Page 93 of Sweet Little Thing

“He may be counting on my showing up to save him.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “God, I swear you have lived a sheltered life. I’m telling you that you can’t save him. He’ll need to save you.”

Feminine laughter drifted down through the air vents. It didn’t sound like things were going badly up there. “I may come back if that’s okay. I think I should go upstairs and say hello since he didn’t send me a message saying otherwise.”

Fiona shrugged. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. Knock and come on in. I’ll be on the balcony and may not hear you.”

“Thank you,” I told her.

“Good luck,” she replied.

I smiled, and she closed the door. With a deep breath that did little to calm me, I headed up the stairs and didn’t stop again until I was at the apartment door. I listened. I heard a female laugh again. There was another voice, too, but not as loud. This was most likely his mother. He had spoken about her little and from what Geraldine had said she wasn’t a good mother. But she was stillhismother, and I wanted to make a good impression.Glancing down at my clothes, I winced. Not exactly how I would like to look meeting her the first time.

Before I opened the door, I checked my phone one more time to see if he’d messaged me. Nothing. He was expecting me. I opened the door slowly and went inside.

The voices were loud enough to follow. One of them was talking about a gala in Manhattan that she said Stone needed to attend. When I reached the arched entryway to the living room my gaze found a tall woman with perfectly styled dark hair and a dress that was both summery yet elegant. The heels she had on her feet, however, looked extremely painful. Her head turned my way, and the resemblance to Stone was unmistakable, although she looked far too young to have a child his age.

“Who is that?” she asked as she looked at me. There was no frown, but I realized that the displeasure in her eyes meant she would be frowning if she could. Her face was tight. Not much movement. She’d had work done. Maybe she was old enough to have a son Stone’s age.

Stone moved with quick, long strides until he reached me. His scowl and the tension rolling off his body was enough for me to know he hadn’t expected them, and he didn’t want them here.

“Who?” another female voice asked. The woman, who I could only assume was Margot, stepped into view. I didn’t get a good look at her before Stone blocked my line of vision.

“Did you not get my message?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “I texted you two hours ago to stay at Geraldine’s until I called you.”

I shook my head again. “I have nothing.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t want to be here. I’m trying to get them to leave.”

“I can go stay with Fiona,” I told him, wishing I had listened to her.

He studied me for a moment as if he was trying to make up his mind. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. It’s that they are vicious. I prefer to keep you far away from them.”

“Is that Margot?” I whispered.

He frowned. “Yes. How do you know about her?”

“Jasper, Presley. Your supposed fiancée has been mentioned a few times.” I was trying to make a joke, but his scowl made it obvious he wasn’t amused.

“Winston, who is this girl who walked right into your apartment without knocking? Please tell me it’s the help and not another child of your father’s ex-wives.” His mother sounded amused with her last remark. Margot giggled.

“Fuck them,” he muttered, then turned around to face them with his hand splayed possessively on my back. “Mother, Margot, this is Beulah Edwards. She’s my girlfriend, and she lives here.”

If he’d slapped his mother and kicked her in the gut, her expression could not have been more horrified. She even paled. Several shades, actually.

Margot let out a sharp laugh. She was petite, beautiful, stunning, even, and polished. Dark blonde hair that was silky and straight with blue eyes that reminded me of a swimming pool. The pink full lips seemed almost unnatural. “You can’t be serious,” his mother said.

His hand gripped my waist this time and pressed my body tightly up against his own. “You’ll check your words, mother. Or you’ll leave my home.”

“This isn’t your home. Manhattan is your home,” Margot drawled as if this was all very amusing.

“And you’re not my mother. Nor are you family. I have no reason to issue you even a shred of hospitality. You can leave now.”

Margot’s amused look turned to one of shock. Her eyeswidened, and she made a very good imitation of someone who had been offended.

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