Page 18 of Sinful Blaze

“How can I wear them when they’re on his fiancée’s ears?” I stab my salad viciously with my fork. “Or did you forget that, too?”

Mother rolls into another one of her prepared speeches about a woman’s duty to “keep her man interested” and how I’m disgracing the family by not throwing myself at his feet and begging me to take him back.

To be honest? I don’t think he would.

Not now, anyway.

Things have changed.

I nudge the leather bag at my feet just to reassure myself it’s still there. In my worst nightmares, I drop the bag and what’s inside goes skittering across the floor to land at the feet of the last person I want to know about my not-so-little secret.

Who that person is, I’m still not sure.

Conrad?

Brittany?

Mother?

One face in particular suddenly comes to mind. It’s the same face I’ve been dreaming about for four months, ever since that wild night at the gallery.

“Well, what do you think?”

I snap out of my daydream and blink at Mother. She stares at me expectantly, which means she’s asked me a question I definitely don’t have the answer to. “I, um… sure. Sounds good.” I take another bite of my tasteless salad just for the excuse to not be able to talk.

Mother rolls her eyes yet again. “Pointless. Everything is pointless. You are no help, either! I ask you for one simple thing and it’s like you think I want you to pull your own teeth out.”

Doing favors for you tends to feel that way. “Sorry, Mom. You got me thinking about Conrad and I kind of drifted off.”

I hate groveling to her. But I hate when she makes a scene—and then passes the blame onto me—even more.

So, when she sighs and her harsh expression softens, I can’t help but to let out a sigh of relief myself.

One less disaster to navigate.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

My relief is short-lived because my phone starts vibrating on the table. Mother expects me to at least check it to see if it’s Conrad; right now is no exception. One super quick glance confirms it—the devil himself is trying to call me for the umpteenth time today.

Just like he’s been calling me every day, practically nonstop, for nineteen weeks and counting.

Usually, his calls are paired with simultaneous texts from Brittany warning me to “stay away from her man” and “stick to my lane” and whatever else she can think of to stake her so-called territory.

At this rate, I’m surprised she hasn’t peed around his house.

Or maybe she has. I wouldn’t put it past her.

“Are you going to answer him?”

Shit. She saw the screen.

I try not to make a face as I turn off the vibration and tuck the phone into my bag. “I don’t want to be rude. I’m having lunch with my mother, and he needs to respect that.”

This does help preen her feathers, so to speak. Mother sits up a bit straighter and offers me a peacekeeping smile. “Well, even so. His parents keep saying how despondent he’s been since the breakup. You could throw the poor man a bone.”

I just love how everyone has made Conrad’s infidelity and selfishness my problem. Like I’m the one who cheated on him with his longtime rival, threw him out on his ass, and then made him worship the ground I walk on for the sake of his job.

---