The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  Emma shakes her head. “Thank God for Mom.”

  “Thank God for Rachel,” agrees Beck.

  “You’ll make a great mother too.” Matías sits down and takes Emma’s hand.

  “I hope so.” She frowns. “Oh, by the way, Giada has been spotted in London on the arm of an elderly lord. It’s quite the scandal in the British press. The Elliot Corp. PR department are working on damage control, but basically we’re all instructed to say no comment.”

  “Has anyone warned Henry?” asks Beck.

  Emma nods. “I called him.”

  “Okay,” says Beck. “Well, he can have one of the bedrooms upstairs. I don’t want him going back to Bertram Street on his own again.”

  “On that we agree. I’d be happy to have him at my place, but we always end up arguing for some reason.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” says Matías.

  Emma just flips him the bird.

  “Sounds like you’ll be busy enough with the baby.” I set aside the remains of my dinner. It was yum, but I’m full. “And there’s plenty of room for Henry here.”

  The doorbell rings again and Emma smiles. “That’ll probably be Penny and River. They were worried after the drama the other night, so I told them to come on over.”

  Beck just looks at her.

  “What? It’s like a housewarming and you didn’t even have to organize it. You’re welcome.” She rises from her chair. “Come on through, guys!”

  It’s sweet really, how much they obviously missed him while he was away. How much they want to be around him now. For all of the hijinks and shenanigans, some of his family are great.

  Along with the two ladies, Ethan walks in carrying a bottle of wine. He looks around, taking in the room. “Not bad. Though there’s no real view, to speak of.”

  “I like it,” says Aaron, entering behind them holding a bouquet of flowers. “It’s got character.”

  Emma immediately confiscates the flowers. “They’re beautiful.”

  “They’re not for you.”

  Mrs. Francis gives us a concerned glance before helping Emma out with the vase. I just smile and nod. The poor woman. Guess she’s used to actually announcing guests. Perhaps even dealing with people who show some sense of decorum. But she’s rolling with it, which is great. Winston the majordomo would be having a meltdown by now. He’d probably attempt to send us all to bed without dinner regardless of age. Soon music is playing and more bottles of wine and sparkling water are being opened and we have a small party underway.

  Beck leans closer to whisper in my ear. “Sorry about this, beloved.”

  “Don’t be. This is nice.”

  It’s been a while since I’ve been comfortable with people in this way. Surrounded by friends. And it feels like that’s exactly what they’re becoming. Penny and I talk about the foundation Beck has set up while River (who, it turns out, is a pediatrician) answers a barrage of questions for Emma and Matías. Ethan, Aaron, and Beck discuss his plans for the Boulder hotel among over things. It’s nice to belong. To be a part of a close group. After the boyfriend from hell experience decimated my self-esteem, I shut myself away. That’s the truth. I got hurt so I made my world small and safe. And being lonely was the price I paid. But I don’t need to do that anymore and it’s such a fucking relief.

  Even with Mom coming, and his grandmother hating me, and the various disparities between us—I think everything’s going to be okay. I really do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Mom?”

  Smith escorts her in midafternoon the next day and I’m sad to say that the vibe is more dismayed than happy reunion. Guess after the phone call it’s not a surprise.

  I had started the day up in the library (huge, amazing, and full of a variety of books and lots of polished wood) working on a site for Matías. Beck could have the office, I preferred the big mahogany desk, comfy work chair, and general vibe of the library. And having coffee brought to me on a regular basis was beautiful. Housekeepers are the best thing ever, especially when they’re combined with your own personal library. Brian, Beck’s executive assistant, sent me a steady flow of emails regarding various charities. News of his father’s passing and the inheritance that followed had obviously created a lot of interest from various groups hoping for help. So I read through some of those and made notes as well. Just in case.

  But then Mrs. Francis asked for my opinion with regards to a few things. Those few things turned out to be dinnerware, silverware, crystal, linen, and a ridiculous amount more. Rachel sent over a sales specialist (not Selah thankfully) along with a bevy of people to carry things back and forth from the vans parked downstairs. A household of this size apparently requires a lot of shit.

  And I don’t ask for prices and nobody offers the information either. So there.

  Beck must not have an opinion regarding any of it or he would have remembered it was happening in the first place. One of these days, when he yet again fails to warn me about something, I’m going to slap the boy right upside his handsome face. Or not so accidentally kick him in his sleep.

  I’m helping Mrs. Francis with unpacking all the boxes when my mother arrives. Mom is tall with long gray hair pulled back in a braid. In all honesty, she’s sort of a mix of suburban mom and hippie. Worn leather boots, jeans, and a plum-colored twinset. She’s staring in either horror or wonder at the vast array of luxury homewares spread across every available surface. Maybe a mix of both.

  “Hi,” I say, pasting a smile on my face. “You’re here. I thought you were going to text me your flight details so I could pick you up?”

  Nothing from her.

  “Mom?”

  Her gaze moves to me. “It was fine, honey. A nice man from that hotel you were staying at drove me over. What is all this? Do you live here now?”

  “Yes, we just moved. I’m choosing some things for the house. It came with furniture, but there’s still a lot we need apparently.” So much stuff. It’s overwhelming. And now Mom is here. This day isn’t going well.

  Smith gives me a nod once it’s obvious the woman is who she said she is, most likely isn’t a hostile threat (at least physically), and I’m okay with her being here. Then he confers with Mrs. Francis before heading for the stairs with my mother’s carry-on suitcase.

  “It’s great to see you,” I say. Still in stunned mode, she doesn’t react to me kissing her cheek. “Mom, this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Francis. Mrs. Francis, this is my mother, Heather.”

  Mrs. Francis smiles in welcome. “Mrs. Lawrence, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Hello.” Mom’s voice is faint. Even worse, she looks at me as if I’m a stranger. Like I’ve grown a second head or tentacles or something. A bit unfair considering I didn’t even dress up today. My hair is in a low-slung ponytail and my makeup is minimal. I’m wearing skinny blue jeans, a flowing white silk blouse with long sleeves by Veronica Beard that makes me feel like I’m a heroine in a book from the fifties (though I’ve already managed to spill a drop of coffee on the front), and blue point-toe Iriza Half d’Orsay Louboutin flats. With the diamond stud earrings, of course.

  All right. So maybe I look a little different. But I’m still light years away from being Real Housewives material. I smile. “Beck has gone to Boulder, but he should be back soon.”

  Meanwhile, two gentlemen carry in what looks to be crystal ice buckets. How beyond extra. The sales specialist, Toya, spreads out a selection of linen napkins. My mother’s frown deepens with the arrival of every new luxury. This is so fucking awkward.

  “Can I get anyone a drink or something to eat, perhaps?” asks Mrs. Francis. God bless the woman.

  “Mom?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “Why don’t we give you and your mother a moment alone to catch up?” Mrs. Francis ushers everyone out of the room apart from my mother and me.

  “I haven’t joined a cult,” I say. “But I have discovered what a salad fork is. Useful information, that.”
r />   Mom pulls out a dining chair and flops onto it like a ragdoll.

  “How was your flight?”

  “What on earth is going on here?” she asks, her brows arched high. “Who are you? What happened to my daughter?”

  “Now that’s harsh.”

  “Look at you!”

  “I thought I looked nice.”

  “You don’t even look like yourself anymore,” says Mom, voice rising in volume.

  “You’d be amazed what a keratin treatment can do.” I pull out the seat beside her and sit down. “Mom, please, just calm down.”

  “This place…it’s insane. I never…”

  “Can’t you be happy that I’m happy?” I snap, losing my cool. “Because I am, you know?”

  She stops and stares at me. At least there’s less horror in her eyes this time, more questioning. The lines of tension bracketing her mouth ease a little.

  “I love this house. It’s crazy, don’t get me wrong. But I love it and this city too.”

  “Alice.” The amount of judgment she manages to pack into one little word is impressive.

  “As for the NDA, they just want to make sure no one attacks their family in the press or anything. It’s honestly not a big deal.” I take a breath. “As happy as I am to see you, I don’t need saving.”

  She sighs.

  “I chose these clothes, Mom. Along with the hair and the shoes and all the other stuff,” I say. “But most of all, I chose him. And I chose him before I knew he had a black AMEX or had bought me so much as a bunch of flowers.”

  “Honey…”

  “If Beck and I had to live together with no money back in that shitty little shoebox of an apartment in LA then that would be fine with me. It’s true we’ve only known each other a few weeks and this is all moving fast. And it’s true that I’ve been hurt before. But, Mom, that’s not what’s happening here.”

  She sighs one more time. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I really am.”

  She reaches for my hand.

  “I know that you love me and you worry about me,” I say. “Thank you for that. But you need to ease up a little.”

  At this, she sniffles. “You look so grown up.”

  “I’ll still need your help now and then.” I smile. “For instance, right now, I’d dearly love for someone to help me choose a gravy ladle and canapé knives.”

  She gives me a glum smile. The woman is beyond unhappy and not even vaguely convinced. And I was so pleased with my speech too. However, Mom still looks vexed. “But aren’t you lonely here without your family and friends? Moving halfway across the country like this with no warning.”

  Which is when Selah walks in, looking around the room with a faint frown on her face. Like she smells something bad. However, she meets the criteria of being both human and breathing so she’ll have to do. I know it’s a mistake before the words are even out of my mouth. Talk about making bad choices.

  “Actually, Mom,” I announce. “You can meet one of my new friends right now.”

  Selah freezes.

  “Selah, what perfect timing. Come and meet my mother.”

  The petite brunette socialite’s face changes from disenchantment to delight so fast it almost gives me whiplash. Fortunate, though, since I had no idea if she’d play along. “Hello.”

  “You’re a friend of Alice’s?” asks my mother. And sure, the woman in question is polished perfection, but there’s no need for Mom to sound quite so skeptical.

  I smile. “She sure is.”

  “I sure am,” echoes Selah. “Alice and I actually have a lot in common.”

  “So true.” Besides our taste in men, that’s a complete and utter lie.

  “I work for Beck’s stepmother. But Beck and I go way back. Don’t we, Alice?”

  I grit my teeth. This was such an error in judgment. “Indeed you do.”

  “Rachel actually sent me over to see if you needed any help making your selections,” Selah inspects the table’s contents. “Are these the items you’ve chosen so far? What sweet and simple style you have. I just love it.”

  “Shucks,” I say. “Thanks, Selah.”

  “And this house!” Her gaze fills with distaste. “So interesting.”

  “You better be careful there.” I fake laugh. “Beck chose this house and he absolutely adores it.”

  “He has the funniest taste sometimes. You just can’t pick it.” Her fake laugh is so much better than mine, dammit. “Speaking of Beck, I don’t suppose he’s around?”

  “He’s out.”

  “Hmm. I wonder if he’ll put the mansion on Green Way Street up for sale now. It’s been sitting empty for so long.”

  Given I have no idea what she’s talking about, it takes me a moment to respond. That she knows things I still don’t more than grates. “He hasn’t said.”

  “How many properties does this young man own?” asks Mom, frown back in place. If it ever left.

  “A few.” I shrug. “Does it matter?”

  Mom wrings her hands. “I’d just like to know who it is exactly that my daughter’s involved with.”

  “Might I remind you that your daughter’s a grown woman?”

  “I don’t blame you for being worried, Mrs. Lawrence.” Selah smiles politely, doing her utmost to ingratiate herself. Suck-up. “Any mother would be.”

  “It’s just that, relationships are hard enough when the couple have a lot in common and come from a similar background,” says Mom.

  Selah nods.

  Give me strength. “Because enjoying each other’s company, physical attraction, a similar sense of humor, and strong desire to be together means nothing of course.”

  Selah plays with the string of freshwater pearls around her throat. “As for his properties, let’s see…there’s this place, the Green Way Street mansion next to his grandmother’s, apartments in New York, Paris, Oslo, and London, a house in the Hollywood Hills, and my personal favorite…his place in Aspen. We had some wonderful times there. Just really special moments, you know?”

  She might as well come right out and say they fucked on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fireplace. The girl can’t do innuendo for shit. Is it wrong to want to turn her to ash and then salt the earth where she stood? Asking for a friend.

  Mom’s eyes are wide. “He must be very wealthy indeed.”

  “He’s a billionaire.” Selah smirks.

  “And he’s mine,” I say, because enough of this shit.

  The smirk fades.

  “It was kind of you to stop by. But you can let Rachel know that Toya and I are doing just fine here. I don’t want to hold you up any longer.”

  Selah’s smile is all sharp teeth. “Of course.”

  “Could you also please pass on another message for me?” I ask. “If you could tell Rachel that my wardrobe doesn’t need any further additions, that would be great.”

  Her gaze narrows. “I wasn’t aware that she’d made any more purchases. But of course I’ll pass your message on.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Lawrence,” says Selah. “Alice.”

  “Selah.”

  Mom waits for the sound of footsteps to fade before she whispers, “Are you sure she’s your friend?”

  “Would you believe frenemy?”

  She tuts. “Honey.”

  Insert silent groan here. “Remind me to introduce you to Penny and River and Emma. They’re much better. Well, maybe not Emma. Depends what mood she’s in.”

  “These people,” says Mom, expression pensive once more, “they’re certainly different to what you’re used to.”

  I shrug. “Some of them are good and some of them are bad, but most of them are somewhere in the middle. People are pretty much the same everywhere.”

  “But all of those houses she was talking about. The lifestyle that must come with that sort of money. The pressures and expectations from his friends and family.” This is definitely not the woman who read me fairy tales as a child a
nd encouraged me to wish on stars. This woman is much too sensible and fraught for that.

  “It doesn’t necessarily change who they are as people.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily not.”

  “I’m having trouble telling if you think I’m not good enough for him, or he’s not good enough for me.”

  Mom’s chin goes up. “The second. Definitely.”

  “If a gorgeous, kind, hardworking billionaire doesn’t measure up to your expectations for me, then heaven help us both!” I can’t help but sound cranky, but I take a deep breath and get myself back under control. “Please don’t decide you hate my boyfriend before you’ve even had the chance to meet him. That’s not fair, Mom. I need you to promise to keep an open mind.”

  “Alice…” Her brows lower. “Yes. All right, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  A loud yowling announces Beck’s arrival a couple of hours later. Dressed down in jeans and a gray Henley, he deposits a thing on the floor. A cat carrier, I guess. A demon cage, perhaps. Whatever is inside is not happy.

  “So I found her in an alley behind the hotel,” he says by way of greeting. “She’d been abandoned. Can you believe that? People are such assholes.”

  “Is that a cat or a gremlin?” I ask. “I’m having trouble telling by the noise.”

  Mom went upstairs to settle in and have a nap while I finished up selecting household items (anything minimal and classic in design could stay and the rest went back). If we lack sufficient champagne flutes, table runners, or diffusers then that’s on me.

  Beck unlocks the cage door and a scrawny black shorthair struts out missing half of one ear. She gives us both a pissed off glare with her pretty green eyes.

  “I took her to the vet and she’s a little roughed up, but fine,” says Beck. “Got her up to date on all of her shots and everything. The vet said people still think black cats are unlucky and many of them get abused.”

  “That’s awful.”

  Beck watches with pride. “I named her Princess.”

  “Of the Underworld?”

  “No. Of all things sweetness and light and floofy.” He slips an arm around my waist and leans in to give me a kiss hello before stopping cold. “You’re not allergic to cats are you, beloved?”