Page 84 of Crave Me

I text the pics to Curran and call him, my hands shaking so damn hard I can barely keep from dropping the phone. I wrap up my call as Dee and the owner’s son finish loading the car.

Dee locks the doors to her sedan when we slip inside, but doesn’t immediately pull out. “What did Curran say?”

“The pics are too blurry and I didn’t get a plate. He’s stopping by to take a formal report.”

“Stupid pricks,” she mutters. “I’m sorry, I should have taken their picture. But the way they were looking at you, I was more worried about them hitting you. Who were they?”

“Don’t tell Evan,” I say, not bothering to explain.

She frowns. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t keep things from your man.”

“I’m not, and I won’t. I’ll tell him after work. He just has too much going on right now.”

“All right.”

Like the other employees, Dee knows the company is only barely hanging on. She cranks the engine and pulls onto the main road. We were talking up a storm all the way here, but the ride back is quiet. She’s worried, and maybe scared, too. Me, I’m all rage.

It’s taking all I can not to find Bryant and beat the unholy fuck out of him. But that’s exactly what this manipulative asshole wants. He wants me to go to him. He’s trying to turn the tables on me, and make me out to be the whore he claims I am.

Son of bitch, he probably paid those two derelicts to mess with me. It’s always been about power and control. I made it worse by walking away. How dare I reject him, right? How dare I say enough?

I’m ready to hit something. I’m ready to hit him, but the moment I see Evan’s building come into view, I know I have to get it together.

Dee pulls onto the curb. I barely have time to slide out of the car when a security guard approaches me. “Miss O’Brien, can I see you? We have a situation.”

Jesus. Like I need this. Dee walks toward me, her frown bouncing between me and building. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll get one of the interns to help me. Don’t worry,” she adds when I hesitate. “I’ll take care of everything.”

She seems stressed, not that I’m exactly jumping for joy.

I expect another message from Bryant, instead the guard leads me toward the lobby where a woman waits by the security desk. She’s dressed in what might be a Chanel suit, with enough Botox to smooth out the forehead of every person moving through the lobby.

She smiles when she sees me, at least, I think she does seeing how she can barely move her overly plumped lips. She pushes back her shoulder length blond hair, appearing to dismiss the guards standing behind her.

“That’s Mrs. Hilliard,” the guard mutters.

“Hilliard?” I ask, wondering how I know this name.

“She says she’s Mr. Jonah’s mother and is demanding to see him, claiming it’s urgent,” the guard tells me. “But their names are different and we can’t reach Mr. Jonah. We figured you were the next best person to ask.” He waits, staying out of earshot. “Do you want her out or are you going to speak to her?”

The security team takes their job seriously, and as a whole, they don’t budge. But I can see why they’d hesitate to toss a woman claiming to be the boss’s mother.

“I’ll talk to her,” I say, walking forward.

She seems young, too young to be injecting all that crap into her skin. Her body is bizarrely thin, her rack, not so much, and about as pricey as that diamond bracelet glinting beneath the atrium lights. She doesn’t appear threatening, but there’s enough superiority emanating from her form to taste.

Maybe it’s the stress of working my ass off only to take minimal steps or the shitty experience at the diner. Whatever it is, I’m already on guard and feeling protective.

“You want me to try the boss again?” the guard asks, keeping pace with me.

“Not yet,” I tell him. I stop just in front of Mommy Dearest.

“Miss O’Brien,” the guard closest to him says. “This here is Mrs. Hilliard.”

“Ah,” she says, smiling with as much warmth as the diamond choker around neck. “You must be Evan’s plaything. Not that I’m surprised.”

I’ll give her this, she’s not much of a sweet talker. “What do you want?” I ask, ignoring the jab and knowing it will bother her more.

“I’m here to see my son,” she says, straightening. “Do your job and inform him I’m here.”

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