Burned Deep (Burned 1)

I froze. Christ, I’d put her out of my mind—but that clearly didn’t mean she went away completely. And why the hell was she calling me at work after hours, rather than on my cell? What game was she playing?

I reached for the receiver as distress rippled through me. “This is Ari.”

“Of course it is, darling. I’m sure you knew it was me calling. How lovely that you have an assistant.”

“What do you want?” I had no desire to engage in small talk with her. I knew what prompted the beast to rear its ugly head—money. Plain and simple.

“Wouldn’t you like to hear how I’m doing?” she asked in her delicate tone. The one I had little patience for because I was onto her. “The Olstead Benefit is this Friday at the Biltmore, so I’m busy with salon appointments and still on the lookout for the perfect gown. I really don’t want to buy off the rack, in the event someone else has selected the same Louis Vuitton or Oscar de la Renta. You know, everyone has been copying Amal Clooney’s wedding gown and I just don’t want to match anyone or wear some sort of knockoff—”

“Mother, you’re living the life of a socialite when you are, in fact, not one. Use the Dillard’s certificate I gave you—along with the others you’ve likely stockpiled because they’re ‘not Nordstrom’—and buy a damn dress the way normal people do. At the fucking mall.” Okay, so I’d just snapped. But I knew it was only a matter of time before she showed her true colors. Why beat around the bush about it?

“Aria Lynne DeMille,” she scolded in her haughty voice.

“Mother, I’m at work. Working. A concept that goes well beyond your comprehension, obviously. But it’s how I pay my rent and expenses. I’m under a lot of pressure here and I don’t have time for you to suddenly drop into my life pretending to be my parent. I’ve been perfectly fine with our disassociation. I accepted a long time ago that all you care about is you—not Dad, not me. So stop with the bullshit and tell me why you’re calling.”

“Well, I just…” She huffed, as though I’d hurt her feelings. One would actually have to have feelings in order for them to be hurt. So I didn’t take the bait. “When did you become so cruel?”

I closed my eyes as tears burned. Me, the cruel one? I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life trying to get this woman to love me. At the very least, to notice me. The next eight years had been wrapped around self-therapy, trying to survive my messed-up childhood.

I thought back to the time before I’d met Dane, when I kept everyone at arm’s length, not letting anyone close, not letting anyone touch me except on those rare occasions when I’d craved it a bit too much to deny a quick interaction.

That had all changed. I had friends now. I was surrounded by people all day and I liked them. Finally, I was normal. Well, relatively speaking, since I was addicted to one very dark and broody man, but still …

I could honestly say that, despite the drama in my life, I was happy. I was in love and loved in return.

The woman on the other end of the line who professed to be my mother was, in all honesty, simply someone I used to know. And while I wasn’t a proponent of severing parental ties, in this case I had to admit that it was time.

I pulled in a long breath, then said, “Look, I understand that you feel some false sense of entitlement. Maybe it’s because of all the money Dad made before his injuries. Maybe it’s all the trendy, prestigious places we were invited to, the circle you were all a part of in the professional world of golf. I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t care. You willingly chose to screw up your marriage, and for the life of me, I still can’t fathom why Dad was the one who had to suffer because you were the one to do something wrong. But I am smart enough to know why you’re suddenly dropping into my world, and I’m telling you it’s pointless. So stop calling me.”

Her tone turned downright vicious—the voice I remembered from my childhood. “You’re not the one in control here, Aria Lynne. You hurt me, I’ll hurt your father.”

I slammed the phone into its cradle. My heart pounded. Anger flashed through me. So, too, did anxiety.

How could I have forgotten who she truly was? Why hadn’t I recalled from the onset that it was Maleficent I dealt with?

I dropped my head in my hands. I could rattle off some stone-cold words to her but they meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. They tore at me more than they ever would at her, because it was my own mother I lashed out at. Even if she was the furthest thing from being my mother, it wasn’t easy to rise to her level. The fact that I had worried me a little. But above that, I had the very distinct and sinking feeling that I couldn’t walk the walk.

How was I going to protect my dad and still make my car payments?

“Ari?”

Oh, shit.

Dane.

I sniffled and swiped at my tears before lifting my head.

“What is it?” He was instantly alarmed and stalking across my office.

Damn my mother for calling me at work. This was a private matter and yet here I was, painted into a corner with one more person with whom I couldn’t go toe-to-toe.

“Mommie Dearest has taken to phoning me at work. I’m trying to get her to stop.”

His gaze narrowed. “I thought the two of you didn’t speak.”

“We didn’t. And I’d gotten over it. Then she started seeing my name and photos in papers and magazines. Suddenly she wants to be besties.”

That was a total lie—she didn’t want friendship or anything beyond more checks. And Dane saw right through me.