Her chuckle is warm. “Well, that’s a lovely surprise. What’s on your mind?”
I hesitate. The truth would be messy, complicated, and I’m not ready to dump it on her. So I take the easy way out. “I’m seeing someone.”
Silence, then a sharp inhale. “Oh, Worth. That’s amazing. Tell me about her.”
I smile despite the flicker of guilt at lying to my mother, leaning back in the chair. “Her name is Mya. She’s… beautiful. Smart. Sharp-tongued. And doesn’t put up with any of my shit.”
“That’s exactly the kind of woman you need,” Mom says, and I can hear the grin in her voice. “I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. After everything with Vanessa, you deserve that.”
The mention of Vanessa twists something in my chest. I swirl the scotch in my glass, debating whether to tell her. But she’s my mother, and I can’t keep it from her.
“I saw her in Singapore.”
There’s a pause, then her voice drops. “Vanessa?”
“Yeah. She says she wants to see Brianna.”
I don’t mention the impending custody battle because I don’t want to worry her.
Mom doesn’t skip a beat. “And what doesBriannawant?”
“She’s not sure, she might be up to seeing her. I just don’t want Bri to get her hopes up. I don’t want her hurt again.”
“I understand,” Mom says softly. “Whatever you decide, I’m here. We’ll handle it together, like we always do.”
The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. “Thanks, Mom. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, baby. We’ll see each other soon for the holidays.”
I smile. “How’s dad?”
“Grumpy as ever, of course. Just like you.”
I chuckle, the sound easing some of the tension. “Still keeping everyone on their toes?”
“Oh, you know him,” she sighs. “He asks about you all the time. He’s proud, even if he won’t say it the way I do.”
The warmth in her tone wraps around me like a hug. For a moment, it feels like I’m a teenager again, sitting at the kitchen counter while she fussed over me.
We talk a little longer about Mya, Brianna, work, and about nothing at all before we say goodnight. When I finally hang up, my heart feels a little lighter.
26
MYA
It’s late afternoon, and I’m buried in notes and projects when Worth’s voice hits me like a command.
“Ms. Jones.”
My head snaps up and I find him leaning against his office’s doorframe. “Yes, Mr. Miller?” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, instantly aware I never wear them to the office.
“In here, please.”
My brows knit, but I stand anyway. The walk to his office feels longer than it is. Worth closes the door behind me and, for a second, I brace myself, half expecting a lecture.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair opposite his desk, though he doesn’t retreat behind it. He leans his hip against the edge, watching me. I adjust the frames again and cross my legs to keep my knee from bouncing.
“You don’t usually wear glasses,” he says, voice lower than it needs to be. “I like them.”