Shifting back around in her direction, I answer, “Yeah. I just remembered something I forgot to do and was about to go do it.” My eyes flicker toward Claire and I force my mouth up at the corners in a semblance of a smile. I’m afraid it looks more like I’ve just been shot in the stomach and am attempting to look stoic. Honestly doc, I’ve had more painful lobster bites… and then I pass out.
“Well, you’re here now. Sit down and join us.” Tara extends her arms in the international gesture of welcome.
I take the free chair on Tara’s side of the table and pour myself a cup of coffee from the carafe. I’m not sure which one of them I should speak to. If I talk to Tara, Claire might think I’m being rude. If I talk to Claire, she might think I’m being, what? Nice? Too interested? Something about this woman trips me up and I don’t quite know how to act when I’m around her.
“Claire and I were just talking about you,” Tara announces.
I practically choke on my coffee. “Only good things, I hope.” The look on Claire’s face indicates that might not be the case.
“Tara was telling me that if James hadn’t come along when he did, she might have cast her net in your direction,” Claire announces.
“It’s true,” Tara says. “Not only are you nice and good looking, but you’re also enormously talented. You’re just the kind of guy I would have gone for.”
“I’m not sure if I should thank you or find James and beat him up for getting to you first,” I tease. I had my eye on Tara when she started working here, but there’s no way I would have asked her out. The whole employee issue notwithstanding, can you imagine the headlines if I returned home with a former supermodel? I’m pretty sure my parents would be more than a little leery of a connection like that.
“Claire’s single,” Tara announces with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
It’s Claire’s turn to choke on her coffee. “I’m newly single. I’m not interested in dating right now.”
“I’ll alert the masses,” I tell her rather unkindly. For some reason I chafe at what I interpret as her disregard of me. I want to tell her not to flatter herself, but there’s no sense in making an enemy. We still have to work together, albeit for a short time.
The air is thick with tension. Before any of us can say anything to alleviate that, Ruby walks up. “Everyone I wanted to talk to sitting at the same table! What are the chances?”
“Pretty good, considering we all work for you,” Tara says with a smile on her face. “Sit down and tell us what’s on your mind.”
“I want us to host a series of parties that cater to single people,” she announces while taking the chair next to Claire. “What do you think of that?”
“You want to host singles events?” Claire asks. “Like dating events?”
“I do. I want to help the younger generation find each other. People my age met their spouses at college or high school. But kids today are so set on making their way in the world before they’ll consider marriage, it’s harder for them to find someone when they decide it’s time.”
With her eyebrows knitted into a frown, Tara says, “That’s true. Are you saying you think people should marry younger?”
“Not necessarily,” Ruby tells her. “I’m just saying it’s harder today and I’d like to help you young folks out.”
“What did you have in mind exactly?” Claire asks in a way that suggests she’s not sharing our boss’s enthusiasm.
“There used to be a show on TV called Speed Love. I thought we could emulate their model.” She asks, “Have any of you seen it?”
All three of our heads shake in the negative. Ruby says, “I just saw it listed on Netflix. Why don’t you all give it a look and tell me what you think. We can meet again on Friday after Claire officially starts work.”
The look Ruby sends my way after she says this causes me to shiver like someone just walked over my grave. I know she’s up to something, I just don’t think I want to know what that is yet.
Chapter Seven
Sharon
Portland is the only town in Oregon that Sharon has ever visited. After a long walk through the woods up to a nearby waterfall, she decides she’s happy her youngest will be living here. It’ll be a good excuse for her to come back often. Somehow, life is busier than it’s ever been, and she’s found it hard to do all the things she wants to do.
When she gets back to their suite, Sharon hurries to shower before searching out her daughter. With the hot spray of the rainfall shower head beating down on her, she recalls her conversation with Geoffrey at dinner last night.
She decides that either Claire has gone the way of her sister, Lutèce, determining men are no longer worth her time, or she’s still smarting from finding out the truth about Jack. Jack was a schmuck, through and through. She knew that from the start. Unfortunately, Claire didn’t and had to find out the hard way.
What is it about some men and their need to roam like cavemen, spreading their seed like the survival of the human race depends upon them alone? Not only has Tooty been on the receiving end of such Neanderthal behavior, but now both of her daughters have, as well. Thank goodness she has Phillipe. They’ve been together for forty years and she’s grateful for him every single day.
Sharon prides herself on letting her children make their own decisions in life, but the truth is, they’ve been doing a pretty poor job of it lately. It might be time for her to get more involved.
With her brain firmly on Geoffrey, she decides he’d make a lovely addition to her daughter’s life. While it may be too soon for Claire to date after having her heart broken, it’s never too soon to have another friend. Not to mention, friendship before romance is always a solid way to go.
Sharon makes a note to ask Ruby what she thinks about her idea. Her daughter’s new boss just set up her own sons. Surely, she’ll have an opinion about Claire and Geoffrey.
Claire
Tara told Geoffrey I was single like I was a prize poodle at a dog show. I’m surprised she didn’t comment on the texture of my coat and my perky gait. Ew.
True to my already negative image of him, Geoffrey made it clear my single status doesn’t affect him in the least. And while I’m not interested in him, his blasé attitude still smarts.
I make an excuse to leave the table as soon as I finish my omelet. As soon as I walk into our suite, I spot my mom enjoying her breakfast in bed. “Hey, honey,” she greets. “We should get on over to your new house soon so we’re there when the movers arrive.”
“Give me five minutes,” I tell her. “I just want to check my email first.” I want to see if Jack emailed me. I shouldn’t care what he has to say, but I’m secretly hoping I’ve broken his heart and he comes groveling back. I wouldn’t take him, but I do think of how much fun it would be to tell him that.
Clearly, I’ve seen too many movies because that’s not how things work in real life. In my real life, anyway. The only missive from the studio is a form letter from human resources telling me that because I departed their employment using the proper protocol, I’m considered an eligible rehire should I choose to apply for another job there. Yeah, let me get right on that.
“Anything interesting?” my mom asks while staring at me like she’s trying to perform laser surgery with her eyes.
“Nope, just an exit letter from the studio.” I throw my phone into my purse and ask, “You ready?”
She nods her head and walks toward the door without saying anything. She still hasn’t said anything by the time we’re sitting in my car. “What?” I finally ask.
“What do you mean, what?”
“Why are you being so quiet?” I demand. “Obviously, you have something you want to say.” I know this because she always has something to say.
“Why can’t I just be quiet?” My mom is the worst actress in the world. She’s got her shoulders nearly up to her ears, one eyebrow quirked, and she seems to have developed something of a tick. She looks
like a drunk pirate off his meds.
“Silence is not your way.”
“Maybe Oregon is working its magic on me,” she answers evasively.
“You don’t have anything you’re dying to say to me?” I persist.
“There may be things, but they can wait.”
“I know you hated Jack,” I spit out. “I know you’re happy I’m no longer with him.”
Silence.
“What more can you say on the subject? I think you need to let it go and let me heal. I left California for heaven’s sake, so there’s no way we’re going to get back together.”
Still nothing.
“Say it already, Mom!”
She pulls a small notebook out of her purse and writes something in it before announcing, “I’ve decided to put my thoughts into song.”
“You are not writing a song about my relationship with Jack.” I have to put my foot down before she embarrasses me on an international level. This woman has written such ditties as “Tequila May Make Your Clothes Fall Off, but His Pot Belly Puts Them Right Back On.”
“No one will ever know it’s about you.”
I don’t believe her for a second. “What’s the title?”
She hems and haws before finally saying, “I don’t have the final title, just a working title.”
“Which is?”
“‘You Say Your Name is Jack, but I Know It’s Really Dick.’”
“Mother!” I yelp before unexpectedly bursting into laughter. Okay, it’s more than laughter, I’m practically convulsing in hysterics here. It’s the perfect title. I suddenly want my mom to write this song more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. In fact, I want to help her write it and make sure the world knows. Then when it goes platinum, I can leak to the press who it’s about.
My mom starts to sing a tune reminiscent of Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.” After a few measures she sings:
“You walked into the studio with a hitch in your giddy-up.
I thought you were something special,
but now I know what’s up.
You have yourself a problem in the form of a cheating heart.
The truth of your sorry life is
you lack control over your man part.
You say your name is Jack,
But I know it’s really Dick.
You make me want to puke,
You make me wanna scream, ick!”
When I finally gain control of my mirth, I say, “It’s brilliant, Mom. Really.”
“I’m writing one for Tooty called, ‘Cheating Makes Your Dong Fall Off.’ I’m thinking about writing one for Lu too. That way every man that’s ever done us wrong will have his own version of payback.”
“I think you should let us all help. Then we can title the album something like Revenge of the Jackson Women.”
“I love it!” she exclaims before asking, “You’re not mad about the song anymore?”
“No,” I assure her. “I have no loyalty left for that man and if a song about him will save some other woman from his slimy ways, I’m happy to help.”
“Boy howdy, you changed your tune pretty fast.”
“I guess so,” I tell her. “I’ve just decided not to be one of those women who slink away feeling responsible for my boyfriend’s inability to keep it in his pants. I’ve had too many friends who’ve done that and it’s not a good look.”
“I’m proud of you, honey. Anger is my favorite stage of grief, and I’d be happy for your input. Just try to skip the bargaining and depression steps, if you can. They’re no fun.”
“I’m not sure I’m more powerful than the stages of grief, but I’ll do my best,” I tell her.
“Good girl. Remember, no bargaining to get Jack back and no sadness that he’s gone. Sometimes the trash takes itself out and that’s always a good thing.”
“In that case, maybe we should title the album, Taking Out the Trash,” I say.
“It’s got a nice country sound to it. Let me ask Tooty what she thinks.”
My mom and her sister are such a fabulous duo. They’ve been best friends since they were kids. I wish Lu and I were more like them, but that hasn’t been the case. Lutèce has never let me into her inner circle. Who knows? Maybe helping Mom write songs for this album will bring us together.
“Why don’t you see if Lu wants to come with you when you visit Oregon some time?” I suggest. Mom is aware that my sister and I have never seen eye to eye, and I know it upsets her.
“What a great idea!” she says while nodding her head like a bobblehead on the dashboard.
I suddenly wonder if it is, but it’s too late now. Once my mom sinks her teeth into a bone, she holds tight until she gets her way.
Chapter Eight
Ruby
When her phone pings, Ruby closes the file folder in front of her and checks her incoming text.
Sharon: Do you have any time to meet with me today?
Ruby: Sure, what’s up?
Sharon: I want to talk to you about Claire.
Ruby: Is she okay?
Sharon: I think so. I have an idea I want to bounce off you.
Ruby: Why don’t you join me for supper tonight?
Sharon: I’d love to, but the movers have arrived, and we’re as grimy as a couple of field hands. Also, we’ve decided to stay here tonight.
Ruby: Why don’t I bring supper to you then? I’m sure we can find a couple of minutes to talk without being overheard.
Sharon: That’s perfect. Thank you!
Ruby is preoccupied all day wondering what Sharon Choate wants to talk to her about. She hopes her new employee is okay. She has a lot of plans for that girl and she needs her to be in top form.
Geoffrey
The day flies by in a flurry of activity, which is good because otherwise I’d be thinking too much. I’d be thinking, Claire Choate is an intriguing woman. Not only does she not seem to care a whit about me, but she makes no effort keeping those feelings to herself, which for some reason I now find fascinating. Add the fact that she’s extraordinarily beautiful and I’m hard pressed not to let thoughts of her fill my every free moment.
I decide to head home early tonight and watch some of that show Ruby was telling us about. I know what speed dating is. I tried it a couple of times while I was in college. My overall impression is that while it’s sound in theory, people do not act naturally when they only have five minutes to get to know and impress someone.
If all you’re after is a hookup, then it might work, but today there are apps like Burn and Panty Raid for that. While I’ve been tempted on occasion to check those apps out, I never have. It’s been drummed into my head since I was a kid that members of the royal family “must never put themselves in situations that can come back to bite them.” That’s a direct quote from my mother. My father said, “Wear a raincoat at ALL times, boys. Even when the sun is shining.” Wink, wink.
My brother Alistair is the big playboy in the family. As such, he’s at constant odds with our mother. While I have certainly participated in romantic extracurricular activities, part of my deal with my parents—the one that allows me to live abroad—is that I maintain a pristine reputation. That includes not being involved in any kind of scandal. Since I’m the only one out of seven kids who isn’t living in Europe, I figure if I don’t honor our agreement, they wouldn’t hesitate to make me come home.
It’s seven o’clock by the time I’m showered and sitting on my sofa with a bowl of buttered popcorn. I’m surprised when my phone rings and my sister Aubrey’s name pops up. Aubrey lives on the family’s compound in Malquar. If my math is correct, it’s four in the morning there.
“Hey, Bree, what’s up? Are you okay?” My pulse speeds up in concern.
“I’m good,” she says.
“Then why are you calling me at four in the morning?”
“It’s hard to know when to call when you can actually talk,” comes her qu
ick reply.
“I join family FaceTime every Sunday,” I tell her.
“There are too many of us vying for attention then. No one can ever get a word in edgewise. Plus, I wanted to talk to you about your coming home in May.”
“What about it?”
“I was thinking you could move into the cottage next to mine. I’ll have it cleaned out for you and freshened up if you like the idea.”
Our family land includes the castle where my parents and all siblings under the age of twenty-five live. It also hosts four “cottages” which are actually large homes. These are available to the older siblings. Once we marry, we’ll acquire an additional title and move to the property entailed to our new position. Being that we’re a small country, my parents have had to create some new titles and purchase properties to go with them.
“You called me at four in the morning for that?” That can’t be the only reason.
“I’m having my kitchen repainted today and I figured I could send the workmen over to your house afterwards, if you wanted.”
“There’s plenty of time before I come home to fix up my new house. What’s really going on, Aubrey?”
“I miss you.” She sounds sad. Given that we’re only a year apart, Bree and I were always close. And with me on the other side of the world, we don’t see nearly enough of each other.
“I miss you, too, Bree. Go ahead and paint the cottage whatever colors you want. I’ll be happy to live next door to you.” I will, too; I just wish that doing so didn’t require leaving the life I love.
“We’re going to have so much fun, Geoffrey!” my little sister practically squeals into my ear. “And just so you don’t forget how to cook, I’ll let you prepare all of our meals.”
“Lucky me,” I joke. I’m about to ask after our parents when my doorbell rings. “I’ve got to go, sis. I’ll talk to you on Sunday.”
I barely register her pouty goodbye as I wonder who could be at my door? It’s too late for the mailman and I don’t really know my neighbors. Imagine my surprise, then, when I look through the peephole to see Claire Choate standing on my welcome mat. I quickly run my fingers through my hair, going so far as to peek into the mirror to make sure my teeth are clean—I’d so lose my man card if anyone saw me right now.
It's My Party: A Royal Romantic Comedy (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 3) Page 4