Page 87 of You Saw the Best In Me

I want to tell the truth on my own terms.

I hear her quizzing him on his life story and asking why he’s decided to protect me from Asher. I shake my head, already frustrated with her.

These conversations could’ve waited until they’ve known each other for more than five fucking minutes.

“I don’t make cocktails, Mom. But how’s about a tequila shot?” I ask, passing the shot glasses around with slices of lime.

“That’s my girl. Been sneaking the stuff out of my liquor cabinet since you were fourteen,” she laughs, holding the glass up for a toast, and I roll my eyes.

This was a terrible idea.

Over the phone, my mom is an angel sent from above. In person, her real personality comes out, and the reminders of why we had mother-daughter issues in the first place are ever-present.

“Mom, let’s reign in the attitude, okay?” I warn, and she laughs at me.

“Oh, Karrie. Such a party pooper. Is that what you’re wearing to dinner?” she scrunches her nose at me, and I put my hands up to defend myself.

“Yes, mom. I’m not going to a fucking charity dinner. It’s a goddamn Mexican restaurant in a small ass town,” I say, practically on the verge of tears.

It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and she immediately goes for the jugular. She acts like we’re dressing to impress the press every time we step out, but I guarantee her new husband’s hounds didn’t follow her out here.

My mother, Katherine, sees dollar signs and power before anything else.

It stemmed from watching her father be the most powerful man in any room he walked into and cascaded into my father.

Wherever he is now, he used to be a big fish in the stock markets, always dressed in suits and flashing his money to anyone looking his way.

My mom is a trophy wife. A prop on the arm of a man and nothing more.

The cycle continues: her new husband is an aspiring politician, and she’s never been happier. Playing the part of a doting wife and mother, even though she’s the complete opposite.

“Fine. If you don’t care about your appearance,” she waves me off and turns her attention back to questioning Maverick.

I’m wearing jeans and a sweater, modestly covered but stylish enough for an evening out. She’s just a fucking snob, and I wish I never invited her here.

“I’m sorry, I hate to cut you off, Katherine, but we should get back across the hall and check on April,” he says, and my heart melts.

“He’s right, mom. The cat will lose her mind if she doesn’t have her dinner at the right time,” I chime in, excusing us of her horrid attitude.

“What’s an April?” she asks, fixing her appearance in her compact.

“My fucking cat, Mom,” I grit my teeth, ready to attack, but Maverick holds my arm and guides me toward the door.

“Dinner in a half hour, Katherine?” he asks, and she nods from across the room, not bothering to look up from her reflection.

Once he closes the door behind us, I can finally breathe again and want to escape the situation I put us in.

“I’m so sorry, Angel. She’s a piece of work,” I apologize, feeling horrible for dragging him into her universe.

“It’s okay, baby girl. Nothing we can’t handle. It’s only two days, right?” he elbows me in the ribs, and I want to scream into a pillow so loud my voice breaks.

“Two days, too many,” I say, grabbing the bottle of tequila from the kitchen cabinet.

I spend too much time in his apartment because this bottle is fresh, barely opened, and the one in my place is god knows how old.

I pour myself a drink, knocking it back in record time.

We don’t have to feed April — that fat cat eats all day, but he came up with that excuse to bargain for my freedom.