“Oh, Bunny, I forgot to tell you. Remember Felicity Hawthorne?” Julianne gave her daughter a frosty look, taking a sip of her red wine. “She went to school with Hera. She’s the director of a think tank now, in Los Angeles. She said she’d love it if you sent her your résumé!”
“I don’t have a résumé, but Idohave an allergy to nepotism.” Hallie smiled, and that was when I noticed her plate was empty. Which, of course, made sense, since almost everything on the table contained meat. She must have been starving—no wonder she was hangry.
“Oh, I’m trying, Hallie. Could you at least throw me a bone? Sarcasm is beneath us, Bunny.” Julianne’s face fell.
“Good thing I’m not a part of ‘us’ then, right,Mommy?” Brat tapped her pointy nails along the table, a habit she’d developed five seconds ago to get on her mother’s nerves.
“This conversation is redundant.” Anthony tossed his napkin onto his plate. “You don’t need to get a job right away. There’s still time for that. We haven’t seen you in so long, Hallie. Let’s focus on catching up.”
“Let’s.” Hallie perked. “Do you have a month or two? I have alotof news from the last twenty-one years.”
“You’re a product of a generation that has too much, and of whom is required too little.” Julianne wasn’t in the mood to de-escalate the atmosphere.
“Whatever,Ma.” Brat rolled her nails along the tattoos on her arms, making her mother’s eyes stop and examine them. “Personal responsibility is a foreign concept to you.”
“That is rich.” Julianne smiled. “Coming from someone who hasn’t worked a day in her life.”
“Dessert’s almost here!” one of the staffers in the room cried desperately, leaning between Hallie and me to clear our plates.
“Good,” Julianne said. “I’m in the mood for something sweet and comforting, since I obviously cannot get any affection from my own daughter.”
I was starting to see the pros of not having a family.
“So what did you want to talk about, son?” Anthony referred the question to me, pouring more iced tea into my glass. I wasn’t his son, and I found the endearment denigrating.
“I understand that the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow.” I didn’t spare Brat a look. I was about to deliver a knockout.
“Correct.” Anthony nodded. “My security team was instructed to send you all the details.”
“They did.” I took a sip of my iced tea. “And the wedding’s in two weeks.”
“Yes.” Julianne touched her tinted cheeks. She obviously took pride in her other daughter. “That’s exactly right.”
“I would like to bridge it out and stay in Texas,” I said, not looking at Brat, who stiffened beside me. “Other than saving everyone the logistical headache, it would also ensure Hallie is protected in her hotel suite, where she already has a security team working around the clock.”
“Sounds like a solid plan to me.”
“No way.” Brat stood up, slapping her palm against the table. Her face looked ashen, yet she was animated enough to safely assume she was close to stabbing someone with her steak knife. “I’m not spending two-and-a-half weeks in Texas. I’m allergic to this place.”
“Dearie me.” Julianne swirled her red wine in tiny circles. All good manners and bad intentions. “Are we not glamorous enough for you, Bunny?”
Hallie’s gaze was fixed on her father, the lesser evil. “I want to be where I belong.”
“You belong in Texas.” Anthony’s face softened. “With us.”
“You belong nowhere,” I interjected. “You have three friends in L.A. Two of which probably cannot spell your name. It is too big, too crowded, and the paps would love to have your head on a platter. Texas may not suit your lifestyle, but it’ll keep you away from temptations and potential news coverage. You’ll be staying here, doing some volunteer work, getting to know the area. I’ve already set it up.”
“Thank you, Ransom.” Anthony winked. “Now, this is what I call money well spent.”
Brat stared me down. Though words didn’t pass her lips, her eyes screamed volumes.
I wasn’t letting her put herself in danger in Los Angeles. Even if I was the one responsible for this unfortunate predicament.
“I’m not staying here a minute past the rehearsal dinner,” she announced.
“Careful now, Miss Thorne, or your parents won’t be able to see the staggering progress you’ve made.” I smirked at her.
Our plates cleared out. Servants came out of the kitchen with Bananarchy, ice cream sandwiches, and an unholy amount of cake, lining shiny silver spoons on fresh napkins.