My fingers flexed ever so slightly.
She gasped, the sharp intake of breath making her breasts thrust out.
Big mistake.
And too late to change my mind.
I slapped a smile over every warning bell blaring in my skull and gave her a reassuring squeeze, ignoring the way my blood spiked. A few seconds later, I slid my hand down to her knee where I kept it until I felt the tension radiating from her come to a head, and finally its release with a barely perceptible sigh.
So much for the hand on the lower back leading her into the room… we just blew right past that part into some weird space where we plunged forward too far, then yanked ourselves back.
There was no way I would share a bed with her. Nope. Not going to happen. The room better be a double.
After our moms ordered, the waiter turned his attention to Mariah, who ordered salmon and a house salad. Hold the dressing.
She looked like her order, and again, I wondered what I was thinking when succumbed to a week with her. Longest week of my life. Every moment, I learned something new about her, something ugly that made it nearly impossible to tolerate her. She worshipped at the altar of manipulation and tactical maneuvers. Every action designed to attain power. Mariah’s efforts to hook me were never about me; they were about connections. I represented another wrung on the ladder to status and influence.
Too bad she hadn’t taken a closer look.
I came from a successful family, but their success was just that. Theirs. Clearly a concept she hadn’t grasped in the circles she traveled in. Not for the first time, I had to wonder what my mother was thinking pushing this match anyway. Mariah’s father was one of my father’s biggest competitors. They had a rivalry that bordered on unhealthy more often than not. It wasn’t like they were going to merge or all of a sudden become fast friends just because their kids married.
For Mariah’s part in this, she had likely never looked beyond my family’s success into my actual clientele. I was not my father. I respected him. I learned everything I know from him, but my motivations and vision of success was all my own. As a financial planner for individuals, I focused more on the middle class. I made money, but my bank account would never be as wealthy as my parents. Something I was fine with as long as I felt good about my job.
I’d recently taken consulting contracts for larger companies on a case-by-case basis. It wasn’t to make my bank account fatter. It wasn’t about my own retirement one day. It served as a way to help more people. The minute I took my first contract, I upped my pro bono client percentage from five percent to ten.
Everything about the decision felt right. Two-parent working families trying to plan for their children’s college and their eventual retirement. Others wanting to stretch what seemed like a great financial portfolio, unless one of them or their children came down with a chronic illness.
I helped the people in the gray area. The ones who didn’t have a fat enough portfolio to interest your average investors. They were the most vulnerable. They had a good start, but no one to teach them how nurture it.
But they had me now, and I took care of their money like it was my own. And at the end of the day, I knew my job helped real people find stability instead of lining the pockets of the rich.
Mariah definitely wouldn’t approve.
I caught a glimpse of Charlie narrowing her eyes at the menu sporting an evil little grin.
Somehow, I thought she would.
“I’ll take the ribeye,” Charlie said next to me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Charlie, dear…” Her mother began, the sound of her voice making me tense. “Don’t you think something a little lighter would be best?”
I eyed the hand Mrs. McAllister laid on Charlie’s wrist, her condescending lilt grating on my nerves.
“And the twice-baked potato,” Charlie added, completely ignoring her mother. If you didn’t notice the way her hand had balled into a fist on the table.
Mariah grinned, her expression cruelly victorious. I’d never lay my hand on a woman, but for a split second, I entertained the idea of watching Charlie whoop her skinny little ass.
“All those carbs. They’ll go straight to your—”
Nope. NOPE. I couldn’t do it. “I’ll have what she’s having, please, and add an extra side of twice-baked potato.” My voice left no argument. Charlie’s stiff shoulders relaxed with my words as a breath of tension whispered from between her lips. Her fist opened until her palm lay flat on the table.
Mariah sighed with a roll of her eyes and Mrs. McAllister’s mouth snapped shut… a welcome victory.
How often did she deal with this shit? Had this happened before in front of me and I just didn’t notice? Christ, my mother never would have treated me like that.
But what about my sister, Holly?
I’d never really paid attention, but now I had to wonder.
