The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

38. Lucky

Jared

Ifucked up.

I know it the second she leaves the dining room, tears glistening in those gorgeous blue eyes. Because I betrayed her. I made her trust me, and the second a tiny seed of doubt was planted in my head, I broke that trust.

In the most dickish manner possible.

As I watch the black SUV drive away, that whole scene in the dining room plays over in my head and my shoulders slump in defeat. She’s gone. And it’s all my fault.

“Jared.”

I turn to see Mom standing on the porch, her fists planted on her hips and a disappointed look on her face. I slowly turn and walk back up the drive, berating myself for being such a fucking idiot.

When I reach Mom, her face softens, and she opens her arms to me. I sink into her embrace, taking that love and comfort for just a moment before straightening and clearing my throat.

“Come back inside. We can eat, and you can tell me everything.”

I nod jerkily, and she turns to lead the way back into the house. She doesn’t speak until we’re seated at the table, plates of steaming lasagna and toasty garlic bread in front of us. I chug down some water, eager to get the taste of bourbon and bile out of my mouth. That devil’s drink has been trying to ease its way back up my throat since the second Sophie ran out of here.

“Tell me what happened,” Mom says softly after the silence has stretched on too long.

“Harrison,” I say, almost choking on the word.

“What does he have to do with this?” she asks, her voice edged with anger.

I start at the beginning, telling her about the auction and meeting Sophie. How badly she wanted the Pollock for her old boss. Scotty hiring her despite my misgivings and how she slowly earned my respect and affection.

“We’ve been getting much closer,” I say without going into more detail. She nods as if she understands, and I go on. “She was out of the office this morning, and I stupidly answered a call without checking the caller ID. It was Harrison. He said Sophie’s old boss called him to find out who won the painting right before she started working for me. He hinted that she took the job to manipulate me and get close enough to get her hands on that painting for Stephen Hatfield.”

“Oh, Jared,” she says, her voice sad. “You know how he is. There’s nothing he won’t do to hurt us. No level he won’t stoop to.”

“I know,” I say, sighing. “I knew it the minute I hung up with him. I knew it when I invited Sophie to come here. To meet you. I did that with the best of intentions. I wanted you to meet her because I…I care about her. But as the day wore on, those old insecurities snuck back in. All I could think about was how Victoria used and tricked me, and…”

“You decided Sophie was doing the same thing,” she says when my words trail off.

I nod. “It was idiotic and self-sabotaging.”

“Or a defense mechanism,” she says, reaching out to lay her hand over mine. “You’ve been hurt before, so you keep women at a distance to avoid more heartbreak.”

“Until Sophie,” I say, looking up from our hands to meet her eyes. “I think I’m falling for her, Mom.”

Her face fills with pity before her mouth falls open, and she says, “And you just fucked it up, son.”

I rear back, shock flowing through me. Mom never curses. This is the first time I’ve heard a dirty word pass those lips in all my thirty-five years. She pats my hand, and her lips curve up into a wry smile.

“But it’s never too late,” she says. “You can fix this. It’s going to take some hard work and no small amount of groveling, but if you want her as much as I suspect you do, I know you’ll put in the effort.”

“I don’t know, Mom. She was really angry…rightfully so.”

“And her anger means she has feelings for you. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared so much that you insulted the hell out of her like that.”

“Mom, that’s twice in two minutes,” I say, one corner of my mouth lifting despite my despair.

“Oh, pshaw,” she says, lifting her hand from mine and waving it in the air. “Just because I’ve never cursed in front of you doesn’t mean I never do it. As a matter of fact, I have a few choice words for Harrison Ainsley right now.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” I say. “He’s not worth it.”