Catastrophe Queen

“…Again, it’s short notice, and if you have other plans, that’s fine,” Mrs. Reid continued on. “But it would be wonderful to see you. You should come with Cameron at six so we can get to know each other before the guests arrive at seven.”

“I—” Apparently had no words. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Reid. It’s a lovely offer—”

“Great!” she said brightly, and I swear I heard her clap. “We’ll see you tomorrow night!”

“I—”

The line went dead.

Slowly, I pulled the phone from its cradled position on my shoulder and stared at it.

What the hell had just happened? Cameron might call me Hurricane Mallory, but his mom was a freakin’ tornado. I hadn’t agreed to go to this fancy mixer tomorrow, but apparently, I was, and I was to go there early to meet his parents and family and act like I knew what the hell to do around people who had more cash in their wallet than I did in my bank account.

In somewhat of a daze, I grabbed my phone and pulled up Cameron’s last message to me.

Me: Sir, we have a problem.

Then, I fired one off to Jade.

Me: I just spoke to Cameron’s mom on the phone and now I have to go to a fancy mixer tomorrow night.

Unlike Cameron who was at a house, Jade’s response vis phone call was swift, telling me she was between clients.

“Are you gonna bone him after?” Was her opening line.

“No!” I said, a little too loudly. “Jade, these people are rich. It’s not a casual mixer where you can wear jeans and heels—it’s a fucking formal one,” I lowered my tone considerably. “It’s business. She steamrolled right over me. She may as well have held a chloroform rag over my face and kidnapped me.”

“Okay, okay, calm your tits.” The line cracked with her heavy exhale. “How fancy are we talking?”

“At least a cocktail dress.”

“Okay. You have one of those. You have that red one that makes your boobs look really good.”

I frowned. “The one with the flirty skirt?”

“Yep. That counts. It has just enough of a scooped neckline to be like, “Hi, boys,” but not so, “I’m charging fifty bucks an hour for this.””

“You have such a special way with words.”

“I know. Wear that one with a nice necklace and your favorite black heels. They’re broken in, and you know you can walk in them.”

“What about a jacket?”

“Wear a blazer. You have, like, fifty. If it’s business, you need to be sexy but smart.”

“Jesus, I may as well just get some glasses and study up on physics.”

I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

“Listen to me, Mallory. If you ever bang this guy and you make a good impression now, you’re in with his mom. Big win. Moms are hard to impress.”

“You have got to give it up with the banging my boss thing. It isn’t going to happen. But I’ll wear the red dress,” I said begrudgingly. “Thanks. I have to go. I don’t know when Cameron’s getting back and I’m not supposed to be on the phone with you.”

“You got it. Go to work, and don’t panic. I’ll come to do your hair and make-up for you. Let’s have lunch tomorrow and figure it out.”

I blew out a long breath. “Thanks. Okay, see you tomorrow.” I hung up and put my cell down.

With Jade’s help, I had half a chance at looking good. Between her and my mom, the possibility was slightly better than half. Before my dad had retired and sold off the majority of their construction business, she’d been used to going to things like this and wandering around, simpering up to people with money who could invest.

My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, seeing that the message was from Cameron.

Cameron: I just got back to the car. What’s wrong? Is there a problem at the office?

At the office, on your phone line, inside my head—take your pick, boss.

Me: Your mom called.

Cameron: Nothing good ever comes of that.

Me: I see that. She wanted me to remind you about the mixer at her house tomorrow night.

Cameron: Shit. Is that the problem?

Me: No.

Cameron: Then what’s wrong?

Me: She invited me. And I’m not sure how it happened because I don’t remember agreeing, but now I’m coming, too.

Cameron: Shit.

Me: Exactly.

CHAPTER TWELVE – CAMERON

“Mother!” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I paced my kitchen. “Why did you invite Mallory to the mixer tomorrow?”

She calmly stirred her tea, not bothering to look up from the cup. It was a teacup and saucer I kept exclusively for her, and she tapped her spoon on the edge of the cup, sending an ear-wrenching clink through the entire room.

“I was being polite, sweetie,” she said without batting an eyelid. Her hair was as perfect as ever, without a strand out of place, but that didn’t stop her swiping a hand up the back of her bun to push imaginary hairs back into place. “She wasn’t invited, and if we open another office, she’ll be involved as your assistant.”