Chapter Eight
Meeting the Family
The “family home” was a large cream-colored mansion fronted by a green garden with white columns and bushes trimmed into perfect little globes. The path to the front door was made of white gravel—was it quartz?—so pristine she barely dared walk on it. The wooden door, twice the size of the entrance to her apartment complex, swung open as they walked towards it.
“Jordan!” A curly-hair woman in an apron beamed at him, a tea cloth clenched in her hands. Was this the wicked step-mother to be? She certainly didn’t look like it. Jordan stepped past Charlotte and hugged her. “Maria! How are you? How is your granddaughter?”
“She’s beautiful and a terror,” she said. “I made you some pastries. They are in the front room; your father will be down in a minute.”
“You are the best!” He turned. “This is my, um, friend, Charlotte. She’s staying for the weekend. Charlotte, this is Maria.”
Maria looked Charlotte up and down critically but clearly withheld judgement. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Hot Chocolate?”
Charlotte shook her head no and then dashed to catch up with Jordan who was already walking away. Was this their house-keeper? Jordan seemed pretty casual with her. Not how Charlotte imagined he would be at all. The woman clearly adored him.
“Jordan!” A woman called his name in a loud long squeak but all Charlotte could see was a blur of blonde hair and bright pink lip gloss as the woman launched herself at him. “You are here! We’ve been waiting for you!” She kissed both of Jordan’s cheeks three times with an extravagant mwah and then held his face as she looked at him. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Jordan stood ramrod straight, not returning her exuberance at all. The young woman didn’t seem to mind, though. She chattered happily at him for another minute or two, it felt like forever, before looking over his shoulder and acknowledging Charlotte’s presence. “Oh, and who is this then? Is this that new friend you told me about?” She pronounced the word as if it were an insect she’d found clinging to her long hair. “Darling! I don’t think Jordan mentioned your name.”
Charlotte forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Charlotte.”
“Oh yes, Charlie, that’s right!” There was no way she could have misunderstood. “Step up, darling, let’s take a look at you.”
Charlotte stepped forward and stretched out her hand to shake but the woman ignored it and stepped forward to give Charlotte two air-kisses somewhere in the region of her cheeks, the loud mwah sounding in her ears. “Well! Aren’t you a sweet little thing? Well, I guess not that little. What’s the word? Rubinesque. Come in, come in.” She whirled around and took Jordan’s arm, leading him into the next room.
Charlotte stood there for a moment, bug-eyed, before eventually stepping forward to join them.
The room was lit by candles in every corner with a wood-burning fire lit in the far corner. One dim center lamp balanced out the shadows. There was a long white and silver sofa and two matching chairs. To the side was one large leather arm chair with a man in an old-fashioned suit. He could only be Mr. George Lovett himself. He stood as Charlotte entered and crossed the room towards them.
“Well, Jordan, I’m glad you could make it to visit your old man, eventually.” George Lovett was a tall and broad-shouldered man whose posture belied his cloudy eyes and white tufts of hair. “And you must be Charlotte. Jordan hasn’t told me about you yet, young lady.” This was not a man who would surrender to old age gracefully. He walked slowly and carefully but with his head held high.
Charlotte couldn’t help but resent him for it as she thought about her own father, who walked like the world had beaten him down. At the same time, she couldn’t imagine her father being partners with Mr. Lovett. The man exuded power and a lack of patience, exactly the opposite of Owen Nichols.
She rubbed her tattoo self-consciously, aware she was out of her league with this man. He was watching her carefully, probably considering whether she was good enough for his son. She was grateful to Jordan for the new outfit, even though her hair was probably a mess after the open window in the sports car. She wiped her hands on her skirt and stuck one out. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Lovett.” She felt pretty sure he wasn’t going to do the air-kiss thing.
He nodded without taking her hand and turned to Jordan. She put her hand down again. It could have gone better but presumably she wasn’t going to be thrown out on the spot. “Jordan, I hear troubling things from the office. I have been wanting to speak to you.”
“Give me a chance, George.” Jordan’s voice sounded tight and when she turned to look at him, she saw his jaw was clenched. Not looking forward to catching up with his dearest father, apparently? “I’ve just walked in the door. Come on, Charlotte, let’s get the bags.”
She responded in a bright and chipper voice. “Ok, honey!” She meant to make him laugh but instead he just threw her a dirty look and stormed into the hallway.
She half ran to keep up with him, petrified she was going to stumble in her high heels. Why had she thought this was a good idea? It was going to be a very long weekend.