Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Do you two have no work to do? I mean, do you actually work here? Or do you just swan in each day in a sharp suit and a winning smile because that’s all you’re good for?”
“Cheers, bruv.” Brin slides a loving hand down his lapel. “This one’s from your tailor. He did a good job, right?”
I don’t answer. Just glower.
“I thought we were meant to be having a meeting? A meeting before the meeting, as it were,” El says in an even tone.
“It’s a wonder we get any work done because of meetings,” Brin mutters.
Ignoring them both, I make my way around the desk, swipe up my phone, and drop into my leather chair. The call connects as I swing around to face the window and my view over the Thames and London beyond.
“Mum, how are you?” This travesty needs to be undone. “Yeah, busy. You know how it goes. You’re right, idle hands are the devil’s playground.” And don’t I know it. “What did I want? I just wondered if you were free for lunch today?”
Steel fist in a velvet glove, my arse. The woman is as subtle as a brick through a plate glass fucking window.
I stand as my mother glides into the courtyard restaurant and watch as she waves away the maître d’s outpourings of assistance as though the pair are old friends. As she weaves between the tables in a cloud of gardenia perfume, flowing skirts, and tinkling bracelets, it’s hard to ignore the attention she attracts, particularly from the opposite sex. She might be in her sixtieth year, but she’s still a very striking woman.
“Sweetheart.” I try not to wince as she carelessly drops the Birkin purse I’d bought her last birthday to the floor.
Note to self: ten grand’s worth of handbag gets the same treatment as a grocery sack.
Hands freed, she presses them to my cheeks and a smacking kiss to my forehead. There’s no point complaining. This has been her standard greeting for me forever.
“Thank you, Stefano.” The server pulls out her chair, and she takes her seat before sending him a radiant smile over her shoulder. Smoothing her shiny coffee-colored hair, she doesn’t notice the man turn pink with pleasure. She never does. It’s just her way. She makes everyone feel seen. Appreciated. This earthy loving is written into her DNA and part of the reason she always gets what she wants.
Not this time.
“Just the usual for me,” she says, waving away the offer of a menu.
“Salmon again?” I give a tiny shake of my head. “You’ll turn pink and get gills.”
“If it’s not broke.” She smiles back. “Oh, leave those,” she says as he begins to clear away a third setting. “It’s a table for three today.”
Oh, do fuck off, I want to yell. Instead, I wave the server on. “No, just two today. I should know. I booked the table.”
“Yes,” she says, ignoring my heavy tone, “but I rang and changed the booking.”
Change the booking to a private members club… she’s not a member of. This is the magic of my mother.
“Who?” I put my menu down because… “It better not be who I think it is.”
“Calm down.” Reaching out, she pats my hand. “You’ll have an aneurysm.”
“That’s not funny.” Especially not if our third is who I think it is. “Don’t make those jokes in front of her.”
“Do you think I’m so careless?”
“No, of course not. But what the hell, Mum? I don’t even know how you’ve gotten involved with the Valentes. It’s not like they live down the street.”
“They took you under their wing, Leif. Of course I made it my business to get to know them. After Connor died, I wanted to offer my condolences, and we were quite close back then. Well, telephone close. I’m sure things were very changed. It’s been very hard on Mimi.”
“I know that.” I press my elbow to the table and drag my hand down my face. “I mean, I can imagine it.”
“Can you, really? Imagine losing Sorrel or Brin or Orion.” Orion, who prefers to go by his middle name of Daniel. Not that Mum pays any attention to that. And poor old Sorrel… “Or one of the girls.”
Sometimes I do imagine losing my siblings, but not in the way she means. Maybe more like losing a toddler in a grocery store for ten minutes and being blissfully unaware of it. I love my family. I’d die for any one of them. I’m also dying for a little peace from them.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a song and dance about this.” Avoiding my eyes, Polly lightly rearranges the silverware.
I am neither singing nor dancing about Mimi Valente working for me, and it has nothing to do with her coming so beautifully for me. My reluctance began way before that moment—the moment Polly suggested it, actually. But that’s not to say I can explain the reason behind it. I kept in contact with the family when Connor passed, too. I’ve even sent Mimi a gift card every year on her birthday, or at least Jody has done on my behalf. I just hadn’t realized she was as old as she is. I thought for some reason she was still a kid. Is it not enough that I have practically half of my family on the payroll?