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“Business?” She seems unconvinced.
“Treyton is buying the place in Malibu.” I step back, gesturing for her to come inside. “He thought it would be easier to discuss things here, given… Well, you know.” I don’t feel the need to explain further. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.
“This is why you should have kept the office,” she tells me as she steps inside.
“I know, Mom, but it makes no sense to pay a lease for an office you only use once in a while. Seems like a wasted expense.”
“So,” she turns toward Treyton as I move to close the door, “the place in Malibu, what was it that sold you?” she asks.
“The view.” His eyes find mine for the briefest of moments.
“Ah, yes. That place certainly does have a one of a kind view,” my mom agrees.
“That it does.” Treyton rocks back on his heels. I throw him a sideways glance then look toward the door, trying to very subtly tell him to leave.
“Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted,” my mom starts.
“No need to apologize at all, Mrs. Hamilton. Clarke and I were just finishing up.” He turns toward me. “You’ll let me know once you speak to the seller?” He tries to sell our story and I swear, I could kiss him for it. Even though a part of me wants to punch him in his perfectly symmetrical face for opening the door to begin with. Because really, who the hell does he think he is? Being a celebrity doesn’t exempt him from common rules of courtesy.
He has no idea why I’m lying to my mom. Not even the slightest clue what’s at stake for me, the respect and support of my parents being the most important. Yet, he jumps right on my lie like it’s as natural as breathing. Probably because for him, it is.
“I will.” I give him a stiff nod.
“In that case, thank you. And I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Of course.” I put on the best, real estate smile I can muster. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Mrs. Hamilton.” He turns back to my mother. “It was nice to meet you.”
“And you as well.” She smiles, moving further into the room. She takes off her hat, dropping that and her purse onto the dining room table that I never use.
I pull open the door, Treyton stepping in the hallway moments later. I try to make my expression one of gratitude, but Treyton doesn’t turn back to see it.
I wait until he’s several feet away before softly closing the door.
“Do you really expect me to believe he was here on business?” my mother asks as I turn back toward her.
“Mom.”
“Clarke, what are you doing?” Her face, which is really just an older version of my own, fills with concern.
To say I’m a spitting image of my mother is putting it lightly. She keeps her hair shorter than mine, cut into a short bob that barely reaches her chin, and obviously she has a few more wrinkles than I do, but other than that, we’re practically twins.
“It’s not what you think,” I promise, though I’m not sure I even believe that anymore. “He really is buying the house in Malibu.”
“But that’s not why he was here.”
“Mom,” I open my mouth to explain but snap it closed when I realize any explanation I give her is going to sound forced.
Did I say I could punch Treyton for opening the door? How about I could strangle him with my bare hands right about now?
In some weird way, it’s like he wanted her to know he was here. Yet, he still went out of his way to lie to her when I needed him to. So really, his actions are completely bewildering to me.
“Rachel Donovan called me.” She takes an abrupt shift, turning to sift through her large bag like purse. Moments later, she produces a magazine, and I swear my heart drops into the bottom of my feet.
When she extends it to me, I don’t bother taking it. Hell, I don’t even look at it. I already know what it is.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I start.
