And that pissed me right off.
Jared tipped his head to indicate that we should follow. I walked beside him and hissed, “You don’t think you could have warned me?”
“About what?”
About what? About what? Apparently, billionaires could suffer from extreme obtuseness.
Glaring, I spoke through clenched teeth. “About the fact that tonight’s engagement was a dinner with your mother, you dimwit.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” He seemed unruffled, cold, even. When I paused, he stopped and gestured impatiently toward the doors. “Please.”
“Not until you tell me exactly what’s going on.”
“We’re having dinner with my family. It’s a monthly affair. My mother insists.”
“Right. And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention that to me at any point during the past hour or so?”
“Again, Ms. Little, I don’t see how that would change anything.”
“I could mentally prepare myself! I could google her and see if I could find at least one safe topic of conversation. I could google you so I can pretend like we actually know something about each other. Other than the obvious.”
His brow twitched. “Which is?”
“That you’re a colossal jerk, Branson.”
His jaw clenched, and his gaze bore into mine. “There’s nothing to prepare. Your job is to accompany me to social functions. This is a social function. You’re here in a professional capacity. Now please, let’s go inside and get this over with.”
Without waiting for an answer, Branson turned and stalked toward the open doors. The set of his shoulders was rigid, and there had been a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Even when he’d been furious with me, when he thought I was litigious and vindictive against his precious company, he hadn’t looked like that.
It only took me a second to take stock of the situation and decide to trot after him and make the most of it, but in that second, I realized a few things.
First, Jared Branson didn’t have a good relationship with his parents. He hated this monthly engagement, and he was doing his best not to show it. Second, him not telling me about it might not have been a way to get back at me for anything. It was possible, I realized, that Jared hadn’t mentioned it because he hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all. Maybe what he needed was support. He’d dragged me along here because, on some level, whether he knew it or not, he wanted someone in his corner.
And, hell, the man was giving me twenty-five grand a month to spend on clothing and beauty. The least I could do was make pleasant conversation with his uptight family, right?
That’s how I justified it to myself as I followed, noticing his mother beyond him speaking to an employee in an all-black uniform. The employee nodded, glanced at me, then ducked into a room. Through the crack he left open in the door, I saw him hastily set another place at the dining table.
Mrs. Branson turned toward us, her gaze flicking to my suit, down to my shoes, to my purse, and finally up to my lips. There was a minute tightening of her features, and I understood why the lipstick had been discouraged. This was one hell of a judgmental woman, and apparently, she liked dinner guests to display precisely zero personality.
This would be fun.
But I wasn’t part of this world, and thus, couldn’t be judged by its standards. I wasn’t going to make myself a bland, blank canvas just because some rude woman didn’t like the look of a bit of lipstick.
It’s not like I was marrying her son; I was working for him. And when I’d read the contract earlier, it hadn’t mentioned anything about lip color.
“Your brother got here earlier. He and Natasha wanted to go over a few details for their wedding.”
“I was working, Mother,” Jared replied. “I came as soon as I could.”
It struck me that he was answering a comment she hadn’t voiced out loud. I could sense the strain in his voice, and I noticed the way he tapped his index finger against his thumb in a rhythmic, unconscious motion.
Despite myself, a bit more sympathy was wrung out of the dry husk of my heart for him. He was an ass, but maybe in this particular situation, I could be sympathetic. I knew what it was like to ride the undercurrents of parental relationships.
“The hotel at Lake Como has confirmed they can accommodate three hundred and fifty guests,” his mother continued, not acknowledging what her son had said. “Your father is pleased.”
I arched a brow. I wondered if Jared’s father cared at all, or if it was Joanne herself who was satisfied by the venue choice. I had the distinct sense I was walking into a booby-trapped room. Words had no meaning and conversations happened on multiple levels simultaneously. I had to tread carefully.
Jared’s fingers kept tapping against each other as his mother led us deeper into the home. The ceilings were high, with gorgeous chandeliers throwing glittering light over every surface. The rugs under our feet were thick and richly patterned. Artwork hung in nooks that we passed at regular intervals.
We came to a stop outside a door, and another black-clad staff member nodded to Mrs. Branson before opening the door.
I stole a glance at my boss. His fingers had stilled, but his breathing was heavy and his frown deep. I touched his elbow and arched my brows. Are you okay? my look asked.
His shoulders eased and he dipped his chin.
Then we walked into a sumptuously decorated sitting room.
“Jared brought a friend. Nicola, was it?” Mrs. Branson asked, her piercing gaze coming to rest on me.
“Nikita, but you can call me Iris,” I said, nodding to the people in the room. There were three staff members trying to be inconspicuous at the edges of the room, along with an older man, a younger man, and a young woman. I used my vast powers of deduction to figure out that they were Jared’s father, brother, and soon-to-be sister-in-law. Jared grunted out a greeting and dropped into a sofa to our left. I perched on the edge of the cushion next to him.
Mrs. Branson waved a hand at staff members, who jumped to offer us a drink. Jared asked for wine, and I decided I wanted my wits about me, so I asked for sparkling water.
“Have you knocked her up already?” the young man called out, chortling, from the sofa across from ours. He had his arm around a gorgeous blonde dressed almost identically to me, except her pantsuit was a deep navy blue, and she’d skipped the lipstick.
“Fuck off, Will.”
“Don’t speak to your brother that way.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.