t good. It meant she had several questions for me, and was just figuring out which one to ask first.
I took another long sip from the large white mug she handed me. The hot coffee was good, but I really needed something solid in my stomach. I looked at the end of the counter and spotted a plate of her fluffy biscuits and strawberry jam.
My mother is an amazing cook. Her eyes remained fixed on me. “Would you like a biscuit?”
Another trick question. If I took the biscuit, she gained the upper hand. If I didn’t, she still won because I might pass out from hunger pangs. Last night’s dinner had long worn off and I really needed something to fill the hole in my food bank.
I foolishly gave in. “Yes, please.” I started to get up.
“No, let me.” She walked down to the end of the counter, picked up the plate and jam and placed them in front of me. “Bacon?”
I was definitely being set up. She knew I loved bacon. If I was headed to slaughter, I might as well go on a full stomach. I swallowed hard. “Yes please.”
I sliced open a warm biscuit, and piled on some butter and sweet strawberry jam on one half. I bit down and savored the bite. She fixed me a plate with some bacon, eggs and tomatoes and placed it in front of me. “Thank you.” She went back to her place on the other side of the counter. This torture was nerve-wracking. At least I had something in my stomach. Not that it would help me in my interrogation.
“At what time in the past month did you decide to become a cliché?”
A cliché? I’m not a cliché. A cliché would be me sleeping with my boss to get ahead. On the contrary, if this relationship tanks, I might become the first woman in history to get promoted because she didn’t have sex with her boyfriend slash boss.
“I don’t understand.” That was a lie.
“Let me re-phrase my question. Why are you being an idiot?”
I wasn’t being an idiot either. It wasn’t like I set out to fall for my boss. It just happened. At least that’s the answer I came up with last night while lying in bed.
“I’m not being an idiot.”
“Didn’t I tell you to make sure being his bed buddy wasn’t part of your job description?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did I ask for your commentary?”
What the crap! She asked me a question and now she doesn’t want me to answer.
“Gabriella Christina Townsend, have you completely lost your mind?” I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to speak or not, so I put another forkful of eggs in my mouth. “What is it about this man that makes you think it’s nothing more than an office fling?”
I wasn’t sure if this was just an office fling. It could very well end tomorrow, or before I leave for Europe. But I knew I planned on enjoying myself as long as it lasted. For the first time in my life, I was the pretty girl. The girl everyone in the room noticed because I was with the hot guy. So right now, I didn’t want to think about the possibility that this relationship could disintegrate at any moment. I just wanted to linger in the haze of adoration that comes with a new relationship.
I swallowed the savory biscuit, wiped my mouth and was prepared to answer her, but my phone started ringing with a familiar ringtone. I reached for it and she snatched it up, looked at the screen and handed it to me.
I didn’t need to look at the screen, because I knew who it was. I pressed the Ignore Call button, and stuffed some more eggs and bacon into my mouth. This was going to be a long standoff. In spite of her being upset with me, she still made the best biscuits. I broke off another piece and shoved it into my mouth. Her biscuits reminded me of the ones I had with Phillippe. I took another long sip of the hot liquid to wash down my biscuit and my phone rang again with the same ring tone.
“I know you don’t want me to answer it.”
I put my cup down, picked up my phone, and pressed the Answer Call button. “Good morning, Mr. Marchant.”
“Really?” my mother mumbled as she shook her head. “We’re not finished with this.”
I went outside, hoping for a little privacy. I exhaled and placed the phone to my ear. “Mon amour, why are you being so formal?”
“I was talking with my mother and…”
“I understand. I can’t wait to meet her.”
He wouldn’t say that if he knew she was set to castrate him. “I got your text. When will you be back?”
