Page 24 of Fight for Me

“Darling, when were you going to tell me?”

Anne stopped chewing, alarmed when she saw the intent look on her mother’s face and her eyes sparkling.

“Whah?” she managed, confused.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear. When were you going to tell me about you and the senator?”

Anne choked on her bite, coughing and grasping for her glass of water. Finally, when she could speak, she said, “What are you talking about? Me and the senator?” Though she was afraid she already knew.

“Page Six, darling! You and he are all over it. All about the robbery yesterday—I’m so glad you’re all right, dear heart—and how he rescued you! It’s so romantic.” Her lips curved in a dreamy smile.

“Mom, no, it’s not what you think.” Pushing back from the table, Anne grabbed two mugs, filling one with coffee and the other with hot water and a tea bag.

“What a way to meet!” her mother continued to swoon. “First, you fall into his arms—we’ll need to work on your runway walk by the way—and then he rescues you from those horrid criminals. When are you seeing him again?”

Anne set the mugs on the table and scrambled to derail this train before it got up to full steam. “It was just one of those coincidences, Mom. We don’t have anything going on. He was just there and did…what he does.” She shoved aside thoughts of what looked to be a bona-fide date this afternoon.

“Pish posh,” her mother waved her hand in an elegant shooing motion. “It’s fate, literally throwing you into his arms. Some milk please.” She waited until Anne got the jug from the fridge to add to her mug, then delicately sipped her tea, her eyes twinkling. “I’m just thrilled for you, darling.”

“Mom, you’re getting way ahead of yourself,” Anne insisted.

“Are you seeing him again?” Her mother was relentless, unfazed by Anne’s denials.

Anne hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to her mother, but she also didn’t want to encourage her.

“Um, he wants to teach me how to shoot this afternoon,” she mumbled, focusing on what remained of her souffle.

“Shoot? As in, a gun?” Nancy looked appalled, then seemed to shake it off. “Well, there’s no accounting for what men find entertaining. What are you wearing?”

“It’s shooting, Mom. Probably jeans.”

“Don’t wear those horrid ones with the waist below your navel,” she sniffed. “They’re three years out of style. I bought you several different pairs of designer jeans. Do wear one of those.”

Anne’s mother was constantly buying her clothes that were utterly inappropriate to wear to work. You certainly didn’t want to be wearing an outfit that cost more than the person sitting across from you made in a month.

“Sure, Mom.” Anne shoved the rest of the souffle into her mouth.

“I want to hear all about it tomorrow at tea,” she insisted, rising from the table and giving her a brushed peck on the cheek. “Don’t be late. And remember, the theme isDownton Abbey.”

Agreeing with a barely audible grunt, she let her out of the apartment and locked it behind her. Anne poured herself more coffee, then scrolled through her usual news sites, groaning when she saw her face plastered all over Page Six.If you don’t want it on Page Six, don’t do it.Their motto was self-explanatory enough, if only more people followed it.

It looked as though her identity was out of the bag, damn it.

She’d avoided publicity as much as possible. Every man she’d ever even casually dated had ended up being fodder for the tabloids, which resulted in her being single and celibate for several years now. A Paris Hilton, she was not. She’d hoped maybe they’d forgotten all about her. No such luck. Thanks, senator.

A half an hour later, her cell rang. “Hey, Dad.”

“Pumpkin, how are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?” It was very unusual for her dad to call out of the blue. He didn’t like phones. He preferred to speak face-to-face.

“Fine, fine,” he said, rushed. “I saw you in the paper today. With that senator. Senator Kirk.”

He also didn’t believe in beating around the bush.

Ugh. “Sorry, Dad. I know you hate publicity—”

“Are you all right?” He sounded gruff, but anxious.

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