* * *
“I don’t think Juliette likes me,” I say thoughtfully, when the fog in my brain clears enough that I can form words.
Sebastian shakes his head. “It’s not you, it’s me. She’s been working with some investors who want to set up a restaurant chain, and I went to meet with them yesterday, but it was a waste of time. She thinks I should give them another chance.”
“I didn’t think you needed outside investors.” I’m almost too tired for conversation, but this is interesting. “You know, because of your resident billionaire.”
“Resident billionaire,” Daniel snorts. “You have such charming names for me, Bailey. This isn’t the sort of project I’d invest in.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t approve of it,” Sebastian answers. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Daniel’s failure to invest in this project.
“Why?” I ask again.
Daniel shrugs. “Sebastian works too hard.”
I roll my eyes. “Pot calling the kettle black much?” I ask him.
He smiles. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Everyone in this room is guilty of that particular sin. It’s easier to tell your friends that they should relax than it is to take your own advice.”
I snuggle into their bodies, and pull a pillow over my head. “I’m taking your advice,” I say, and my voice comes out muffled. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Daniel says, affection tinting his voice. Okay. This is the third time he’s called me sweetheart. Seriously weird.
28
You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.
Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Daniel:
My mother’s social life is a lot fuller than I think it is, so it isn’t until Friday that we manage to have lunch. She’s picked a cafe where the smell of incense hangs thick in the air, and every server has multiple piercings. In the custom Armani suit I’m wearing, I feel very out of place.
“You could have warned me,” I tell her with a grin, knowing that she’s secretly amused by my discomfort. “I would have worn my Bob Marley t-shirt.”
“Do you own a Bob Marley t-shirt?” she asks with interest.
“I have hidden depths, mother,” I tell her. “You’d be surprised.”
She laughs. “It’s more likely to be you than your sister,” she says, launching on her favorite rant. “Seriously, that girl and her stuck-up fiancé.”
“Mom,” I say patiently. “Leave Sue be. She likes Graham well enough, and that should be all that matters for us.” I can’t bring myself to believe that Sue could love Graham. He’s young and ambitious, and wants to go into politics. He’s very… straight-laced. “I didn’t ask you to lunch to discuss her.”
“No,” she agrees. “Tell me about the other girl. Did you apologize? Did she forgive you?”
My mother likes to know what’s going on in our lives, and I should have known I’d get an inquisition today. The last time I saw her, we’d had lunch with the president of NYU, and we were too busy discussing the details of the Hartman endowment for my mother to quiz me. Not today. Today, she’s looking for answers.
I find myself strangely reluctant to talk about Bailey. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I don’t want to get into details.”
She ignores my words with practiced ease. “What’s her name?” she probes.
“Bailey.” My mother is like a bloodhound on a trail. When she starts her line of questioning, my sister and I have learned to fold early. It’s easier that way. “She’s an assistant professor at NYU. She teaches Cultural Anthropology and she’s up for tenure this year in a severely underfunded department.”
“Ah.” She tries to hide her smile. “That explains the grant to NYU’s Liberal Arts departments. I should have known from the grand gesture that you were wooing someone. Remember Natalie?”
“It wasn’t a grand gesture,” I say automatically, wincing as I remember the Natalie episode, as my family likes to call it.