“Hi, Mom,” Oliver says.
“Hello, Mom.”
Oliver and I get to our feet. She hugs my brother before making her way to me. She wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheek.
“Oops, I left a lipstick mark,” she says, wiping the side of my face with her hand. “What are my boys doing today?”
“Going over this Landry project,” Oliver says.
“Still?” Mom turns around to face him. “Want me to take his mother out for lunch? I just love Vivian Landry.”
I laugh. “No, Mother, we don’t need you to take Vivian Landry out to lunch on our behalf.”
“And why not?” She puts a hand on her hip. “You do know who holds the power, right?”
Oliver chuckles. I fire him a warning glare.
If he segues this conversation into something about Blaire …
“Holt has been demonstrating that point lately,” Oliver cracks.
“Ollie, I’m gonna kill ya.”
All he does is laugh.
My eyes flip to my mother. A knowing look is painted on her face.
“I actually have a lot of work to do today, you two. So if you don’t mind …” I say, sitting back down in my chair.
Mom scoffs. “Don’t think you’re going to throw me out of your office because your brother is irritating you.” She looks at Oliver. “Stop annoying Holt. Be nice.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Oliver says, trying his best to hide his smile. “I forget he’s sensitive now.”
“Oliver …” I warn.
“It’s not a bad thing to be sensitive, sweetie,” Mom says. “You don’t have to be hard as nails all the time.”
Oliver watches me over Mom’s shoulder and taunts me. I can see the words sitting on his lips and the joy he’d get out of projecting them into the world.
And to my mother’s ears.
Please don’t.
“Also,” Mom says, spinning around to face Oliver, “I know what you’re insinuating. I heard all about Blaire.”
My jaw drops to the floor just as Oliver’s brows rise to the ceiling.
The clicks of Mom’s heels clamor through my office as I try to figure out what this means. She stops next to my brother and faces me.
“Boone told me,” she says proudly.
“What the fuck?”
She gives me a look. “He and Larissa were talking about it at dinner last night. I gave them a bottle of wine, and the next thing I know, they’re telling me all about her.”
I rub a hand down my face and wonder how this happened. Why it happened. Why my family thinks my life is fair game.
Because it’s not.
