Chapter 18
Stella
“You and Oliver seemed happy at the gala.”
I looked up from where I was sketching designs in one of my notebooks, my pencil pausing mid-stroke. Mom perched herself on the edge of the settee across from me in the living room, her teacup balanced perfectly in her hands, her expression measured in a way that immediately put me on guard.
“Hmm?” I responded vaguely, more focused on my designs than a conversation with my mother about my boyfriend.
“I noticed how attentive he was,” she continued, despite my lack of interest in the topic. “And that little squeeze he gave your arm when you came to talk to me was so sweet. You two make a lovely couple.”
Annoyance trickled through me. I could see exactly where this was going and tried to shut it down from the onset. “We’re just dating casually. Oliver’s very focused on his career right now,” I said, a bit more sharply than I’d intended.
Mom’s lips pursed. “You don’t need to get defensive. I’m simply making an observation.”
I exhaled a deep breath, striving for calm.
“I just know what you’re thinking, and I don’t want you to get your hopes up.
” I knew my mother. If she had her way, Oliver and I would be engaged within the next few months, which was laughable considering Oliver was gay and it would never happen.
“We both have careers on our minds right now.”
Mom’s perfectly shaped brows drew together. “Career? Honey, what career? Being popular online is not a career.”
I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. Don’t engage. Don’t take the bait. It’s not worth it. But the dismissal stung the way it always did, a sharp, familiar pain that I should have been numb to by now.
“It’s more than being popular on social media and having a following,” I said quietly. “If you’d ever actually looked at what I do—”
“I just wish I could make you understand that I know you,” Mom said before I could finish. She set her teacup down with a delicate clink. “I’ve known you since you were born, Stella. I know what’s best for you, even when you don’t see it yourself.”
The words landed like a heavy weight in my chest. She meant them with absolute conviction—I knew that, somewhere beneath the frustration. In her mind, she was being a good mother. Protective. Guiding me toward the life she thought I should want.
But she’d never once asked me what I actually wanted. Never considered that her vision for my future might not align with my own.
“I wish you would give me the chance to prove you wrong,” I said softly.
Mom just shook her head, the conversation already dismissed in her mind.
“We’re being talked about, you know,” she said, smoothing the front of her cream-colored blouse as she switched to a different subject.
“All that security at the gala, you with a bodyguard hovering constantly. People are starting to wonder what’s going on with our family. ”
Oh, the scandal, I thought sarcastically, and closed my sketchbook. “Hopefully it’ll be over soon. Tate is very good at his job.”
“I’m sure he is.” She said, but her tone suggested otherwise. “Although, I can’t help but think it might be better if that other man were handling things. The one who helped you at that previous charity event, when your date was so awful. What was his name?”
“Ford,” I said, supplying the name of the security who’d intercepted my asshole of a date before things had escalated. The irony of the situation was that it had been my mother who’d set me up with the prominent surgeon who’d been a complete dickhead.
“Yes, Ford.” Mom nodded approvingly. “He was so competent. So efficient. I think he would have done an excellent job with all of this.”
Something defensive flared in my chest. “Tate will find whoever is doing this. It’s the same security company. Whoever trained Ford also trained Tate. The service is identical.”
“Hmm.” Mom glanced at her manicured fingers. “I just don’t like how restricted our movements have become. It’s terribly inconvenient.”
I shoved my sketchbook between the couch cushions, the irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over.
“Mom, do you have any idea how much work Tate has to do? The lists he’s going through, the leads he’s tracking down and coordinating with the other security team?
” Her eyes widened as she stared at me, and I went on before she could reply.
“And your ‘movements’ are barely restricted. I’m the one who’s basically under house arrest. I’m the one who can’t leave the property without an escort.
I never should have gone to that gala in the first place, but you and Dad insisted. ”
“Your father felt that refusing would make it look like we were scared.” Mom’s chin lifted slightly. “We’re not going to let this person think they can intimidate us.”
“I understand that, but what the hell is Tate here for if you’re not going to listen to him?
” I snapped, weeks of frustration finally finding an outlet.
“It’s the same way you are with me. If you don’t want to hear something, you simply don’t.
You and Dad just run over whoever disagrees with you.
And sure, that’s great for winning a court case, but it’s not great when it’s your daughter! ”
“Stella.” Mom’s voice cooled. “I think you’re going stir-crazy.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “No, I think that if you’re going to suggest my bodyguard isn’t doing enough to keep me safe while simultaneously undermining his ability to do his job, you can just—”
“Everything okay in here?”
Tate’s voice cut through the tension in the living room like a blade. I turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral, though something flickered in his eyes when they met mine.
Mom flushed that particular shade of pink that meant she was mortified at being caught in anything less than perfect composure. “No, everything is fine. Just a little mother-daughter discussion.”
Tate nodded, gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher, and disappeared down the hall toward the security room.
Mom smoothed her hair, her composure firmly back in place. “There’s something I’d like you to do,” she said, her tone a little sweeter now. “I’d like you and Oliver to go on a double date with your brother Charlie.”
The abrupt change of subject gave me whiplash. “What? With who?”
“There’s this one paralegal...the one he was with the night of the gala.” Mom’s lips pursed slightly. “Bridget, I believe her name is.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Dad has got to talk to Charlie. He can’t keep dating the secretaries and paralegals. It’s inappropriate.”
“It’s usually nothing more than a harmless flirtation,” Mom said primly. “You know how young men are. But I saw the way this one was hanging all over him and I think she sees him as a meal ticket. I want you to see what you can find out about her. We don’t know anything about her family.”
“What is this, the Regency era? Are you Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” I stared at her incredulously. “If Charlie genuinely likes her and it seems serious, then my concern is the fact that they work together. He’s technically her superior, right? Isn’t that a problem at the firm?”
“That can be handled.” Mom waved a dismissive hand. “What matters is making sure she’s the right sort of—”
“Fine.” I grabbed my sketchbook before she could finish that aggravating statement.
“I can ask Oliver if he wants to do a double date. But if we go out with her and Charlie and Bridget seems nice, I’m not going to encourage Charlie to do anything except talk to HR before he gets himself in trouble. ”
I left the room before she could respond, her spluttering protests fading behind me.
Honestly? Good for Charlie. Not for dating a paralegal when he was technically her superior—that was genuinely concerning from an HR perspective. But for dating whoever the hell he wanted to date, regardless of whether that person was the “right sort” according to Mom.
I wished I had that kind of courage, but I could only fight a war on so many fronts and right now, my career was the battle I’d chosen. But I also knew that once the threat was over, once Tate and I weren’t bodyguard and client and my business was on solid ground, I was going to fight for him, too.
Speaking of whom…I found Tate in the study, his attention focused on whatever data was scrolling across the screen. The light played across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the furrow of concentration between his brows.
“I don’t suppose you could come up with a big important security reason to get her out of the house?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe and wishing I had time alone with Tate. More than just stolen moments in his bedroom at night.
Tate glanced at me and smirked, showing a glimpse of his dimple. “Unfortunately, no. Though I appreciate the creative thinking.”
I moved further into the room, drawn to him like a magnet despite knowing I should keep my distance. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.
“What’s going on with your brother?” Tate asked.
I winced. “You heard that?”
“Kind of hard not to.” His expression was sympathetic. “The walls aren’t as thick as your parents seem to think.”
I sighed and sank into the chair in front of his desk, suddenly exhausted, and set my sketchbook on my lap.
“Charlie’s always flirted shamelessly with the paralegals and secretaries.
They’re mostly young women around my age, and Charlie’s just..
. hopeless. He can’t stop himself. He’d flirt with a fence post if it wore lipstick and a skirt. ”
Tate snorted in amusement, and the light-hearted sound made something warm unfurl in my chest.