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Then again, with something this serious and her mom-manager along for the ride, maybe she’s just playing it cool. I’ve heard of outrageous people having a professional side.
Maybe her mom even told her to rein it in or something.
“Food first, right?” Adriana says with a fake laugh that slides down my back like a cheese grater. The frosted blonde tips of her hair look bleached almost white.
The woman is a talking mannequin trying to cling to her youth.
That’s my first impression.
Shepherd and I just order espressos as Adriana picks the most expensive pasta salads and cocktails for herself and Meghan.
She makes idle small talk as we wait, doing everything she can to drive home the fact that her daughter isfamous,and she’s the whole reason for making Meghan Tea a national sensation.
Jeez Louise.
If she flashes her Chanel bag at me one more time...
Beside me, Shepherd’s face is pure ice.
That cool, hard edge he wears that makes it plain he’s not impressed by her act in the slightest, even if he stays perfectly polite.
It’s a level of badass indifference I can only aspire to.
Of course, Adriana doesn’t like it.
The less he acknowledges her bragging, the louder and more obnoxious she becomes.
Meghan dips her head further with every outlandish claim, still freakishly quiet, barely picking at her food.
“I remember when I was friends with Hank Hodges. You know, the actor?” she says, waving a hand. “Very attractive man. Very attractive. This was before he was married, of course.” The implication hangs heavy in the air. “We still call each other every now and then on our birthdays.”
I take another sip of my coffee, desperately waiting for someone to get to the point.
What I can’t stop looking at is Meghan, wondering how she can be so silent when she’s the whole reason we’re here.
Her videos were cruel, mocking and nasty, loaded with horrible implications.
But right now, I actually feel a tad sorry for her.
Adriana doesn’t seem to notice her daughter’s silence.
When she’s not talking, she’s gorging herself on the spread in front of her like a starving squirrel, bruschetta and stuffed olives and fresh mozzarella.
“How about we get down to business and free up our appetites,” Shepherd offers when they’re finally about to move on to the dessert menu.
Thank God.
“Ha, I was waiting for this.” Adriana wags a finger. “I’ve heard about you, Mr. Foster. A ruthless corporate shark. And I guess you know a thing or two about negotiating like the Italians do with your past and all.” She waves a hand.
Oh my God.
I try hard not to choke on my coffee.
“I’m Irish,” Shepherd clips. “No doubt you’ve had your own experience with negotiations, though, considering your role in your daughter’s business,” he says smoothly. “However, we’re not here to discuss my past, business or otherwise.”
Adriana cocks her head sharply. Her bleached hair flops.
“No? Oh, okay. So we’re here to talk about the present, then. Your relationship withher,right?” She points at me.
