Page 14 of My Grumpy Billionaire Protector

Dinah waves my comment away. “Oh, whatever. It’s just because you have nothing better to do.”

I blow out a breath and throw my hands up in the air. “I don’t even know why Mom asks us to come and get ready here. She even keeps our rooms set up the exact same way. It’s like some kind of shrine.”

“It’s creepy,” Dinah agrees after a pause. She straightens her back and drapes the sweater over her arm. “But at least the clothes look good.”

“I thought you only cared about reporting the truth?”

“I can look good while doing it,” Dinah argues with a lift of her chin. “Anyway, we’d better hurry up before Mom comes in here and starts lecturing us about the importance of being punctual.”

I shudder. “Good point. You’d better return that before you get a hole or a stain on it.”

Dinah chuckles. “You ruin a sweater one time…”

“It’s been more than one sweater, and it happens every time, and you know it. Whenever your friends call, begging you to go off on some wild goose chase in search of ‘the truth,’ we end up having to bail you out of trouble and my clothes pay the price.”

“Someday, when I’m an acclaimed journalist, I’ll replace everything I’ve ruined.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Dinah throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, right.”

With that, she strides out of the room with her head held high.

“What happened to being able to talk your way out of Friday dinners? Not such a fool proof way, huh?”

Dinah pokes her head back in to give me the finger. With a scowl, she leaves, and I am left laughing at her back.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone in my childhood room with its pink walls, four-poster bed that faces the mahogany desk, and a dresser set up next to it. After a quick look around, I give a slight shake of my head and step into the bathroom, groping for the light switch. I am momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights, and I try to avoid catching another glimpse of myself in the mirror, knowing it will only make me want to change my outfit.

Again.

“That dress suits you. You should wear black more often.”

“I thought we established boundaries in high school.” I wait for a few more seconds before I spin around to face my mother, looking as put-together as always in her knee-length beige dress and matching heels.

Her dark hair falls in loose waves, giving her a softer and more vulnerable look. When I lift my gaze up to hers, her blue eyes, an exact replica of Dinah’s, are already tight around the edges and filled with apprehension.

Alba straightens her back. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

“You don’t have to be in the bathroom with me for that.”

Alba sighs. “I’m trying, Evie.”

“So am I.”

I push past her and begin to search for my shoes. I find them placed against the wall, underneath the window overlooking the lush green gardens. Angrily, I snatch them up and lean against the wall to slip one foot in then the other.

“I know you hate it when I help you choose what to wear. However, I figured since you were busy with work, and you didn’t get here with enough time to look over your options, I could lend a helping hand.”

I stand up straighter and clear my throat. “Can we not do this tonight, Mom? I feel like we’ve been having the same fight for years.”

Alba’s expression hardens. “It’s because you keep fighting me every step of the way. I don’t understand you, Evie. You had a great career lined up, and I was even willing to help you buy your own place instead of that dump you live in, but you’ve turned your nose up at everything.”

“Because I want to succeed on my own terms. I don’t want to live in Grandpa’s spotlight, and I don’t want your help.”

“I’m your mother. I’m supposed to help.” Alba takes a step toward me and reaches out, but I move away. “Do you expect me to just stand aside and watch you fail?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply coldly. “I’m going to go check on Di. We don’t want to be late for the great Mitchel Coombes’ dinner.”

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