Chapter 9
This morning, I’m sitting at the venue Jo and I booked for the fundraiser benefit, waiting for the caterer to meet me so we can review the menu before I head over to Jake’s house for training, when my phone buzzes.
JO: You need to go shopping.
EVIE: Because you hate my clothes?
JO: Because you need a new dress for the benefit. Something short and black.
EVIE: I was thinking I would wear my silver one again.
JO: Exactly. That dress has seen better days. You need to go shopping. Let’s go Friday.
Ugh. I hate that Jo is right. That silver dress is the last connection I have to my old life. I’m pretty sure when Mom bought me that dress, it cost more than my entire current wardrobe combined. But just because it was expensive back then doesn’t mean it still looks expensive now—unless peplum dresses that have shrunk a few too many sizes in the dryer have suddenly come back in style.
EVIE: Fine. You win. I’ll buy a new dress. But it has to be from somewhere that I can use a 20% off coupon.
JO: No way, missy. You haven’t let me buy you anything all year. This is my treat.
That’s true too. Jo is always trying to buy me things, but I don’t let her. I can’t exactly be a pioneer, forging my own path in life, if I’m constantly letting someone go in front of me and whack down all the weeds. I have to do it. I have to get my hands dirty.
But since the fundraiser is really important for our company, and I have invited quite an impressive list of people that I’m hoping will give us loads of money, I decide to give in this once and let her spoil me.
EVIE: If I let you buy me a dress, does that mean I have to let you pick it too? Because anytime you dress me, I end up looking less like a lady and more like a lady of the night.
JO: *Pretty Woman GIF*
EVIE: Does that mean yes?
JO: *Another Pretty Woman GIF*
EVIE: You’re hopeless.
JO: And you’re more prudish than my grandma Sue.
EVIE: I love you.
JO: I love you too.
I hear the door to the venue open, and I look up with a grin on my face that immediately falls away at the sight of my caterer walking beside my mom, as buddy-buddy as I’ve ever seen two people. They are laughing about something, and Mom gives the caterer a playful smack across the arm. “Monica, you’re so bad. I had no idea that you were capable of being so conniving.”
The woman beams at Mom. “That’s only because you’ve never harassed my servers and then tried to get out of paying me for my services.”
What in the actual hell is my mom doing here with my caterer?
I don’t even bother trying to hide the scowl on my face as I stand. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Now, is that any way to greet your mother?” She’s smiling like she does when she’s trying to fool everyone around us into thinking we’re a happy, do-anything-for-each-other family. We’re not. And I’m so done pretending.
I cross my arms. “How do you two know each other?”
Poor Monica sees my face and starts looking worried. She backs up a small step to let my mother take the lead. “Did you not know? I’ve been using Monica’s catering company for years. She provides the most delicious food for all of the Powder Society’s functions.”
I want to groan. Of course I picked the one caterer in town who is tied to Melony Jones.
“I think it’s safe to say that I did not know that.” Or else I would not have used her. “But how did you know we were meeting today?”
Mom smiles a syrupy-sweet smile at Monica over her shoulder. “Will you give us a minute, Mon?” Mon! Bleh. Excuse me while I go fire my caterer immediately.
Monica leaves my mom and me alone together. I spot the fire alarm only a few feet away, and I consider pulling it.
“Now, Evelyn Grace, can you please try, for one moment, to not treat me like some sort of almighty tormenter in front of my caterer?”
“My caterer! She’s my caterer today! I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing here.” I’m as close as cat’s breath to purposely spilling my coffee all over my mom’s pink linen dress.
She sticks her nose in the air a little higher. “If you must know, Monica and I were together yesterday, discussing the menu for an upcoming Powder Society meeting, and she mentioned that she was meeting with a client today by the name of Jones and wondered if I was related to an Evie.” Oh, yeah . . . Monica’s got to go. “I told her you were my daughter, and she mentioned your fundraiser. Imagine my embarrassment when I had to pretend like I knew what she was talking about! My own daughter not inviting me to a fundraiser she is hosting!” She’s shaking her head, and that pity card she’s trying to fly in front of my face is looking pretty flimsy these days.
“Mom, you have made it perfectly clear that you do not support my decision to work for Southern Service Paws. So, excuse me if I didn’t think it would interest you to be invited.”
“We are the Joneses, Evelyn Grace! We go to every fundraiser in town. Imagine how it would look if word got out that I wasn’t even invited to my own daughter’s event?”
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the mother that raised me. She is putting up a big fight, not because she’s hurt that I didn’t want her at the fundraiser but because she’s afraid of what people would think. This is so classic Melony Jones. It’s how she’s acted every single day of my life.
Maybe I should move to a new town. Somewhere far away where the Jones name means nothing.
But I relent because I don’t have the time to go eighteen rounds with her. “Fine, Mom. Consider this your official invitation. It’s on the—”
Mom holds up her hand and then starts rifling through her purse. “Don’t bother. I already have all the details on this laser-printed invitation I took off Deborah’s fridge.” She levels me with a frosty scowl. “Because Deborah and her family received one.”
I knew she would mention something about the printing. Mom is the queen of event planning. She would rather saw off her arm to pay for the finest engraved linen invitations than have to settle for mere laser printing.
I gesture toward the invite. “So, apparently you didn’t have to do too much acting when Monica told you about the event since you had already stolen that invitation from one of your friends. Remind me, do they teach theft in cotillion? It’s been so long I don’t remember.”
Mom’s eyes narrow dangerously. “That’s enough sass from you, young lady. Like it or not, your dad and I will be at the benefit.” She tucks her stolen invite back into her Coach purse.
She turns away and swings her hips as she walks toward the door, and without looking back, she gets one final punch in. “By the way, I already talked with Monica, and the drumsticks you originally ordered will never work for a black-tie event. I had her change the menu to salmon and chicken cutlets. If you want people to give like millionaires, don’t expect them to eat with their fingers like cavemen.”
I’m looking around for something I can throw at this woman, but because of my own bad luck, there’s nothing nearby.
She pauses with her hand on the door. “Oh, and I expect you to send a proper invitation to Tyler and his parents.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on that as soon as pigs fly.”
Mom swivels her lazy frown back at me. “Don’t act like a backwoods bumpkin. This is proof you’ve been spending too much time with that Joanna woman.”
I watch her disappear through the door and hear her chuckle with Monica on the other side of it. I wonder if this is how the rest of my life is going to be. Will I ever be outside of my mom’s reach in this town? Is there anyone who works within the state of South Carolina who hasn’t worked for Melony Jones in some fashion?
Southern Service Paws is usually my safe haven, but now it feels like Mom has wiggled her way in the back door somehow.
I despise the idea of accepting my parents’ money or using their name in any way, but I do know that if word spreads around town that they are attending the benefit, all the other elitists will come too. No one wants to be the couple who didn’t attend the same event as Melony and Harold Jones. And likely, if they see my mom offering up a check, the money will pour in like manna from heaven. Now that I think about it, it was selfish of me not to invite them in the first place.
For the sake of the company, I can lay down my pride long enough to add my parents’ names to the guest list. But under no circumstances will I be adding Tyler Murray’s name. I’ll never be that selfless.
I pick up my phone and find that Joanna has texted me again. Just seeing her name on the screen helps my shoulders relax and my breathing to stabilize. She has given me a place in this world that I never expected to have; the least I can do is help the company she loves thrive.
JO: After we find you a dress, we need to find you a date.
EVIE: I have one. I need to buy Charlie a tux, though.
JO: I was thinking more along the lines of that sexy dad that gave you a ride home last night.
EVIE: You’ve never even seen him.
JO: I don’t have to. When a man has a timbre to his voice like his, he has no choice but to be sexy. Bring him!
EVIE: No. He doesn’t like me. Besides, shouldn’t you be discouraging any fraternization between me and our clients?
JO: We’re not a PR team for a presidential candidate. Fraternize all night if you want:)
Shoot. I was really hoping she would ban any thoughts of making out or otherwise with Jacob Broaden. It would be easier to swallow his rejection if I knew I couldn’t have him even if he did like me.