Chapter Seven

Jeremy

I slam my car door after getting in, rubbing my hand through my hair. I can’t believe how the last few hours unfolded after getting back from my work trip. I tilt my head against the headrest, hands gripping the steering wheel, and close my eyes as the events of earlier this evening replay in my mind.

“Welcome back, Mr. Bennett. How was Tucson?” my assistant, Cynthia asks as I enter my office.

“It went well, Cynthia. The way things are progressing, the spa should be ready by the fall.” I strut over to my desk, picking up the phone messages that have been left for me while I’ve been gone. I was in Phoenix checking on one of our spas for two days before heading to Tucson for the last five days to meet with contractors. Liam joined us the last two days. He headed straight home from the airport, but I needed to stop in the office to go over some details for my other hotels, in addition to making a few phone calls. Even though it’s after five in the evening, my assistant stayed after to catch me up on the happenings in the office over the last week.

“Thank you for staying late. I’m just going to catch up on some work and head out in a little bit. You don’t need to stay any later.”

When I don’t hear a response, I look up and see her normally unflappable demeanor has morphed into uncertainty. Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m not going to enjoy whatever she’s preparing to say. 

“Just spit it out, Cynthia,” I say in an impatient voice. I sit back in my chair, stretch my legs under my desk, and fold my arms across my chest.

“Well, as you see you have quite a few phone messages,” she states, nodding at the stack of message notes she’s left on my desk.

My eyes flick over to the stack of messages. “I see.”

“Most of those messages are from one person. A woman.”

At that, I raise my eyebrow. It isn’t the norm for women to leave messages for me at work, but it certainly isn’t unusual enough to have Cynthia as flustered as she is at the present moment. My mind wonders what woman it could be. I’ve cut off contact with most of my past lovers, seeing as how when I’m done with a woman, I’m done. The only woman I’ve had on my mind lately is LaTasha and I know she wouldn’t leave any messages on my work phone. Besides, we talked almost daily while I was away. If she needed to contact me regarding something urgent, she had plenty of chances to do so.

“Does this woman have a name?” I ask, growing impatient.

“Y-yes, but she’s also…” Cynthia drifts off.

“Cynthia, I’ve been gone a week and I only came in the office to check a few things before I leave. Please say whatever it is you need to say about this woman so we both can get on with our day.”

“Well, she says she’s your mother and she’s in town. She came in the office. She wouldn’t leave and insisted on seeing you when she knew you were coming back today.”

Everything after the words your mother goes right over my head. I can still see Cynthia’s lips moving, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what she’s saying. My mind is reeling. My mother...That can’t be.

“I…um…” I pause, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry. Did you say my mother?” I hate the fucking tone my voice has taken on, sounding like that scared ten-year-old kid, entering his first foster home. By now, my previously relaxed seated position has changed into a completely upright one. My back is ramrod straight, hands tightly gripping the edge of my desk. 

“Yes, s-sir…uh, Mr. Bennett.”

I barely notice Cynthia almost slipping and referring to me as sir. That’s against one of my office rules. No one employed here is allowed to call me sir—ever. I save that moniker for more private affairs. “What name did this woman give you?”

“She said her name was—”

“Marilyn Aries.” A woman’s voice sounds from behind Cynthia, finishing the statement.

It sends a chill down my spine. It’s been more than twenty years since I’ve heard that voice, but I already know who it belongs to. The last name is different, but the first name is the same. Cynthia steps aside, and for the first time since I was ten years old, I lay eyes on the woman who birthed me and left me.

I remain paralyzed; too caught up in a time warp to say anything. I simply stare at her, taking in the dark brown hair that has begun to grey at the roots, her thin five-foot-nine frame, and olive skin. Her complexion nearly mirrors mine. Lastly, we make eye contact. Looking into the dark brown irises of hers, I know this is indeed the same woman I had lived with for the first ten years of my life. The same cold look I always remember her giving me is staring back at me now, assessing me.

“I see you’ve done well with the business your father left you,” she says, haughtily as she steps around Cynthia to glide toward my desk. She looks around the huge corner office. No doubt, she’s taking in the modern décor and view of downtown Dallas that can be seen from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett, but she wouldn’t leave. I can have security—”

I hold up my hand to silence my nervous assistant. “You may leave for the evening, Cynthia. Thank you,” I say curtly, never taking my eyes off of Marilyn. I hear Cynthia’s movements as she reluctantly exits my office. A few seconds later, the outer office door closes.

“What the hell are you doing here, Marilyn?” I bark between gritted teeth, seething.

“Marilyn? What happened to Mother or at least Mama? You used to like to call me Mama when you were younger.”

I stare at her for a few more moments, barely able to believe this bit-woman’s audacity. “You told me not to refer to you as anything other than Marilyn, especially in front of your male suitors. Remember, Marilyn?” I say her name again, reminding her that there is no love lost between the two of us. “What do you want? I’m busy,” I assert, retaking my seat and picking up papers from my desk. I refuse to give her any more than minimal attention. 

“I see someone has learned to perfect the cold shoulder.” She sounds almost shocked at my reaction.

“I learned from the best,” I respond without looking up at her. Continuing to look at my files, I hear her take a seat in the chair facing my desk. Her movement causes her perfume to waft in the air around me. White Diamonds. The same scent I remember her wearing when I was a child.

“Don’t be like that, Jer-Jer.”

My face immediately scrunches up at the old, stupid-ass nickname she used to call me as a child. “Jeremy,” I correct her.

“Okay, Jeremy. Anyway, I see you are doing well these days.”

No thanks to you.

“What do you mean no thanks to me? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have any of this.” Her voice takes on a shrill tone.

I hadn’t even realized I said those words out loud, but I refuse to take them back. “If it wasn’t for you?” I repeat, making sure I wasn’t hearing things.

“Yes! I chose your father and if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have had the opportunities you had.”

“Lady, have you lost your goddamn mind?!” I can tolerate a lot of bullshit, but this damn woman coming in here and telling me I should be grateful to her is not one of them. “You dropped me off at social services when I was ten years old like I was a goddamn lump of coal. If I owe anything to anyone, it sure as shit ain’t you!” I drop the papers on my desk and point angrily at her.

“Jer—” She stops when she notices the expression on my face. “Jeremy, I didn’t come here to upset you. I just thought it would be…nice if we got to know each other as adults.”

I squint at her, letting her know I am not buying her bullshit. “After twenty-three years, you want us to get to know each other? You know when a mother and son usually get to know one another? When that mother is raising her son; when that son grows and matures into an adult and that mother has been there every step of the way. But that was not the case for you and me. I stopped wanting to get to know you the day you dropped me off with one suitcase and never looked back. You and I have nothing to discuss,” I say, curtly standing. “Now, you can go on back to whatever corner of the world you reside in, living off your fourth or fifth rich husband’s wealth. Then we both can pretend that this little reunion never happened.” I begin placing the papers on my desk back in their folders and gathering my belongings to leave.

Marilyn stands. “Jeremy, please. We need to talk.”

“I already told you we have nothing to—”

“I’m dying!” she declares loudly, cutting me off.

My whole body freezes up and I probably could’ve been knocked over by a feather. The logical part of my brain is telling me I shouldn’t give a fuck. This is the woman who abandoned me, but the part of me who is still that little ten-year-old kid, takes over. I turn back to my desk, sit down, and stare at Marilyn. “Talk.”