Page 29 of The CEO I Hate

I snorted. “Little sister by proxy, actually. Liam has been best friends with my brother since they were in high school. I’ve known the Lockharts for as long as I can remember.”

“What?” Tanya said, leaning so far forward in her chair that the legs almost slipped out from under her.

Jerome made a little exploding sound, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Mind completely blown.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even as I tensed up in fear of their reaction. Would they give me the stink eye over the job thing, believing I’d only been hired because of my connections?

To my surprise, Jerome grabbed my hand instead.

“You’re saying you’ve had front-row seats to the Lockhart show for years?” He pretended to swoon.

That got a smile out of me. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” Jerome’s voice rose an octave. “Mia! I’d let Finn Lockhart do unspeakable things to me.”

“According to the tabloids, you’ll have to wait in line,” Kait cut in. “He’s already busy doing unspeakable things with other people.”

“Don’t step on my fantasy,” Jerome said, touching his chest. “We all like a bad boy. Don’t even try to deny it, Kait. I know it turns you on that your fiancé drives a motorcycle.”

Tanya latched onto my arm suddenly. “Please tell me you have pictures of Liam from back then! Like awkward teenage Liam. Braces. Bad hair. Acne. All of it.”

I blinked at her for a minute, caught off guard by the sheer excitement in her voice. “Actually…” I dragged out the word, a slow grin spreading across my face. “I think Jake’s yearbooks are still at my parents’ house. I can take a look when I see them tonight.”

“Hell yes!” Jerome said. “This is the content we deserve.”

“Just out of curiosity, on a scale of one to scorching,” Tanya said, “how hot was Liam back then?”

I let out a little laugh as I realized I actually didn’t know the answer. I’d had a crush on Liam for about as long as I’d had hormones, but I was all of eight years old when he graduated high school. It never crossed my mind to notice his “hotness” back then.

“He definitely still had the same resting grouch face,” I said, keeping things light.

“I’d like a solid piece of that resting grouch face,” Jerome muttered.

Kait snorted. “You said that about Finn.”

“Yeah, so what? I’m not picky.”

That sent the table into a fit of giggles, and the tension in my chest eased. In a surprising turn of events, I was sort of looking forward to the trip down memory lane tonight. If nothing else, it would be a good distraction from my parents’ constant disapproval.

10

MIA

“I’m here,” I called as I walked through the front door of my parents’ place. The short drive up to Valley Village was always picturesque with the tree-lined streets. The neighborhood reminded me of the nineteen fifties with its manicured parks and block parties where everyone brought different variations of potato salad.

We hadn’t grown up here, but my parents had moved into one of the ranch-style houses when I was twenty-one, and they’d spent the last seven years adapting to the overly cheery neighbors and perfectly trimmed hedges. Everyone had some sort of welcome sign on their porch, now including my parents. They didn’t know it yet, but it was obvious to me that they’d joined a cult. The HOA kind of cult.

I kicked my shoes off in the foyer, leaving them perfectly aligned on the mat so my mother wouldn’t get on my case about that. As I bent down, I spotted a pair of shoes I didn’t recognize. They were far too big to be my father’s. Plus, he’d never worn a penny loafer in his life.

My face fell. Yeah, I’d suspected a setup, but it was still disappointing to be proven right. “Crap,” I muttered under my breath.

“There you are,” my mother said, bustling down the hall like she was on a specific mission: marry me off before the wine cooled. Her hair was pinned back, and she wore a frilly apron over her blouse and skirt. Worst of all, she was wearing blush. I grimaced. She only did that when we had company. “What took you so long?” she demanded.

“Me? You said about six. It’s seven minutes past.”

“You’re only a five-minute drive,” my mother complained. “Is it really that hard to be on time?” She took me by the arm, practically dragging me down the hall. My feet stuck on the hardwood floor—their own quiet resistance.

“Thereisthis thing called traffic,” I pointed out as we drew toward the dining room.

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