“I think that means she likes you,” says Beck.
“Should we try giving her a bowl of cream or milk?”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate either. Mrs. Francis is sorting out her litter and food. How was your day?”
“It was a day.”
“Yeah?”
I head into the kitchen, putting out a small bowl and grabbing the cream out of the fridge. Once done, I place my small offering near the chair she’s hiding beneath. A cute little black nose sniffs at the air, then a black paw reaches out, dragging the bowl of cream back toward her safe space. Praise be. My humble offering has been accepted.
I wrap my arms around Beck’s waist, going in for some necessary cuddling. “I got a start on the latest website and also did a bit of research into some local charities. Then I chose about a billion household items. Thanks for letting me know that was happening.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Forgot Rachel texted me about that.”
“Mom arrived and is currently upstairs having a nap. She’s not happy, but hopefully I’ll be able to talk her around. And I might have exchanged words with Selah.”
“Selah was here?” He frowns.
“Yeah. I think she was hoping to talk to you. Not to be harsh, but she needs to be banned from the house. Wait. Let me rephrase that because I’m done with being nice. Nice is nothing more than a bullshit veneer that hides true meanings. Because every time I think we can get along, she proves me wrong.”
He rests his chin on top of my head. “This is your home, dearest, and I want you to be comfortable. I’ll let Rachel know that’s the rule from now on. She can tell Selah.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. You don’t mind me bringing home a pet?”
Princess takes the opportunity to dash from underneath one sofa to another. Tail still twitching all the while. Guess she’s finished with the cream.
“No, of course not. It’s your home too.” I smile. “And she’s cute in an I’ll eat your soul kind of way.”
“She is, isn’t she? Scratched the absolute shit out of the vet.”
“Aw. Our sweet little diabolical fur baby.”
He gives me a squeeze. “So the thing is, I had been hoping to take you on a date tonight to the Downtown Grill. Would you prefer I cancel that booking or ask for a larger table? I’ve given Mrs. Francis has the night off, but we can always order in from somewhere.”
“I think ordering in might be safest.”
“Done.” He pulls his cell out of his back jeans pocket. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Mom likes sushi.”
“Sounds good.”
“How was your day?”
He grins. “The sale is going ahead; they accepted my offer.”
“That’s great news. Congratulations!”
He covers my face in kisses, making me laugh. “Thank you.”
Mom clears her throat, standing over by the foot of the stairs. Mood officially killed. “You must be Beck,” she says.
“Hello, Mrs. Lawrence.” He walks toward her, hand outstretched. “How was your flight?”
“Call me Heather.” Mom shakes his hand, giving him a still sort of smile. “Fine, thank you.”
And then they both just look at me. I have a really bad feeling about this.
“Do you have to travel much for your work, Beck?” asks Mom.
We’re drinking beers and making our way through a platter full of sushi at the dining table. Princess is hiding under an ottoman, giving us all the evil eye. Though she did come out to eat some cat treats earlier.
“I’m primarily based in Denver, but travel occasionally,” answers Beck. “My mother is in New York and I fly out to visit her every couple of months, usually. I also have family in Denmark I try to visit at least once a year.”
“Are your businesses only in Denver?”
“No.” He dips a Philly Roll in some soy sauce. “I have interests in other cities as well.”
“Such as?”
I shoot Mom a look that she chooses to ignore. What a surprise. Not. This is not table conversation. It’s a goddamn inquisition.
“New York, Chicago, Phoenix, and LA,” answers Beck.
“Will you expect Alice to travel with you?” Mom picks up another California Roll, placing it on her plate before carefully loading it up with pickled ginger. When Beck offered to open a bottle of wine, she asked for a beer instead. Which is such bullshit. At home she drinks Prosecco. This hyper-paranoid negative version of my mother is doing my head in and then some. She gives me a sad smile. “How are you going to be able to get a job, honey? Or are you planning on being a kept woman?”
“I actually already have a job,” I say, voice getting cranky. “Two, in fact. I produce content for business websites, which puts my degree to use, and I’m also the director of philanthropy for Beck’s company. It’s a new endeavor he’s taking on that I’ll be heading up. When we travel, I can work on my laptop.”
Beck raises a brow. So I hadn’t told him about accepting the job. Oops.
“You’re giving her a job?” asks mom.
“She earned it,” corrects Beck. “Alice represented my family’s company at a charity luncheon recently and navigated what could have possibly been a very difficult situation with great skill. She’s good with people and they in turn enjoy talking to her. You should be proud of your daughter.”
“Of course I am. But is it wise to work together?”
I shrug. “I don’t see why not. Beck usually works at his offices at the Heritage or out on site and I’ll be working from home. If we travel, I can work from wherever we are on my laptop.”
“Surely you want to stand on your own two feet, Alice.”
“In this economy?” I raise my brows. “I tried that already, Mom, it involved serving beer to jerks and being hit on.”
“But you didn’t try very hard. You could have moved back home and taken a serious look at internships—”
“You’re right, I could have. I got discouraged and gave up.” It’s the truth. “That’s on me. But now these wonderful opportunities have come my way and I’d be a fool not to take them.”
“What if it doesn’t work out between you two?”
“Then I return to LA and start over. With a better-looking résumé than when I left.” I reach for a Shrimp Tempura Roll with my chopsticks.
Mom makes a noise. “Have a Tuna Roll, honey.”
“I prefer these.” Instead of just one I take two of the Shrimp Tempura Rolls. I’m mature like that.
Beck stares at his plate, one clenched fist resting on the table. Some bad vibes going on there. I don’t think Mom’s question about it not working out went down very well with him.
When Mom’s frown fails to move me, she moves on to another topic. “Amy found a lot of photographs and nonsense written about you on the internet.”
“Tell her to ignore it. I do.”
“She’s concerned.”
“She has a baby and my brother to worry about. I’m sure my sister-in-law will get over it.” I take a sip of beer. “How are your classes this year?”