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"Touch me again and you’ll see how much I’m pretending,” I warn, but my shaking voice ruins the tough woman effect I'm going for. Instead, I sound like a scared little girl. Probably because I'm freaking out on the inside. "Because what the fuck? What is going on? Why are you touching me?"
He leans back in his seat and peers at me as though trying to figure out if I’m lying. "Are you serious?"
"Areyouserious?"
"Why are you being all prudish? Everyone knows how you really get all your sales. It’s all over the web."
"What are you talking about?" I'm nearly screeching at this point.
He scans me again, and when he realizes I'm not faking, he sighs in disappointment.
Chapter Four
Maddox
I’minabadmood before the day even starts thanks to mommy dearest.
Thing is, I try to be a good son, I really do. Chloe told me when we met that my mom wanted to see me, painting it like she misses me or something. I know that's not the case, but whatever. I’ll play along.
It’s six AM when I call Natasha and she answers within three rings as usual. “Yes, sir?”
“What’s the new bag that all the rich middle-aged moms are wearing this season?”
“Um… I’m not sure,” she says.
“Find out and buy one. The more expensive the better. Also good if they only made two of them in the world.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have them pack it up to be delivered to the Marina Country Club at noon tomorrow with a card reading, ‘For Erma Reign. From your loving son’.” How’s that for prime bragging material?
“Yes, sir,” my PA says. “Anything else?”
“No, that will be all. Thanks.” I hang up, and imagine my mother preening in front of the rest of the tittering women while they die with envy.
Maybe that would be enough to get her off my case for a few weeks at least.
I should have known better. My mom has never been one to be satisfied with something that is damn well good enough.
Yesterday was relatively calm, so I decide to work from home today. My mom already got her present, so all is well with the world and I should have some time before I have to worry about her again.
At around three-thirty, I get a call from an unknown number. On my personal phone, I never answer strange or undisclosed numbers, but this is my work phone and I’m expecting to hear from one of my agents about an important deal. Besides, this might also be one of my VIP clients.
“Hello,” I answer, and there is a moment of hesitation at the other end before a female voice calls out tentatively.
“Um, hello?”
I'm trying to place the voice the minute I hear it, but no one comes to mind. “Who is this?”
“Um, this is Teresa. Teresa Van Clein.” The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but she could still be a client. I have to hope she is a client or heads will roll.
I try to keep my cool but a bit of my annoyance still leaks into my tone. “How exactly did you come across my number?”
She releases a little choked sound as though taken aback by my coldness.
Thing is, I'm not a fan of phone calls in the first place. I merely tolerate them as a necessary evil for work and keeping up with relationships. Still, in a perfect world, I would rather not have phone conversations with most people, or conversations period. People tend to be exhausting, especially in my line of business.
“Um, like I said, I'm Teresa Van Clein.” She repeats like her name is supposed to mean dick to me. “My mom is a friend of your mom's. She gave me your number and told me to call you around this time.”
