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“You know what I mean, dammit.” Impatience wrinkled the skin between her eyebrows. “I’m being a perfectly solicitous host, and you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
I smirked. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have raised me with so much love and attention, and I wouldn’t have turned out so spoiled.”
“Enough!” Lana stomped her shoe on the floor, which didn’t actually make much of an impact since the floor was a thick, fluffy carpet.
“Or maybe being blackmailed into coming tonight put me in a mood,” I went on. Losing the pleasantry from my voice, I glowered. “What do you want from us?”
Instead of answering, she turned her attention to the woman at my side. “Why is this one being so quiet?” She skimmed her gaze degradingly down Gabby’s outfit but couldn’t seem to come up with an insult so she glanced at me, waiting for an answer.
I shrugged. “I guess she’s waiting until you say something worthy of replying to.”
Narrowing her eyes, Lana turned back to study Gabby. “What did you tell her about me?”
“Only the truth.” Keeping my eyes on my mother, I kissed the side of Gabby’s head and stroked her arm, which caused her to send me a suspicious glance. “I still don’t see the point of this summons.”
“She cleaned my floor,” Lana finally answered.
What?
I exchanged a confused glance with Gabby, who looked just as bewildered by my mother’s announcement as I was.
So I turned back to Lana. “So?”
“So…” she drew out, scowling at me impatiently. “She cleaned it rather well.” Eyeing Gabby suspiciously, she added, “I still haven’t discerned why she did it in the first place, or why she didn’t take anything of value when she left.” Gabby and I shared a quick, uncomfortable look. “But I’m constantly left dissatisfied by the cleaning staff that Preston Estates supplies. They never do a thorough enough job, and they all have a bad habit of nicking my favorite baubles when they go. But not you…” Narrowing her eyes as if she were displeased, she finished with, “Which is why I’m making you my personal maid.”
“You’re what?” Gabby uttered, shaking her head.
I barked out an incredulous sound. “You want to employ my girlfriend as your maid?”
“Come now, darling.” Lana waved out a non-concerned hand my way as she continued to eye Gabby. “Stop pretending. I know she means nothing to you.”
My eyebrows perked up. “And you think you know that why?”
She finally turned my way. “Because you brought her here in the first place,” she said as if that was some kind of obvious, telling answer. “On Halloween night.”
Blinking, I merely shook my head. “What?”
“Think about it, dear heart. Since all that trouble with Francine and the ones before her, you’ve hidden away every girlfriend you’ve had from me, which tells me that if someone becomes important to you, the last thing you’ll do is actually introduce her to me.”
She looked so smug and sure of herself that I spat back, “Or maybe I haven’t had another girlfriend since Francine.”
As Lana tossed her head back and laughed as if such an idea was simply ludicrous, Gabby looked up at me, whispering, “Who’s Francine?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Just someone I dated once.”
“Someone who left him at the altar,” Lana supplied cheerfully.
I pointed toward my mother, narrowing my eyes, and told Gabby, “After she paid Francine to leave.”
Gabby’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit. You paid his fiancée to ditch him at the altar?”
“I did it for his own good.” Lana turned her attention to her nails. “I just didn’t care for the twit, you see, and it would’ve put too much of a strain on poor Hayden to have a mother and a wife who couldn’t see eye to eye. He should’ve thanked me for taking care of the issue early on.”
“Right,” Gabby drew out slowly. “Because you’ve never put strain on him otherwise.”
Ignoring Gabby’s sarcastic tone, Lana lifted her gaze to me. “I know you, sweetling. You’re not like your brother. You don’t indiscriminately spray your seed in just any whore willing to spread her legs for you. You’re picky. Into relationships and…” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Monogamy,” as if it was a foul word. “And since it’s been, what, five, six, maybe seven years since the little fiasco with Francine—”
“Eight,” I said dryly. “It’s been eight years.”
