Bo laughs while leaning back, putting her hands behind her to support her new angle. But when her expression turns serious, I tilt my head.
“What about your mom and sister? Will they be there?”
Krysta… My sister… She’s the main reason I decided it was time to come home.
“Mom and Lisa—Corbin’s mother—don’t get along too well, so I doubt they’ll be there. Lisa Sterling doesn’t exactly like how my mother made her money, considering it came from multiple divorces from wealthy men. Krysta doesn’t go to a function unless she’s forced. So I doubt either of them will be there.”
“Is your sister going to move in with you now that you’re here full time?”
“In three weeks, Krysta turns eighteen. It’ll be her decision, and I’ll help her deal with our mother dearest when the time comes.”
I was lucky enough to have a father that loved me. A father who saved me. Krysta… not so much.
“Have you seen your mom at all?”
“Not since I was a thirteen-year-old girl she almost let die for the tenth time.”
It took that long for the courts to rule in my father’s favor. My granddad—my mother’s father—was a judge, and he had a lot of friends in the ‘justice’ system that kept me with her.
Eventually, they decided her neglect toward my allergy was just too much to keep overlooking. I had to stay in the hospital a week after her newest chef cooked our food with peanut oil. I barely survived. The guy never even knew I had a peanut allergy. It should have been the first thing she told him. I’ve only gotten to see Krysta when Corbin snuck her out for me while I was visiting. We’ve kept in touch via phone, though.
She shakes her head, a pitying look in her eyes. I don’t appreciate or like pity. I also don’t need it.
“Don’t give me that look,” I sigh. “You know I hate it.”
“Sorry. It just sucks. It’s hard to see your dad—who loves you so much—ever caring about a woman like your mother. And to know your sister grew up with her…”
“Krysta hasn’t had to deal with her much, and she doesn’t have any fatal allergies. Besides, she had Maria. Maria came along right after I left, and she’s the only maid my mother has ever kept for longer than a year. In a way, she became Krysta’s mother. Until she passed last year.”
“She doesn’t know her father?”
“Just some loser who skipped out on Cassie. I thought she’d gotten over her bad boy phase after my father.” She laughs as I continue. “Yeah. My uppity mother with my tattoo-parlor-owning father. He was just in the mood for some fun, and I became the result. But Krysta didn’t get lucky like me.”
More sadness clouds Bo’s eyes, so I decide to shift the topic.
“How do you like Sterling Shore?”
Immediately her look changes. “I don’t know yet. I’ve barely had time to do anything besides sleep and work.”
“Isn’t Bora helping at all?”
Her incredulous look answers that. “Bora’s favorite part is design, so that’s all she does. I do design, marketing, investor research, coaching, and well, everything else. Before you ask, I coach our president—the woman who handles all the physical face-to-face interaction—on what to say or expect before each meeting. Coaching her takes longer than the meetings themselves.”
“Or you could just handle those meetings yourself,” I point out.
She shudders. “No. I’m good with one-on-one interaction, but having a room full of people? No thank you. I can’t handle group things.”
“Guess you’ll never date a Sterling then,” I say quietly before turning to the mirror once more.
I look like I’m going to a damn funeral.
“People are going to think I’m in mourning.”
She snorts out a laugh, and I cut my eyes toward her as she smothers the sound.
“You really do look stunning,” she says while shaking her head. “Lose the gloves, and it’ll look more rocker-chic than death-omen. And maybe put on some less gothic jewelry?”
A light rapping at the door halts me from making any changes. Besides, I need the gloves to hide my tats from Lisa Sterling. The less I have to speak to her, the better.
Before I can move to go answer the door, Corbin Fucking Sterling is leaning against the doorjamb of my bedroom, and I totally jump a little bit. Maybe I even squeal.
I also ignore that unwelcome heat that is blooming in my chest and traveling down to my core.
“Most people wait until they’re let in,” I remind him, trying to recover my badass. Where did my badass go?
He cocks an eyebrow as his eyes dance over my dress. “I’m not most people.” He continues to lazily take in my outfit, and I put my hands on my hips, trying not to let his appraisal bother me.
“You look a little like you’re going to a funeral,” he points out, and I groan as Bo laughs. “Lose the gloves, Lady Kross.”