MY OFFICE DOOR bursts open, startling me from reviewing the project of one of our teams for a significant ad for a top-notch company in the sports industry. Needless to say that I’m looking over every decision, every step to ensure that there won’t be a glitch in what could cost us a hefty price down the road if we can’t secure that new client.
I put down the file on my desk, on top of a dozen of others already reviewed. I blink and stare at my mother draped in her pure wool coat. With her perfect hair and make-up and her bright eyes, she indeed is a force to be reckoned with, more so now that she’s scowling at me, her red painted lips pursed in what I can only describe as a sneer.
I take a deep breath and smell the heady scent of Shalimar, the same perfume she’s always worn for as long I remember. I put down the highlighter pen I have in my hand and fake a smile. If there’s one thing I hate is when someone crashes my office while I’m knee deep in work. Moreover, having my mother stopping by unannounced doesn’t help the matter when it comes to my image, an image I try to keep of an independent woman who deserves her place here, not because she wears the name Cox, but because she is talented in her work.
“You never picked up the phone,’’ my mother says and sits in the chair in front of my desk. With her Louis Vuitton purse on her knees and her back straight, she is the perfectly made woman. Something I’m not and will never be. My parents gave me the same education they received, but somehow I’m not one to care about sitting correctly like a lady is expected to. As long as I am respected when having lunch or dinner with clients, I don’t pay much attention to the rest.
“I’m working, Mom. I can’t exactly pick up the phone to have a chat with my mother whenever I want.’’
She bristles at me, making me feel like a child all over again. Parents have the skill to do such a thing, even when you’re twenty-seven and been living on your own for years. “You’re almost the boss, Addeline. When I called Brock, he answered me.’’ She tilts her chin higher up in a defiant pose.
I tense and clear my throat. Suddenly, swallowing my spit is difficult. Keeping my composure too. It’s not that surprising, though. After what happened at Brock’s the other night, we’ve been attached at the hip and separated solely when we had to have lunch with our respective family. Now, it’s Monday, and whenever I would see Brock this morning, I blushed and thought about the marathon sex we had all weekend long. I will never mock him for working out so hard because not only did it sculpt his body to perfection, but it also provided him with one hell of stamina.
“It must be important if you’re here.’’
“Let’s have lunch. Brock is probably already waiting for us in the lobby.’’ She stands up before I can give her an answer as if it’s already a done deal.
I slap my hand on the messy desk and glare at her. Taken aback, she takes a step back. I clench my fingers on the edge of the desk, feeling the smooth surface of the lacquered wood on a few fingertips while the more rugged material of the sheets of paper bite in the others.
“I don’t have time to go out to have a nice lunch with my best friend and mother. I have work to do, and we’re pressed for time. If only you could have asked my assistant she’d have told you.’’
In true Lou Cox fashion, she walks closer to my desk, leans on her perfectly manicured hands and fixes me unwaveringly. She has her ‘don’t even discuss with me’ look on. “I just wanted to ask you something about the dinner next weekend, but since you didn’t answer your phone, I contacted Brock to see what was going on and he told me that you holed yourself up in your office to work on things that are already going smoothly. I decided to force you into a lunch break with your best friend since I know you’ll listen to him.’’ She glances at the mess on my otherwise always neat desk and humphs. “And apparently he was right. Now don’t talk up to me and have a small break.’’
“Because talking about that freaking dinner is a break? I don’t think we’re in the same world.’’
I stand up anyway and grab my purse left on the couch. I hike it up to my shoulder, drape my black coat on my arm and lead the way to the sets of elevators. Between me and my mother’s heels tapping on the floor, we sure attract the attention of the people milling around doing their job, or for some of them, faking it.
We don’t exchange a word during the descent toward the lobby, and the buzz of hushed conversations in the closed space is hitting on my nerves. I’m still glaring when we arrive in the lobby, but when I see Brock checking his phone near the pillars delimiting the front doors, my face eases up into a small smile coupled with a light flush.
At the sound of our shoes, he looks up and immediately stares at me, his golden eyes softening. My mother chuckles next to me, breaking the staring contest. I snap my head toward her and find her eyes dancing with amusement.
“What?’’
“Nothing, honey.’’ She adjusts her fancy purse on her forearm and then skips to Brock to give him a motherly hug before she steps out of my way.
For a split second, I don’t know what to do. Usually, I’d let him engulf me in one of his bear hugs, but now I’m hesitating. Granted, we’re trying to enjoy that sexual attraction we feel for the time being, but I’m afraid that even hugging him now would betray the new turn in our relationship to my mother’s prying eyes. She’s very attuned to people, and unfortunately, she’s not as blind as I’d like her to be sometimes.
But Brock answers my silent question for me. He closes the space between us and gives me his trademark hug, sniffing my neck in the process under the veil of my hair kept down today. I shiver and quickly break the embrace with a nervous laugh that coaxes out Brock’s chuckle coupled with a grin.
“Ready to go, ladies? I asked my assistant to book a table at Piccolo Sogno. I hope you’re in the mood for Italian.’’
“Sounds good, but I don’t have loads of time.’’ I glance at my phone’s screen and cringe when I see that I've already lost about twenty minutes of work.
“Damn it, Addy. The files won’t disappear from your desk. You can chill from time to time.’’ Brock shakes his head and leads us to the parking lot where his car is waiting for us.
“That’s a notion she never mastered.’’
I grumble and let them team up against me, pegging me with words such as workaholic, which I don’t mind. There are worse things to being called. I go to sit in the back, but Brock’s hand on my hip stops me. My eyes widen at the intimate gesture, and I glance at my mother who has a pensive look on her face, something I don’t like at all. Usually, it’s followed by her calculating look. I detangle myself from his big arm and run a shaky hand through my locks, making sure that no strands are out of place.
He clears his throat and glimpses at my mother with a funny look on his face, something like nerves etched there. When a crazy thought barrels in my mind—he looks cute right now—I tense up and step back, bumping into the big brown SUV parked next to Brock's sleek car.
“Hmm…Don’t you want to sit in the front? You’re usually ill in the back.’’ Then, he toys with his watch, his cheeks taking a pink tinge that I want to kiss all over.
I lick my lips, and his golden eyes fall on them. I push past him and open the door without saying a word, unsure if my voice would be loud enough to be heard. My mother climbs in the back and puts on her belt, a discreet laugh breaking out the silence in the car while my heart hammers in my chest. That was smooth.
Brock runs a hand over his unshaven cheeks and finally rounds his car to take the driver seat. There’s no doubt that our thoughts are similar.
We’re doing a poor job at keeping our situation a secret. And it’s only been a few days.
The drive to the restaurant is filled with idle chit-chat and other mundane subjects that help me relax. Being around Brock with other persons nearby is more nerve-wracking than I ever expected. I’m constantly scared one of us will slip and let on what is going on between us, whatever it is.
When we arrive and park, I escape the constricting car and breathe in deeply, letting the light breeze refresh me. I hike my purse on my shoulder, smooth my jacket still on my arm and walk alongside Brock and my mother to Piccolo Sogno.
This Italian restaurant isn’t the fanciest one I’ve ever gone to, but I love the traditional food they serve, and the room is elegant without overdoing it. There are no bright and flashy colors to supposedly give modern character. No, the walls are white with soft spots of light providing a warm atmosphere to the always crowded room. The white napkins and dark chairs around the tables scattered here and there has that traditional vibe you also find in the meals.
A tall woman approaches us with a professional smile while her eyes have a less than professional spark in them as she peruses Brock. I stiffen but bite my tongue before I say something. I’m not one to react usually. After all, I know how women tend to be around Brock. But for once Brock doesn’t even crack a smile, in fact, he’s looking blankly at her as he gives his name.
“Of course Mr. Lowe. Please, follow me to your table.’’ She turns around, grabs menus and sashays between the tables. Brock turns to me and ushers me on with a hand on the small of my back.
Too soon, the warmth of his palm disappears while he leads my mother after me, probably chatting about his parents with her as per usual. It’s quite funny considering how my mother probably has more often Brock’s mother over the phone than me.
My shoulders sag once I’m settled on the chair, my napkin on my knees and my hands already on the menu. Now that I’m seated and ready to order food, I realize how hungry I’ve been. I barely ate breakfast this morning, waking up later than usual.
“Sit straighter, sweetheart.’’ My mother doesn’t spare me a look as she analyzes the menu. With one thin finger, she points at a certain meal and mumbles to herself about gaining extra pounds if she orders it. I roll my eyes and sit straighter under Brock’s amused eyes. “Next time you chose a restaurant, Brock, please think about seafood. I’m not young like you two.’’
“Oh, please Lou, you’re a gorgeous woman, and you know it.’’ He winks at my mother who giggles demurely. I watch in horror and hold the menu higher to hide my disgusted face. Brock is hitting on my mother. I know it’s for the fun of it, but still.
“Hiding, Addy?’’ he whispers to me as my mother gestures for the waitress, a too skinny redhead girl who mustn't be out of college yet.
I close the menu and watch the ballet of three other waitresses taking orders and bringing hot food to the patrons. My stomach growls at the smell, but the buzz of the conversations around covers it up.
“Don’t start, Brock.’’ I smile at the waitress and order their Rosticciana. I can’t resist good beef short ribs cooked with aromatic vegetables. Just thinking about it has my mouth watering. Hopefully, it’s not a sign of pregnancy to be obsessed by food. I freeze suddenly and bunch my napkin over my knees.
“So kids,’’ my mother starts again once the waitress leaves with our orders in hand. “Do you have your formal attire sorted out?’’
The freaking dinner. I groan and share a bored look with Brock. “I’ve got a dress. Somewhere.’’
Brock chuckles and knocks my knee under the table with a smirk on his face. My mother tsks at me and shakes her head.
“Do you have a dress or is it your way of satisfying me and change the subject?’’
“I do have a dress. I bought it a few months ago when I was supposed to go to some other charity dinner, but I got a stomach bug.’’
“Supposedly,’’ Brock mutters under his breath, hiding it with a fake cough. I bite on the inside of my cheek to keep my laugh in. That stomach bug never existed. I had a few friends from college here in Chicago for one night, and Brock and I decided to use that weak excuse to go out and enjoy our evening with people our age in a club, dancing and drinking more than what we should have.
“I heard that, Brock.’’ My mother purses her lips, her bright eyes looking at us with disappointment. “It was a charity event for children.’’
“And we both sent a check the very next day, Mom. It’s not because we didn’t attend that dinner that we fully bailed on the charity. You know we don’t like that kind of stuffy event.’’
She gapes for a second before she recomposes herself. She sips her water and then dries her lips with her napkin, all the while looking very feminine and elegant. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.’’
“It’s alright, Lou, and as for your question about clothing, it’s not an issue for me. When you’re a man, it’s easier. We don’t need many different formal suits to trick people into thinking that we bought a special one for the occasion.’’
“Sometimes I regret being a woman,’’ I mumble as our meals are placed in front of us by the same redhead waitress who’s talented at handling several plates. I would never be able to do such a thing. I’d sooner dump everything on an unsuspecting victim’s knees. I’m much more efficient juggling contracts and difficult clients with impossible expectations.
Brock runs a hand over his scruff and contemplates my words as he details my face. “It’d be an issue, don’t you think?’’
My eyes bug out of their socket. I let my fork clatter in my plate as suddenly the smell of my meal makes me ill to my stomach. Under the table, I deftly hit his feet with my spiky high heel, earning me a protesting groan.
“I don’t know what is going on with you two, but I’m missing something.’’ My mother airily states as she starts munching on her meal made of tuna. I didn’t pay attention when she ordered.
“Nothing’s going on, Mom. Why would you think something would happen?’’ I stutter, my words tumbling out of my mouth. Under the table, Brock squeezes my knee tightly to shut me up.
My mother’s eyebrows shoot upward as she swallows her bite. “You’re acting strange today, Adeline. In fact,’’ she turns her gaze to Brock, “you too. If I didn’t know you two, I’d think you’re together, but you’ve never had any attraction toward each other. A shame really. Your mother and I have dreamed for years about you two getting together.’’
Brock’s hand on my knee flexes harder to squeeze any feeling out of my leg. If he keeps it up, I’ll end up with a bruise, but I don’t try to pry him off. I’m too stunned by her words. Instead, I clear my throat and force out an uneasy chuckle that scratches my throat and hurts my cheeks. With a few beats of delay, Brock unfreezes and chuckles too. We’re both uneasy and yet, after a few more seconds, we share a look and crack up at the stupidity of the situation.
“Fortunately I know you’ve been working or else I’d think that you’d experimented with weed like you did your junior year in high school.’’ She shakes her head and resumes eating, ignoring us while we’re still laughing while our meals are getting cold.
A few tears slip out of my eyes and I promptly dry them before I retake my fork and knife. Brock releases my knee after a gentle caress on the inside of it that leaves me reeling for more of his touch.
Even though we laughed at my mother’s words, we both know one thing; if our mothers found out about what is going on between us, they’d believe that it was more than just fantastic sex and would already envision our wedding and kids. They can’t know about our arrangement, or else we’d have hell to pay and embarrassment to face.