: Chapter 10

“So, how was it?” Mom yells as soon as she hears me close her front door. I hang up my coat and plaster on a happy face. She doesn’t need to know all the complications. She only needs to know that it was great.

It’s not exactly a lie—some of it was great. Some of it was a roller coaster of anxiety and sexual tension, but that definitely falls into the don’t-tell-Mom category. I can just imagine. Oh yeah, it was fine—apart from the fact that my new boss is the guy I banged at Emily’s wedding, and he makes me weak at the knees every time he looks at me. Nope. I’m gonna stick with the sanitized version of events.

Our house is tiny, tucked away in a working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn. Mom always worked hard, sometimes holding down three jobs to make ends meet. Despite that, I never felt like I went without anything. There was always food on the table, clothes on my back, and a whole lot of love. We never had a lot of money, but I didn’t feel deprived. My friends all loved coming to my house, and not once did I wish for a different childhood. When I was younger, I would have liked to have known my father, but she never talked about him, and I had to accept that. The only time she ever got upset with me was when I pushed to know more, and these days I’m at peace with it. She’s loved me hard enough for two.

When I got my full ride to Harvard, I was full of dreams. I was going to work in finance or start my own business or find some way to make it to the top. And when I did, I vowed, I’d move her out of this tiny two-bedroom and into someplace grand.

“Don’t be silly!” she always said, laughing. “I’m perfectly happy here. This is the home where I raised you. It’s always been full of laughter and love, and I have great neighbors. Why would I want to leave?”

In the end, it was Chad who started his own business and me who supported him during those tough early days. When he was doing prestigious internships, I worked as an office temp to pay the bills. It all felt worth it once he began to succeed, but I discovered during the divorce that he wasn’t quite as high-flying as he led people to believe. His investment company was in debt, and the house we bought together in Philadelphia was mortgaged to the hilt. I ended up leaving the marriage with very little, and I didn’t even mind that. It felt like a fresh start, and I was relieved to have no tangible reminders of our years together.

Now I have my shiny new job at James and James, and things are looking up. I need to focus on that rather than the complications with my boss.

I head into the space that doubles as a living room and dining room and find her curled up on the couch. She’s tiny, my mom, five-foot-nothing as opposed to my five-six. I get my dark hair and hazel eyes from her, though, although her locks are striped with silver these days.

I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. “It was great, Mom. Really great. I’ve got such a good feeling about it. I stopped by Wanda’s, picked us some cannoli to celebrate.”

“Pistachio?” she says hopefully.

“Of course. Do you even know me?” I tease. “You want it now?”

“Maybe a little later, babe,” she replies, and I can tell she’s trying to hide how sick she feels. Her breathing problems are steadily getting worse, and she needs to use more medication every month. There’s a little table next to the couch that’s now full of pills and inhalers and the mask she uses to boost her oxygen levels. It all leaves her low on energy, which she tries desperately to keep from me.

“Are you feeling okay, Mom?” I ask, sitting next to her and taking her hand in mine. “You know you don’t need to pretend for my sake, right?”

“I’m fine, Amelia—I’m more interested in your day. Did you figure out all the important stuff, like where the break room is and the nearest place that does great coffee? Were the people nice? Were there any snot-buckets?”

I laugh at the silly word. For as long as I can remember, she’s used it to describe snobs, starting with some of the people she used to clean house for, then on to some of my Harvard acquaintances. The James brothers are clearly super rich, but does that make them snot-buckets? No, I don’t think so. That particular title is reserved for the kind of stick-up-the-ass types who look down on others because they’re less wealthy or have lower social standing, and I don’t get the impression that either Nathan or Drake buys into that.

“There are probably a few lurking around somewhere,” I say. “It’s a big building, and it is a law firm, so it’d be strange if it was entirely snot-bucket free. But so far, so good.”

“And your boss?” she asks, her eyes sparkling. “I looked him up on my phone, you know. Nathan James. Phew, he’s a hottie.” She makes a little fanning gesture with her hands, and I laugh.

“Actually, it turns out I’m working for his brother, the other Mr. James. His name is Drake if you want to look him up too.”

“Oh, I will—is he just as good-looking?”

I pretend to think about it, then pull a face. “He’s okay, I suppose. Not as classically handsome maybe. A bit bigger? Not my type at all, but I’m sure some women find him attractive.”

I must be doing a good job of lying, because she seems to buy it hook, line, and sinker. Her fingers fly over her phone, and she makes a funny oooh noise and holds up the screen. Drake is right there in front of me at what looks like an actual film premiere. He’s on the red carpet with a stunning blond, his dark eyes glaring at the photographer. Damn, he is sex on a stick.

“Personally, I think he’s even better looking,” Mom says. “He has that suave-on-the-surface-but-savage-just-beneath thing going on, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. But I think you missed your calling. You should have been a romance writer.”

She waggles her eyebrows at me. “It’s never too late. Maybe I’ll publish one. I’ll use a really cool pen name like Francesca de la Croix or something.”

I shake my head and laugh as she prattles on. I’m in no position to comment, having recently spent a whole night pretending to be called Scarlet.

I make my way into the kitchen, where I plate up our cannoli. She rarely has much of an appetite, and I love trying to tempt her with her favorites. I peek through the pass-through and see that she’s still staring at her phone. Possibly conjuring up smutty scenes of passion that involve my boss. Hah. If she only knew.

Leaning back against the counter, I sigh. Okay. So today was a shocker of a debut at James and James. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so many emotions in such a short time span, but here I am. Still gainfully employed and ready to fight another day. Now all I need to do is figure out how to work with Drake without remembering how his tongue felt on my most intimate parts or how his strong hands tangled up in my hair when he kissed me. Because those things are so easy to forget.

Nope, it’s not going to be easy, and maybe if this was only about me, I’d go back to the temp agency. But it’s not only about me—it’s about that wonderful woman in there. The woman who raised me and loved me and nurtured me, and she deserves so much better than the shitty hand nature dealt her. I would do anything for my mom, and that includes working with Drake James.

“Honey,” she says, her eyes still glued to her screen. “Could you bring me that cannoli? Something about your new boss makes me really like the idea of a sweet tube full of pistachio cream …”