Page 21 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“Not who you think.” I can tell he’s still edgy about Brad. “It’smuchworse.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” he says drily.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer, shooting him a look.
“Darling!” As usual, my mother’s cut-glass accent is trilling into the receiver like it’s a 1920s candlestick phone, and Jake can hear every word. “Have you given up that ridiculous job yet, Charlotte? You know we can always increase your allowance.”
“Iwantto work, Mom,” I say through gritted teeth. If Jake thinks I’m a trust fund rebel, I’ll never hear the end of it. “I told you this already.”
“Well, don’t make a habit of it.” There’s a pause. “I can hear you very clearly. I didn’t realize they had such good reception in the middle of the desert these days.”
Jake’s trying hard not to smirk. He shouldn’t do that. He’s far too attractive when he’s not being miserable. “Funny you should mention that, Mom. I’m actually in Los Angeles—”
My mother lets out a blood-curdling scream. “Oh, Charlotte, you mustn’t tease! But that’s whereweare! David and I have flown in to attend a charity function tonight. It’s for disadvantaged kiddies affected by gun crime, or something horribly macabre like that. I’m sure David can arrange an invite for you.”
I go very still. Surely, evenshemust have clocked the irony of inviting me to such an event? But no, apparently not. She’s brushed over it, just as she’s brushed over every other unpleasant detail of my childhood.
“Well?” she prompts briskly. “Shall I tell David to get his checkbook out or not?”
Not.
I’d scream the word if I thought it would make a difference, but I know how this goes. She’s going to wear me down with her sugarcoated petulance until I accept my stepfather’s money. I know it’s only her guilt talking—guilt that she wasn’t around when I needed her the most.
Hastily, I turn my attentions back to tonight. An evening with a load of rich toffs? Sounds like hell.
Hell. Hell. Hell.
“Not this time, Mom. I’m pretty jet-lagged.” I yawn loudly for effect. “We only flew in this morn—”
“I don’t believe a word of it.” My mother’s used to me fobbing her off, but she’s not taking no for an answer this time. “I’ll send a courier over with something suitable to wear. David took me to Rodeo and I picked up a few gowns that need taking in. They’d be perfect for you.”
My fingertips clench around my cell phone. My mother is fluent in French, Spanish, and the backhanded compliment.
“Perhaps you could put your hair up too, darling?”
There’s another unspoken caveat in that sentence:if you wear your hair down, you’ll look like shit.
“But this is crazy. I don’t even have a date!”
Before I can stop him, Jake is pulling over and seizing my phone. “Good evening, Mrs. Winters. This is Jake Dalton speaking,” he says smoothly, sounding like an expensive education and serious money all rolled into one. “Forgive me for the intrusion, but I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m scheduled to attend the same event tonight, and I’d be more than happy to accompany Charlotte.”
My jaw hits the floor. “You are? You would?”
Jake silences me with a blistering look. Flustered, I drop the folder of paperwork I’m holding and it scatters all over the footwell. There’s silence on the other end of the line, too. I’m pretty sure my mother’s had a heart attack.
“Mr. Dalton, that would be simplywonderful,” she squeaks eventually.
Jolted back to life by the thought of a rich man on her daughter’s arm at last.
Well, at least she’s happy. I’m not. Far from it. I may be breaking his rules—whatever that means—but Jake is switching up the game on me, too. No doubt he has an agenda here. He always has an agenda. I’ve only known him for a week, but it’s clear to see that his every move is a carefully calculated affair. His phenomenal success is down to equal parts blazing talent and mindfuckery.
He and my mother are now busy discussing protocol for tonight. I’m tempted to shop him to the cops for driving under the influence of a social-climbing narcissist. He hangs up and passes the phone back to me. The triumphant look on his face is the final straw. This one-upmanship between us is getting ridiculous.
“There’s no way in hell I’m going to that event with you,” I say, shaking my head at him.
“You will if you want to keep your job.”
Even his bloody voice is smirking at me.
