He chuckled a little. “It was relatively uninteresting, so I’ll spare you the details.”
“Nonsense. I want to hear everything.” There was more rustling before her voice sounded more amplified. “Did you get that deal you wanted? The one with the museum?”
He guessed she’d put him on speaker phone, so he said, “Hi, Dad.”
“Son.”
He snorted. “Yes, my deal went through fine.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. You don’t sound very excited, though.”
Henry winced. It was times like these that he wished his mother wasn’t so well adept at picking up his mood shifts. Even when he wasn’t in her presence, she could still tell.
“I am. Just tired.”
“That’s not your tired voice.”
He shook his head and flipped on his turn signal. His penthouse’s parking garage was just up the street.
“I’m fine.”
“Henry Nicholas.”
I hate when she uses that tone…
“I’m just feeling a little burnt out. I need a change of pace, I think.”
“Well, why don’t you call that matchmaker I met a few weeks ago? You know, the one whose business card I texted you a picture of?”
He held back a groan, remembering exactly whose business card his mother had sent to him. Lo and behold, his mother had come into contact with the infamous Gerri Wilder during one of her charity events.
Of course, the two had hit it off immediately … which Henry suspected was over talks of him, no doubt … resulting in his mother giving her very sage advice later that evening over Gerri offering to set him up with someone from her agency.
The thought of Gerri setting him up with a stranger was enough to make him want to lock himself into his penthouse.
“Mom…”
“I’m serious! She’s very reputable.”
He grunted, pulling into his parking garage. “I’m sure she is.”
“What’s the harm in it? If you don’t like who she sets you up with, well…”
There was a beat of silence before his dad cut in. “It is time you found an alpha mate, son. It is your responsibility to continue the alpha line, not expand the number of those too lazy to get a real job. The clowder is counting on that.”
He bit his tongue, wanting to tell his father that artists work just as hard as those with nine-to-five jobs. “I know…” he said instead.
“Just give it a chance, honey.” His mother spoke again. “I promise she knows what she’s doing.”
The whole idea made him feel … weird. But he needed some kind of change soon because it felt like his panther was ready to crawl out of his skin.
He sighed again and parked his car in his assigned spot. “Send me the details, and I’ll get in contact with her.”