I shrugged. “It is what it is, Char.”
“Well, she’s jealous of you, that’s what it is.”
“Right.”
Char leaned closer. “I’m serious, Sierra. She failed to turn you into a replica of her. She knows while she seeks validation and approval from all men, you only seek it from one man.” She swigged her beer. “Your father.”
Her insight didn’t surprise me as much as the fact she was still friends with a woman as insipid as my mother.
“Ellen and I have been through a lot over the years,” she started, which meant I’d voiced that comment out loud. “We’re friends more out of habit than anything. My invite to this shindig surprised the hell out of me. But Ellen needs to rub it in that she’s stepped up to a higher social standing. Sort of sad, when you think about it, because I’ve never given a shit about any of that.”
“You’re the only friend she hasn’t fucked over.”
“Oh, she’s fucked me over plenty of times. I forgave her mostly because I know I’m the only real friend she has left and I felt sorry for her. But I’m done.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “I say we leave with a bang, kiddo.”
And so it began.
Clarissa somebody, who adored Ellen to the ends of the earth, was so, so thrilled that her dear, dear friend would once again join the ranks of those in matrimonial bliss.
Polite applause.
Patricia somebody relayed the cute story about how Bill and Ellen had met and how she’d snagged his heart.
Char came up behind me and whispered, “More like she snagged his wallet,” and handed me my second whiskey.
Irene somebody delivered a heartfelt toast about welcoming Ellen into the club, and jokingly added she was now eligible to be a golf widow like the rest of them.
That’s when it occurred to me why my mother hadn’t belonged to this kind of club before she’d met Bill. Single women, who looked like her, could probably cherry pick her next husband—from any of theirs.
Clarissa settled Ellen behind a beautifully decorated table to open her gifts.
Apparently I shouldn’t have ignored the bridal registry link since all of her gifts were some sort of Swarovski crystal. So my “His and Hers” hand towels—his with a golf motif and hers with a shopping theme—were a little weird and a lot out of place.
Just like you.
I snuck away and snagged my third glass of whiskey. The stuff didn’t taste half bad after the third glass.
At least we didn’t have to play stupid party games and we were dismissed for the luncheon portion. Sadly, Char and I weren’t assigned seats at the same table in the back after all. The finger foods were interesting, if a little bland, and there weren’t nearly enough of them.
I listened to the table conversation as I nibbled on my itty bitty square of lemon poppyseed cake.
“June is just heartsick over the whole thing,” the woman across from me confided to the entire table. “Can you imagine?”
“Marybeth told her not to book that venue,” the silver-haired woman next to her retorted. “But June just followed her own agenda, like always.”
“Does the postponement of this fundraiser mean June is being reassigned to something else? Because I will take issue with that if Clarissa foists her off on me,” a woman my mother’s age groused.
They were still talking about fundraisers.
And me with no little cocktail forks to jab in my ears. I snickered…which brought their attention to me.
Seven pairs of judgy eyes homed in, scrutinizing my face, hair, clothing and beverage choice.
“I’m sorry, we’re being horribly rude,” the gossiper said. “It’s so lovely that you could join us.”
I said, “Quite,” with a straight face.
“Of course, many of us were surprised that Ellen had a daughter…um, your age.”
That was a polite save.
“Yes, Ellen looks far too young,” a pearl-wearing woman added.
“I’m sure she’s attributed her youthful look to clean living and good genes. I’m just lucky to take after her.”
Just then, a lowball glass filled with amber liquid appeared above my cake plate.
Char, that instigator, had bribed the waiter to deliver another whiskey to me.
With all eyes on me, I tried my damnedest to be classy by keeping my pinkie off the glass as I lifted it and sipped as if I was on the set of Downton Abbey.
“And you live in the Phoenix area?” the don’t-foist-June-on-me woman asked.
“Yes, in Scottsdale.”
Pleased looks all around.
At least my address passed their approval.
But old-sour-puss-pearl-wearer #2 wasn’t done grilling me. “You own? Or rent?”
“I’ve owned my home there for two years.”
“But you’re so young.”
I leaned forward as if I intended to dish the dirt. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I’ve been told that I could pass for a twenty-year-old.”
“But Ellen told us you were twenty.”
I laughed. “Honey, please. I’ll be thirty-one next month.”
“Well, I’ll be.” The ladies exchanged a smug look and tongues would be wagging later.
That’s what you get for putting me in the B section, Mom.
But my glee quickly vanished. I didn’t know why she’d invited me if she didn’t want me here.
That’s when I missed my Dad. He liked me. He wanted me around. In fact he’d texted me yesterday just to tell me that he loved me and missed me. I was such a crappy daughter for not responding right away, with a million kissy face emojis and sparkly pink hearts.
No time like the present to rectify that.
I didn’t even pretend to be discreet; I pulled out my phone and sent him the emoji-filled text I should’ve sent yesterday.
Dad: That’s a lot of hearts. You okay?
Me: I’m at Mom’s sucky bridal luncheon and I miss you.
Dad: Sorry. Is she being…?
Me: The same old Ellen? Yes. Except she wears pearls when she ignores me now.
Dad: I love that you have a sense of humor about this, sweetheart.
Me: Only because I know I have you in my corner no matter what.
Dad: That’s sweet. I appreciate it. So how much have you been drinking? LOL
Me: Eyeing drinky-poo #5. This lousy country club doesn’t even have Crown.
Dad: The horror. Get out of there right now. Clearly it’s totally sketch.
I laughed out loud. Literally. My dad was such a dork sometimes. I glanced up to see if anyone had noticed.
The entire table was watching me. And hooray, my mother chose that moment to look over. She glared at me, then she glared at my phone. Defiantly I held it up higher and sent another text.
Me: Uh-oh. Busted texting at the table by the bride-to-be. Gotta go. Love you.
Dad: Love you too. You have a DD Miss Drinky-poo #5 at 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon?
Shit. No I didn’t. But I would.
Me: I’ll figure something out. Seriously, I’ve gotta go. Her deadly glare is heating up the plastic on my phone and it’s melting to my hand.
Dad: HAH! Text me later so I know you got home safely. XO
I looked up and yep, Mom’s eyes fired daggers at me. I made a show of pocketing my phone and excusing myself before I headed to the bar.
Drink number five went down smoothly. Probably not good to drink on an empty stomach. I wandered over to the cake table. If I put four mini-squares together it might actually make a normal-sized piece of cake. I did that and carried my spoils back to the table.
Damn. No fork. Well, they called it finger food for a reason, right?
My tablemates appeared uncomfortable with the fact I was, oh, eating. Their discomfort turned to judgy silence when Char dropped off drink number six.
I was feeling pretty mellow and wanted to leave on a high note, but driving was a no-go. Boone hated texting but I couldn’t
exactly call him and say, “Hey, babe, I’ve knocked back six drinks just to make it through this stupid party and now I’m tipsy, so can you please haul that hot ass of yours over here and pick me up?”
I snickered. That’s exactly what I texted him.
B-Dub: OMW
Me: Cool. Oh, and can you pick up a bucket of fried chicken on the way? The food here SUCKS
B-Dub: No
Me: Dammit, I can’t find the emoji sticking its tongue out, so imagine that, k?
B-Dub: Stop dirnkign
I squinted at his text. Stupid autocorrect.
But that’s when I realized autocorrect hadn’t fixed it. I was seeing what Boone struggled with every day. That configuration of letters probably looked right to him.
No wonder he didn’t like to text.
No wonder I was falling in love with him, the man who trusted me enough to share his vulnerability.
Great. Now the “I love you, man” phase had kicked in.
Another text popped up from my assistant Nikki:
NZ: The quarterly reports for the Prestwood expansion are not where they’re supposed to be.
Me: There’s nothing on the checkout sheet about who might have them?
NZ: No. I didn’t misplace or misfile them.
Damn you, Greg, for not owning up to your fuck-ups and putting every assistant in the company on edge.
Me: I’d never accuse you. If you can’t find them they’re gone.
NZ: I hate to bring this up, but I think someone in the office is trying to sabotage you. You need that data to compile your report. No data, no report and you look incompetent.
I briefly closed my eyes. Dammit, the words were blurring.
Me: Whoever took it is an idiot to think I wouldn’t make backup copies. I scanned everything and sent a copy to the secure server as well as my personal cloud for this type of situation.
NZ: I figured you did, because you’re on top of things, but I thought I’d ask. Do you need me to do anything else?
Me: You know the next two projects on tap, so see if the files containing that data are missing. Make a list and we’ll discuss on Monday.
NZ: Will do. Thanks boss
When I glanced up from my phone and saw the distasteful looks, I offered a benign smile. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m being horribly rude, but I’m not. See, I wasn’t initially invited to this event and being the boss, I do work on Saturdays so being out of touch isn’t an option.”
They blinked as if work was a foreign word.
“Do any of you have jobs outside the home?” When no one answered, the whiskey started talking. “None of you wanted a career outside of…whatever it is you do all day? You’re content to boss the servants around? Have lunch at the club and brainstorm ways to help the less fortunate? No offense, but that kind of life would drive me bat-shit crazy. I didn’t graduate from college and gain all this knowledge so I could support my husband behind the scenes and run a household. I run a company. A multi-million-dollar corporation. I have employees who rely on me. I have bosses who rely on me. And since I’ve reached this level of responsibility, I can’t just politely pocket my cell phone in my twin-set and ignore my business just because it’s the weekend. I’ll bet none of your husbands left their cell phones in their lockers this morning before they strutted onto the golf course.”
Two of the woman looked surprised, two looked defiant, two looked embarrassed and one woman looked annoyed.
My drinky-poos caught up with me. I excused myself from the table to search for a bathroom.
Upon exiting the ladies’ room, I saw my mother across the narrow hallway, pretending to study the photos on the wall, but I knew she’d been waiting to pounce.
She faced me. Her eyes had the nasty glint that promised this ass-chewing would be a doozy. “Are you happy now that you’ve humiliated me in front of my friends on what’s supposed to be my big, special day?”
“How exactly have I humiliated you?”
“Where would you like me to start? By getting drunk? By shoving cake in your mouth as if you were food deprived?”
“I am food deprived. You can’t have an open bar at noon and then skimp on appetizers.”
She adopted a patronizing expression. “I wasn’t aware an open bar was an open invitation to get drunk. No one else seems to have taken advantage of free booze or taken issue with the food.”
“I’m sure none of your friends noticed as they were too busy gossiping.”
“You certainly presented something for them to focus on with that embarrassing and tacky gift you passed off to me.”
My cheeks heated, more from anger than embarrassment.
“I specifically told you what to buy me and as usual you ignored me.”
“Newsflash; it’s called a gift for a reason. You don’t get to dictate what gift I buy you.”
“If you had, you wouldn’t have disgraced yourself and shamed me.”
“Shamed you,” I repeated. “No. That’s what you’re doing to me right now. Barely acknowledging my existence. Putting me at a table with a bunch of pearl-clutching do-gooders whose only purpose are their pet charities? Yeah, no wonder I was drinking. But I suppose it was too much to hope that I might’ve had a seat at your table, for your ‘big special day.’ After all, I’m only your daughter.”
Her lips curled into a sneer. “Grow up, Sierra. You’ve always been such a brat if you’re not the center of attention.”
Same old shit, different day. I didn’t know why I bothered with her.
“Not to mention your complete and utter disrespect for me when you had your cell phone out and were texting during the entire event. How does that make me look? Like I raised a rude child with zero manners.”
If I pointed out Dad raised me, then she could pass the blame onto him, so I said nothing.
“Now I have to worry that you’ll employ that same ‘humiliate my mother’ tactic at my wedding.”
“Wrong. It won’t be an issue because I’m not coming to your wedding.”
She rolled her eyes. “Again with the bratty, threatening behavior.”
“So with that…I’m done.” I turned away.
Boone was striding toward me. With each step he got closer, that hollow space inside me shrunk.
Then his strong arms were around me. He kissed me squarely on the mouth—not a sweet lover’s peck but a quick reminder of his possession and his passion for me. He peered into my eyes and whatever he saw there had him concerned. “What happened?”
“Nothing I wasn’t expecting. Can we—”
“Who, exactly, are you?” my mother demanded.
Boone held his hand in front of my mom’s face, but he never looked away from me when he said to her, “Hush. I was talking to her.”
“Can we just go? I parked—”
“You don’t get to hush me—”
“Don’t interrupt Sierra again,” he warned in a low, menacing tone.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her jaw drop. No one ever spoke to her that way.
But my man did. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Raj drove me. We left right after your dad called. He wanted to make sure I knew—”
“Gavin called you?” my mom interrupted.
Boone stood straight. Shoulders back, his big body facing the threat. Every inch of him a soldier. He flicked a dismissive glance at her. “Don’t interrupt me again. I don’t give a damn who you are. You’re just being rude.”
“Now you know where Sierra gets it,” she shot back.
Oh no she didn’t.
And Mom just kept poking his buttons. “How do you know Gavin?”
“I’ve known him for years. But you don’t have a clue who I am, do you? So what does that say about you?” He glared at her. “Oh, so now you’re not going to interrupt me when I ask you a direct question?”
I choked back a laugh.
“It says that what’s going on in your daughter’s life doesn’t matter to you.
Guess what? It matters to Gavin. And it matters to me. So I won’t bother introducing myself.”
He threaded his fingers through mine and led me away.
“You’re my hero, Boone. Seriously.”
Gavin Daniels was my hero for putting up with Sierra’s bitch of a mother and managing to raise such a beautiful, caring, smart, kind daughter.
Christ, that woman was a nasty piece of work.
“The only thing that would’ve made it better? If you’d marched in wearing your army uniform.”
Sierra actually swooned against me.
Or maybe the whiskey had kicked in.
“But then she would’ve known your name, right? Because you’re labeled with it on the front.”
“Yes, there’s a name patch on the right side of my uniform. My rank is on the left side and both sleeves.” I stopped for a moment and scanned the area. It seemed every other car in this parking lot was a Mercedes. I pressed the horn alarm on her key fob to save time.
She’d parked in the back row as far from the building as possible.
That was telling.
I let the horn blare and didn’t care if it was a dick move. The golfers teeing off at the first hole could deal with it for another minute. Although I could admit disappointment a Quiet, please sign didn’t pop up over the perfectly manicured hedge.
Sierra laughed. “I have to use the horn button thingy all the time. I never remember where I park, especially in parking garages. I mean, who pays attention to that stuff?”
“You should always be aware of your surroundings.”
“Says army soldier guy who always checks the perimeter. Amirite?” She bumped her hip into mine and stumbled.
I caught her around the waist. “Careful.”
She twined her arms around my neck. “You are ridiculously hot. I could stare at your beautiful face forever.”
Good to know my girl was a sweet drunk. I kissed her smiling lips. “I hope so.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“My feet hurt and I think I have blisters. I hate these stupid, ugly shoes. My mom bought them for me as a peace offering and she didn’t even notice I was wearing them today. So I’m in pain for nothing.”
Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy Book 1) Page 24