Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
gunner
I stalk back into the sitting room, fists knotted at my sides.
My mother’s face is the picture of innocence. “Was it something I said?”
“Cut the bullshit,” I snarl. “You were way out of line.”
“ I’m out of line? You’re the one sleeping with your maid!”
“That’s none of your fucking business!”
She recoils in shock, staring up at me as if she’s never seen me before. “What on earth has gotten into you?”
Clenching my jaw, I drop heavily into an armchair and rake both hands through my hair.
My mother studies me, her eyes narrowed and assessing.
“What?” I bite out.
“When you were growing up, it always bothered you that I called our servants the help. But that’s what they were, darling. Hired workers are the help, and I’m sorry if that offends your virtuous sensibilities.”
I frown at her. “What’s your point?”
“I couldn’t help overhearing your argument with your maid. You told her, rather vociferously, that she’s not the help.” An elegant eyebrow arches at me. “If she’s not the help, what is she to you?”
I glare at her without responding.
“Dear heavens,” she says with a look of scandalized dismay. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming infatuated with that little girl?”
Something snags in my chest. Something jagged and raw that I’d rather not explore. “Stay out of this.”
Mom lets out a caustic laugh and shakes her head at me. “Oh, dear. Falling for an employee? How very Ransom of you.”
Even before the divorce, she turned Dad’s last name into a slur. Every bad thing Maverick and I did was blamed on our “wretched” Ransom blood.
“If your father?—”
“Don’t start,” I growl warningly. “Don’t fucking start.”
She huffs indignantly. “You’re behaving like an absolute barbarian this morning. Maybe I should go stay with your brother.”
“No one’s stopping you. There’s the door.”
A look of hurt blooms in her eyes. Even though I know I’m being manipulated, guilt makes me relent after a few moments.
“You don’t have to leave,” I grumble darkly.
She sniffs. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”
“Did I say you weren’t wanted?” I growl in exasperation. “Enough with the dramatics.”
She makes a simpering little noise. “You know I prefer staying here when I’m in town. Maverick has a fabulous home, but he’s a terrible host.”
“His guests would beg to differ,” I say wryly.
“The opinion of gold-digging sluts doesn’t count.” Mom settles back on the couch, picks up her teacup and takes a delicate sip. “I hear your dinner party was a smashing success. The society pages are all abuzz.”
I grunt, keeping my ears peeled for the sound of Marlowe’s footsteps. Watching her leave for a date might send me into a blind rage, but I won’t be able to stop myself from watching anyway.
“I see that Laurene was in attendance.”
I give my mother a narrow look. “Who told you that?”
“Her picture was in all the articles, of course. The two of you looked splendid together.” Mom contemplates me over the lip of her teacup. “Dare I hope that you’re closer to resolving your differences with her?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I lean back in the chair, stretching one leg out in front of me. “For the record, she invited herself to the party. I didn’t know she was coming until she showed up.”
Mom frowns at me. “I don’t understand your reluctance to give her another chance. You know she loves you and clearly regrets breaking up with you.”
“So now we get to the real reason for your visit.” I glare at my mother. “Did Laurene put you up to this?”
“Of course not,” she huffs, setting her teacup down on its saucer with an icy clink. “I’m not trying to meddle in your affairs?—”
“Bullshit. That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
Her mouth tightens reproachfully. “I just want to make you see reason. You and Laurene are the perfect match, and you need to realize that before it’s too late. A woman like her won’t be available forever.”
I say nothing, agitatedly drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. Contrary to popular belief, I really did try to make things work with Laurene. From the very beginning, I strove to be a good boyfriend. I scheduled weekly dates with her, took her to the finest restaurants, escorted her to lavish social events. Whenever I had to cancel a date, I made it up to her by buying her an expensive trinket—her favorite type of gift.
I did my best to show my commitment to her. If I’m being completely honest, I wanted to prove to myself that I could have a normal, healthy relationship with a woman. I wanted to prove that I was nothing like my father. But the ugly, bitter truth is that we’re more alike than we’re different.
Which is exactly why I should stay far, far away from Marlowe. I don’t want to hurt her, but it seems inevitable in the long run.
Mom heaves a frustrated sigh. “You could have been marrying a hotel heiress this summer. Instead you’d rather play house with your scullery maid.”
My patience snaps.
“Not another word,” I snarl at her. “Not. Another. Fucking. Word.”
Her eyes widen indignantly, but she wisely shuts up.
Just then I hear the click of heels in the foyer. When the front door slams, I get up and stalk over to the window.
Marlowe and her date are walking toward a shiny Beemer parked in front of the house. She’s smiling at the prick, her glossy dark hair swinging against her back. She has on a red halter top, cutoff denim shorts and strappy sandals that make her tanned legs look longer.
A wave of savage possessiveness washes over me. I’m gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
My mother joins me at the window. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone has a hot date.”
My chest tightens as I watch Dawson open the passenger door for Marlowe. He waits for her to climb in, leering at her legs as she smiles up at him.
“What a lovely couple they make,” Mom coos in delight.
I feel like my guts are being ripped out as the Beemer pulls away.
“And off they go,” Mom singsongs before turning from the window and patting my cheek. “Cheer up, dear. You can’t win them all.”
Ignoring my sullen glare, she returns to the couch and pours herself more tea with a self-satisfied smile.
Just when my mood can’t get any worse, her cat comes prancing into the room. Suddenly she stops and stares at me, back arched, hackles raised. As if I’m trespassing on her territory.
I scowl at her.
She hisses.
To be clear, I’ve never harmed a single hair on any feline’s head. But this furry fucker tests the limits of my humanity.
“Aww, poor baby,” Mom coos sympathetically. “Come here, darling.”
She’s talking to the cat. Not me—her son who’s clearly in distress after Marlowe’s departure.
Keeping a watchful eye on me, Charlotte Bront? slowly creeps her way over to the couch.
Mom picks her up and places her in her lap, stroking her fur as she croons soothingly, “Don’t mind Gunner. He’s just trying to cope with the shock of being rejected by a woman. It’s never happened before, and I’m afraid he’s not handling it very well.”
The cat meows and Mom cackles like a witch.
I send them both a death glare before stalking out of the room.