CHAPTER 12
Emma
Mom and Mia were so excited to hear about my day. I explained about the penthouse, the views, and the lavish furnishings. Mom’s only interest was in the kitchen, which was her favorite room of the house. I smiled at the memories of her baking when I was a child. I questioned why Elizabeth had never told her about the penthouse. She simply replied, “You know your sister’s view on work. Once she´s out of there, the last thing she wants to do is talk about the same place. One thing I do know is Mason Johnson is hot.”
“What?” I asked. I straightened my back on the kitchen stool where I’d been sitting, slumped. Had she said what I thought she’d said? I looked at her round face to try and figure it out.
“Mason Johnson. I remembered when Elizabeth first started working there. She said she thought all billionaires were supposed to be fat and ugly, so why did hers have to be the best-looking man in the world?” Mom chuckled as she recalled my sister’s exact words. So, Elizabeth did think Mason was attractive. I would have to learn her ways on how she separated the two, if I were to be successful at my new job.
Mia finally managed to get onto the stool next to me. “What´s up, Mommy?” she asked while she swept her bangs from her eyes. I’d have to take her to the stylist. Her hair grew too fast, always needing a cut. She’d inherited her thick locks from her father. At least he’d passed on one good quality to her.
“Nothing,” I replied as I gently removed the strands of hair from her eyes. I smiled as I glanced over at her. She really was a beautiful little girl, with large brown eyes and matching ringlets of curls in her hair. I already knew that her looks would get me into trouble when she got older, especially if her legs kept getting longer. I was so protective over her now. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if boys started to show up at our doorstep. I looked back down at her long legs. She definitely took after me in that department, but she could end up being even taller than my five-nine frame. Maybe as big as her grandma, who was nearly five eleven without heels.
“Meatloaf or lasagna?” Mom asked as she moved around the kitchen. I had thought she was looking for a dish to cook in, not debating what to cook. That was strange. Mom usually never thought about what she was cooking—she just did it.
* * *
I set the table like I usually did when we were all home for a meal together. When I finished, I looked over at the plates and realized that there were more settings that people. I turned my head to the side in thought. Sometimes, a cousin or one of Mom´s sisters passed by on a Sunday afternoon for brunch. So, the extra space was for them, but that never happened on a Monday night. Mom and guests on a Monday night?
Now, that was weird, but she had specifically asked me to lay out an extra seat. When I asked why, she’d just said, “You´ll see.” What did it have to do with me? It wasn’t like I had any friends left after Will died. Damn, thinking about it did my head in. How could one person cause me so much pain—even when they were dead? Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Mom must have found herself a boyfriend. That was when I took notice of the house, which was normally dotted with the regular wear-and-tear damage you could find in any house—a tear here and there, a chipped plate, an old glass. Mom had replaced the old, tired cushions with the gold embroidered ones, which only came out when guests visited. Even the accent rugs had been replaced.
Yes, the house had been transformed without my noticing. She must have accomplished this while I was at the Johnson penthouse. After talking with Mom about Mason Johnson, I explained to Mia about how our life was about to change. I didn´t think she fully understood what was happening. Her main concern was if she could still come and visit Grandma.
Suddenly Mom rushed out of her bedroom. She was wearing full make-up, and her hair was arranged in nice, long curls, like she had just stepped out of the stylist’s chair. Her dress tightly fitted over her curves, which were pretty nice for someone her age. My mom looked good, all right. I smiled when I realized my soft curves came directly from her.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she screened me from head to toe. “You can´t eat looking like that. You have fifteen minutes. Go shower, change, and do something with your hair apart from putting it in a bun with the loose strand at the front. You have beautiful, long, flowing hair. Flaunt it for a change.” She shoved me into my room before I even got a chance to reply. Then she took Mia´s hand and led her back into her own bedroom.
By the time I had showered and dressed in my braided cream dress, the doorbell rang. I styled my beautiful, straight auburn hair and gave it a quick brush before answering the door. I nearly tripped over my heels, cussing again as I thought, what does it matter what I wear, she´s the one who has a man coming over? But when I opened the door, I realized I was wrong on both counts.