Page 65 of Boss of Me
“Two weeks can feel like a lifetime at my age. Not that I’m old, mind you.”
“I wouldn’t dare suggest otherwise,” Gunner drawls.
His mother makes a tittering sound and picks up her teacup. With her perfectly coiffed blond hair and big blue eyes, she looks like a former Southern beauty queen straight out of centralcasting. Her immaculate designer outfit makes me feel slovenly in the T-shirt and jeans that I threw on.
I’m tempted to run back upstairs to change my clothes. Before I can move, Gunner’s mother suddenly glances across the room and sees me. She looks surprised, then suspicious.
“Why, darling,” she says to Gunner, “I didn’t know you had company.”
Heat warms my face as Gunner rises from the couch and beckons me forward. I hesitate, wiping damp palms on my jeans before entering the room.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet Marlowe Somerset, my new housekeeper. Marlowe, this is my mother, Tabitha Billingsley.”
I force myself to relax and smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
She gives me a slow, critical perusal and says to Gunner, “You didn’t tell me you hired a new maid. What happened to the last one? Sara—no, Brynn. Where’d she go?”
“It didn’t work out,” he says tersely.
“What a shame. Good help is so hard to find.” His mother taps her fingernails against her teacup as she stares me down. “How old are you?”
I glance at Gunner before answering, “Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” She raises an eyebrow at Gunner. “They’re getting younger and younger, aren’t they?”
A muscle tightens in his jaw. There’s an undercurrent of tension between mother and son. I don’t know the source of it, but it’s palpable enough to make me uncomfortable.
Ms. Billingsley returns her attention to me. “So what’s your story, Cinderella?”
“Don’t call her that,” Gunner growls. “Her name is Marlowe. Address her with respect or don’t address her at all.”
His mother seems taken aback by the rebuke. She looks from me to Gunner, her eyes hardening with comprehension.
“Sleeping with the help, darling?” she jeers, lip curled scornfully. “Like father, like son.”
Gunner’s jaw clenches and he flicks a glance at me. I can’t read the emotion in his eyes. Anger? Guilt? Shame?
I paste on a polite smile, cheeks burning with humiliation. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Billingsley. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
She smirks as I turn and walk out of the room.
Gunner comes after me. “Marlowe, wait.”
I walk faster. Just before I reach the staircase, he grabs my wrist and pulls me around to face him.
I heave a trembling breath. “Let me g?—”
He takes my face in his hands. “I’m sorry about my mother. She had no right to speak to you that way.”
“It’s fine,” I say bitterly. “Iamjust the help.”
His expression turns thunderous. “You’re not the help.”
I snort. “I’m literally?—”
“YOU’RE NOT THE FUCKING HELP!”
Startled by his angry outburst, I clamp my lips together and cross my arms under my breasts. My heart is thumping furiously and my legs are shaking. Worse, my eyes are stinging with tears.
