Page 73 of The Bad Brother

You’re not leaving.

You belong here.

You belong to me.

My phone buzzes again. Not Jensen this time.

My mother.

Mom: Saundra Pierce told me you’re in the lobby, staring at your phone. What are you doing?

Shit.

Double, triple checking to make sure it’s Jensen I’m texting, I tap out a quick message.

Me: I really do have to go. My mom is waiting.

Adding an eye roll emoji, I hit send.

The Grilled Cheese Guy: Have a good time.

Even though it’s the perfect out, I suddenly find myself unwilling to end the conversation.

Me: Weird thing to say considering you know where I am.

The Grilled Cheese Guy: Order the bananas foster. Their table side flambé is always a good time.

Yup.

Jensen isdefinitelya creeker.

Me: Almost every person here was at my engagement party. They all know what Ethan did to me. I’m not sure table side flambé is going to make things better unless I knock the waiter’s cart over and start a fire.

I watch those bubbles dance again, for what feels like forever before his reply pops up.

The Grilled Cheese Guy: See you when you get home, Peach

My phone buzzes again while I’m reading his message.

Mom: Sloane! What on earth are you doing out there???

Shit.

Me: Sorry. Checking on a patient

Mom: Stalling isn’t going to make this any easier, Sloane. You may as well get it over with. The sooner you show your face, the sooner we can start the business of rectifying this whole embarrassing situation.

Embarrassing situation.

Being cheated on and robbed by the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with was just anembarrassing situation.One that’s my responsibility to fix.

Leave it to my mother to put things in perspective.

If not for the fact that my job is literally hinging on this lunch with my mother, I’d walk out the door, get in my car and never come back.

Me: I’m on my way.

Dropping my phone back into my purse, I square my shoulders and cross the lobby to the tuxedoed maître d who recognizes me with a murmured,it’s so nice to see you again,Ms. Merrick.Seconds later, I’m running the gauntlet that is the Clearwater Country Club—botoxed trophy wives, day drinking and gossiping over barely picked over salads, almost every one of them, stopping me to tell me how sorrythey are that things with Ethandidn’t work outand thatperhaps it’s for the best,needling me with their fake sympathy in hopes of watching me fall apart so they’ll have something juicy to spread.

---