Page 152 of Legally Mine

Chapter 36

I left Brandon's apartment early in the morning despite his multiple attempts to keep me in bed, even though he had more on his plate than I did. Before leaving last night, Cory had said he would be there by seven to work on his announcement speech and plan a strategy for the fallout of the Globe article. I awoke just before six with a massive ball of dread lodged in my gut, and much to Brandon's chagrin, escaped soon after in the back of an Uber.

Even at that early hour, photographers were already parked outside of Brandon's building. No doubt more would arrive by the time the newspapers hit the sidewalks, and I was very, very glad that my name wasn't on the lease of Eric's apartment or anywhere else anyone could find my address. The front of my building was thankfully pap-free. For now.

I spent the morning unpacking, trying to be quiet so as not to wake up Eric. I wasn't sure if Jane was still here too. I hoped she was. Although I had doubts she and Eric could last an entire two weeks together, she had been sending me goofy selfies from the apartment up until two nights ago. I desperately needed Jane's advice right now.

I got a text from Brandon informing me that Margie was sending over a stylist around three. Cory had suggested the idea, which I'd fought bitterly at first. But Cory had insisted that if I had to be there, then I needed to look the part.

"You don't want to be a sidepiece, sweetheart, then you need to dress like his wife," he'd said just before he left, narrowly avoiding Brandon's lunge as the elevator doors closed.

As much as I hated to admit it, Cory had a point. My flaming hair was a dead giveaway, so between the paparazzi and my name in the Globe article, someone was going to put two and two together. I didn't want to look like a poor student when they did.

My phone rang, jerking me out of my thoughts. It was a New York number, although one I didn't recognize. Dad.

"Hello?" I answered, with the ball in my stomach tightened into a knot.

"Skylar, darling, it's Janette. How are you, my love? We heard you returned from France last night. Was it exquisite?"

I blew out a breath of relief, although Janette's banter wasn't really high on my list of priorities at the moment.

"Hi, yeah, we got back late. It was great. Marseille is beautiful, as I'm sure you know."

"Divine, darling, just divine. Although to be honest, we prefer Cassis."

Janette launched on a long, melodramatic comparison of Marseille and Cassis, the city that bookended the other side of the Calanques National Park. I separated my clean from dirty clothes as she yammered on about what she and her family had been doing since the Fourth. They were staying with her parents in New York, and they'd all been enjoying a reunion with family there. I waited for her to mention that she'd seen Dad, but luckily, no mention came. Good, I thought. The last thing my fragile father needed right now was a run-in with his ex.

"So, darling, I have to ask: has Brandon said anything about Maurice's offer?"

I paused, a black shirt in hand. "What?"

"I thought he might have said something. Maurice gave him such a wonderful presentation at the Cape, but he hasn't heard a thing from him or his associates. I know the two of you have been having a lovely time together, but really, don't you think it's a bit unprofessional to let things go for almost a month?"

"No more unprofessional than Maurice sending his wife to get at Brandon through his girlfriend," I retorted as I sat down on top of a mound of clean tank tops. "What the hell is going on, Janette?"

There was a sigh over the phone, then a brief bark at the kids: "Annabelle! Christoph! Really, can't you please take the incessant clamoring to the nursery!" Then, back to me: "I apologize for that, and for asking about Brandon. It's just that, dear Maurice really is a bit rumpled about the whole thing. He was so excited about the prospect of working with your beau, and he's just been a beast about it since. Perhaps you could mention it to Brandon. Would you, darling?"

I frowned at a shirt that was perfectly clean, but now crumpled in my hands. "Sure. I'll mention it."

"Wonderful, wonderful. That's all I can ask. Now, your brother and sister are simply dying to see you. We were thinking about coming to Boston tonight. What say you to dinner?"

I chucked the black shirt into the clothes hamper next to my closet. Why did she always have to talk like a character from The Great Gatsby?

"I can't, unfortunately. I have to go to a dinner thing with Brandon. Maybe later this week, depending on how work goes."

"Oh!" Janette said brightly. Then, after a brief pause: "Of course. Absolutely. You let us know what works, darling."

She quickly said her goodbyes, leaving me with the familiar feeling that I had just been involved in only a fraction of the conversation that my mother had been having. It was always like that with her; her head was always in the clouds or somewhere else besides with me.

My bedroom door creaked open, pulling me from my irritation. A long white leg, followed by Jane's black-spiked head, poked through.

I grinned. "Hey there, lover."

Jane snorted, then came in my and flopped onto the bed next to me, wearing a pair of men's boxer shorts and a T-shirt that looked a lot like Eric's favorite Yankees shirt. Her long legs splayed down the comforter as she collapsed into the pillows.

"Still!" she cried toward the ceiling. "Still your bed is more comfortable than mine. What is your secret, woman?"

I shrugged and continued unpacking. "Discount sheets? Lumpy pillows? I only ever spring for the cheap stuff, you know."