Page 93 of Never Been Matched
We grab our trash on the way out, and he follows me back to the projector room, where I shut the reel off.
We move slowly, like neither of us wants the night to end. Spencer helps me dress, warm hands smoothing down the skirt, gentle fingers tugging the shirt over my head.
“It’s a shame to cover all this up.”
“Jerry would arrest me, for sure.”
“I wouldn’t let him.”
I grab my overnight bag, and we turn off the lights.
Outside, a black SUV with tinted windows idles at the curb.
I frown at the car. Who is that? “Do you know who that is?” Did Audrey or Daphne get us a ride? That would be weird, since Spencer’s is literally three blocks away.
But the door opens, and my mother steps out. My heart drops into my toes.
Shit.
Chapter Twenty-One
Spencer
* * *
Vivien clenches my arm. “No.”
The woman who steps out of the black SUV is like an older version of Vivien. Same blond hair, except it’s cut into a sleek shoulder-length bob, and the same blue eyes, but her eyes aren’t warm like Vivien’s. They’re assessing. She’s impeccably dressed in a black and white pant suit, not a single detail out of place. Even from ten feet away, the resemblance is stunning.
“Vivien.” She looks her up and down. “I’ve been looking all over town for you. You’re difficult to reach.”
Vivien shifts next to me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my daughters. Why else would I be here?”
“Don’t feed me your bullshit. What are you actually doing here?”
Her mom steps closer. “Taking care of you, like always. I want our attorney to look over the details of my mother’s will.”
Vivien huffs. “She wasn’t your mother.”
She waves a hand. “Stepmother.”
“There’s no need?—”
“Of course there’s a need.” Her voice is as sharp as a blade. “Who are you?” She checks me over, not in an interested way, in an assessing way. Like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“Spencer Montgomery. Ms. Hart’s attorney.”
Her eyes move between Vivien and me. Then she shakes her head. “This is exactly the problem and why I am here to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
She lifts a hand toward us, palm up. “You’re sleeping with your attorney; clearly, you do.”
“If you have concerns about the will,” I say evenly, “the appropriate course would be to schedule a formal review.”
Her mother turns to me again, studying me more carefully this time. “And you’re confident everything is being handled properly?”
