Page 20 of Surrender
Her shoulders drop. “Sloan, he is our nicest customer. We kit him out with an entire wardrobe change every season and he needs fitted suits practically every other month. Don’t piss off Gareth. If we lose him, we’ll have to start styling more of the beetches!”
Despite the argument on the tip of my tongue, I snicker at the way she says bitches. She’s referring to the lovely women in Cal’s circle who have wealthy husbands, no jobs, and no sense of humour.
She pins me with a serious glower. “You know I hate styling the beetches. They don’t appreciate my curves.”
“I don’t think it’s your curves they have a problem with,” I interject. “I think it’s your constant need to talk aboutHeartland.”
“It’s a wonderful, heartfelt family drama with horses!” she bellows, her voice cracking with emotion. “You know this because you and Sophia watch it with me, and now Sophia wants to be a trick pony rider. And screw you. I saw you tearing up when Amy Fleming got married.”
“Well”—I raise my chin to argue—“she came down the aisle on a damn horse with her dad and grandfather. It was freaking beautiful.”
“You’re bloody well right it was!” she booms. “And screw those beetches for not embracing a wholesome Canadian program.”
We both burst out laughing before pausing to sip our chardonnays.
“You know you have to do this. I was giving you time because I knew you were going through a lot with the divorce, but other than your every other week of depression, things have been settled around here for a while now.” She pauses and gives me a soft smile. “It’s time to get on with your life and, at the very least, do your job.”
“I know,” I groan and stand up from my chair, feeling too nervous to stay sitting at the table with her. It’s one thing to run into him without time to think. It’s quite another to have hours to obsess over actually seeing him again. “I’ll go…prep for Monday I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit!” She reaches out and grabs my arm as I pass by. “You’re still not wanting to tell me in great detail exactly why you’ve been avoiding Gareth Harris for the past year, right?”
“Right.”
“Just checking.” She winks.
“Love you,” I call over my shoulder.
“Mean it,” she finishes.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU!”
Scowling at Tanner’s high-pitched yodeling, I turn and whack him in the stomach to get him to shut up.
“Ouch, ye tit!” he bellows loudly just as everyone in the room stops singing.
“Tit!” peals the newly one-year-old voice with all the enthusiasm of a happy little girl on her birthday.
All heads swerve to our niece, Adrienne—affectionately nicknamed Rocky. She’s a blue-eyed, blonde stunner in a fluffy pink dress, perched in her pale pink painted highchair adorned with a rainbow of colourful ribbons. The pink cake in front of her is glowing with a single birthday candle.
“Fuck,” Tanner groans, rubbing his stomach where I thumped him.
“Fuck!” Rocky peals again with a giggle and nearly the entire room inhales sharply.
“Tanner!” Vi exclaims, shooting him a murderous look.
His eyes go wide. “It’s Gareth’s fault. The wanker elbowed me in the guts!”
“Wanker!” Rocky sings.
“That’s it. I’m moving to a different country,” Vi grinds through clenched, smiling teeth as she bends over to speak to Rocky in a sugary sweet voice. “We’re going to move far away from your naughty uncles who don’t seem to know how to filter themselves in front of their niece. We’re going to move to a place where my stupid brothers can’t find us, aren’t we, my little sweetheart?”
“Stoopid!” Rocky mimics.
I swear I hear Vi begin to weep.
Vi’s fiancé, Hayden, shoots us all a scowl.
Tanner shoots him a pouting scowl back. “I’m just as upset as you are. I’ve been trying to get Rocky to say Unky Tan for months, but she won’t do it. Give the princess an expletive and she repeats it like a losing footballer on the pitch!”
