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After all, his mother isn’t the one who’s making this whole decision on whether to believe Hudson, and how did it get to be so big and complicated with everything riding on one small little job I took for money?
I follow the waiter into a darker, quieter corner of the restaurant, and she’s there, looking at me, and it’s like someone grabs my heart and squeezes.
She looks like Hudson in that moment. Well, I know, she’s his mother, but it’s not that resemblance, it’s something in her expression.
Martini.
That’s what it is.
And everything tumbles over me. My stomach lurches and I want to go throw up. Because I think I know why I’m such a mess around Hudson recently. Why I’m so angry and yet his touch can melt everything. It’s him. I like him.
I like him a lot.
Oh. Fuck. I might be in love with him.
I’m in freefall at that, and from somewhere I hear a voice.
“Scarlett?”
I almost stumble into the seat the waiter is holding for me. It’s either that or run. I sort of fall into a heap in the chair and I can’t find my smile. “That’s me, Mrs—” I stop.
I’ve forgotten her name. Does she go by her first, which I can’t for the life of me remember, or by Sinclair or by something else?
She sits, a study in pure smooth martini with bite, and she’s probably a pink gin martini with a perfect cocktail onion.
Why the hell am I on about martinis again?
“I forgot your name.” The words blurt from me. “I was going to say Mrs. Sinclair, but then I couldn’t remember—”
She smiles, places one smooth, cool hand on mine. “Call me Faye.” Her hand lifts and returns to her lap. “So, you and Hudson?”
“Yes. It’s weird.”
Did I just say that out loud?
“Weird?”
I did. “I mean, him, me, but you know what they say!” The waiter is back and I look at him. “Martini. Up. Vodka. Six olives.”
They’re on my brain. I might as well embrace them.
A delicate eyebrow raises and Faye says, “I was concerned since you’re working for him.”
“I’m not planning to forever.”
“Once you’re married I imagine you’d like to get more involved in charity?”
“God no.” I’m horrified. I had meant to just murmur nice things and keep it all sweet and bland.
“Really? Your own business?” She pauses. “You said something about computers when we first met.”
I need to veer her into safer pastures like the weather or Fashion Week or Vogue or something. “Artificial intelligence. That’s my passion, in regards to a career.”
“And Hudson is fine with it?”
“Hudson.” My hands fist and all common sense flies out the window. “Can jump in a lake if he thinks women should stay at home or do lady jobs. I don’t even know what a lady job is. Although, even though I’m mad at him, he’s not really the type to tell a woman what to do for a living.”
“He’s rich. You don’t have to do anything for a living.”
