I balk, reeling with disbelief. "You'rewhat?"
"Well, since you refuse to leave your little island, it appears this is the only option," she replies, matter of fact. "Plus, we'd very much like to meet this man who's been keeping you so busy these days that you have no time for your parents."
"But…" My mother? In Manhattan? Visiting? Not just visiting, but staying with me?! No. They can't. They?—
"Oh, and I assumespacewon't be an issue," my mother continues, oblivious to my distress. "My friend Sue-Ellen mentioned that she saw you stepping out ofa lovely brownstone on the Upper East Side last week,keys in hand."
My heart lurches in my chest, blood draining from my face. Damn it. She’s clever. I was definitely going to use space as an excuse as to why I couldn’t host them. But now? They can’t stay in the brownstone. I live there. With Quin. And Damon. And… Oh fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"When were you going to tell us you moved?" she asks with thinly veiled disappointment. “Well?”
A lump forms in my throat as I struggle to find the right response. "I?—"
My mother sighs. “Emery, if you moved in with a man, you can tell me. You’re an adult. I’m not going to judge your premarital choices.”
Two, mom. I moved in withtwomen. Both of whom fuck me raw on a daily basis. Oh, and we have a cabinet in our bedroom solely dedicated to toys and whips and oils.
I swallow. “Well…”
“Oh, Emery.” She clicks her tongue. “Will you relax? I’ve never told you this before, but your father and I had our fair share of unorthodox dalliances prior to our wedding. I’m not as much of a prude as you think I am.”
My eyes widen. I’m ninety-nine percent confident that when she says dalliances, she’s talking about kissing and holding hands. Nothing near as sinful as my day-to-day adventures.
“Now’s not really a good time,” I squeak out. “Work’s really busy and?—”
“We’re coming, Emery,” she states, no room for negotiation. “Send me your address by the end of the day.” She pauses. “We can’t wait to meet this mystery man of yours.”
I hang up the phone and plop down into my chair, my forehead dropping down on my desk. I groan, attempting to process what in the fuck just happened. What am I going to do? What am I going to say?
They can't both be there. I can't kick Damon out of his own home. I can't kick out Quin. My mother will snoop. She'll find the different dress shirt sizes. She'll notice the different styles. She'll see that there are twice as many male grooming products in our bathroom. Oh God, and the bed. She'll definitely notice the custom-made extra-large bed.
The sound of a laugh filters through my ears, followed by, "Should I be concerned?" I prop my head up, blinking at the fuzzy silhouette of Amir standing in my doorframe. He lifts a brow. "You don’t look so hot, Miss Jones."
"Go away," I whine, forgetting to filter my language. "I'm not in the mood right now."
Amir refuses to be shooed away, stepping inside my office and slightly closing the door behind him. "Is that any way to speak to your boss, Miss Jones? 'Go away?'"
"I will throw a stapler at your head if you don't leave.”
Amir blinks, unperturbed, and plops down in the armchair across from me. "Andworkplace violence? Yikes. I would say that's almost grounds for termination."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing away the headache threatening to split my skull in two. "What do you want, Mr. Hadid?"
"I was coming over here to check on the status of that report.” He gives me a loaded smirk. "But it appears we have more important things to discuss."
I glare at him, lips pursed in frustration, but the genuine curiosity in Amir's expression forces me to bite back an insult. He knows. He knows that I’m dating both Quin and Damon. Dating? Are we even dating? It seems like such a cheap word to describe the richness of our relationship.
Amir cocks his head, studying me intently. "Go on, Miss Jones. What ails you?”
Fuck it. There’s no way I can come up with a solution myself. Maybe he’ll have some sage advice. Or insights. Or maybe I’ll drop dead here and now from embarrassment and avoid this whole catastrophe altogether.
“My parents just informed me that they’re coming to visit,” I begin, temples throbbing. “They want to stay at my house and…and meet my…boyfriend.”
Amir's eyes widen in mock surprise, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Your boyfriend, huh? As in...singular?"
I glower at him. "Yes, singular."
