Page 48 of Her Billionaire Boyfriend

Well, notallof my attention. Iwould need to spendsometime on sex.

My phone vibrated, and I almost cursed outloud. But I was home now, back in my normal life. I couldn’t livelike Charlotte and I were still at Ascend Red. My sister’s name andphoto came up on the screen.

“Fuck.” I shook my head. “I have to takethis. You stay right here. Have something to eat. But don’t getup.”

I hit the button on the vibrator’s remoteand walked away, grinning at Charlotte’s outraged gasp as I slid mythumb across the phone screen.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Catherine. Always a joy to hear from you.”I closed the sliding door that separated the dining room from thebutler’s pantry.

My sister barely paused while I spoke.“Mother has been trying to get ahold of you—”

“She knew where I was,” I argued, but I didfeel a pang of guilt. I’d told her I was going to my resort—anudistresort, as Mom understood it—but I hadn’t told herfor how long.

“You’ve been off in the islands for over amonth!” Catherine—never “Cate” or “Cat” or, god forbid,“Caty”—scolded. “She’s been worried sick!”

“So, you’re calling me because she’s in thehospital, then?” The moment the words left my mouth, I knew Ishouldn’t have said them. What if Momhadbeen in thehospital? What if something terrible had happened to her, and Istarted out the conversation with hostility and sarcasm, the way Ihad when Catherine had called me about Dad.

“Obviously not.” Catherine’s voice drippedwith condescension. “I’m calling to remind you about herbirthday.”

I wished she could see my exasperatedexpression through the phone. “I know when her birthday is.”

“Hersixtiethbirthday,” Catherineprompted.

Ah, fuck.I knew when my mother’sbirthday was. I had forgotten about the fuck-off enormous partyhappening.

The party that was happening this weekend,smack in the middle of my seven days with Charlotte.

My brain raced for some reason to skip outon the whole thing. Weekends in the country were only fun forsociety baby boomers who enjoyed snorefest garden parties andshowing off their wealth. My mother happened to adore snorefestgarden parties and showing off her wealth.

“We’re doing the family party on Fridaynight,” Catherine went on, as if I must have completely forgottenevery single detail. “The children and I will be arriving in theafternoon. Jackson will be joining us on Saturday morning. He’ll beworking late on Friday.”

Her flat tone made it clear that she didn’tbuy her husband’s story and didn’t expect me to, either. ButCatherine had chosen her shitty husband the same way our mother hadchosen hers: size of teeth and bank account.

“What time can we expect you?” sheasked.

A loud shout of “Fuck!” came from the diningroom.

“Oh my god,” Catherine said, fullydisgusted. “You’ve got someone with you.”

“Cleaning lady stubbed her toe.” I moved tothe other end of the pantry. “But I will be bringing aplus-one.”

“You didn’t RSVP a plus-one,” she remindedme.

“You’re right, I didn’t. And I’m bringingone, anyway, because it’s my fucking childhood home too.” I knew itrankled my sister to be reminded that she wasn’t an only child.“We’ll drive up on Friday.”

“Please, not another of yourone-night-stands-turned-brief-engagements,” Catherine huffed.

“We’re not engaged. Yet.” I covered thephone speaker with my thumb as Charlotte wailed a long moan in thedining room, then continued when it was safe. “Mind your ownbusiness. Worry about your husband’s plus-one for Fridaynight.”

“Charming as ever,” my sister seethed, andhung up the phone.

Damnit. This thing with my mother’s birthdaywas certainly going to throw a huge wrench into my seven days withCharlotte. Once she met my sister, she probably would never speakto me again.

I turned my phone on do not disturb mode andmade a mental note to call my mom later. At a time when mygirlfriend wasn’t orgasming nonstop at the breakfast table.

“That was fast,” I said cheerfully as Istrolled out to find Charlotte, her hands braced on the table,wearing an adorably murderous look.

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