His One and Only(26)

Eventually he found his way to the nightstand, but it wasn’t pretty. He fell twice and knocked over a houseplant and something fragile (he heard it shatter into pieces when it hit the floor). But finally he had the phone in his hand.

“Answer call.”

“Hello, darling!” his mother sing-songed.

“Mom,” he said. “How’s wherever you are this week?”

“Oh, the Seychelles are beautiful, darling,” she answered. “If only your injury hadn’t been quite so dramatic, you could join us on our cruise.”

Beau had learned over the years to ignore most of what came out of his self-involved mother’s mouth. Also, he’d rather deal with a million Josie’s than spend any amount of time trapped on a cruise ship with his mother and her boyfriend. So he just said, “Glad to hear you’re having fun, Mom.”

“I am having a rather lovely time,” his mother answered. “Or perhaps I should say I was having a lovely time until Josie Witherspoon called here asking for a raise.”

“What?”

“She told me that you were a lot more work than she thought you would be and wondered if she might get more money.”

His heart iced over. Josie had been complaining about him behind his back, to his mother of all people. “And what did you say?”

“I reminded her I could get a Mexican to do her job for half the money.” His mother, who came from a long line of southern debutantes, answered in a voice ringing with entitled indignation. “But might I just say, I was very surprised she’d try to finagle a raise so soon. Josie has always been such a sweet girl. Never gave me a moment of trouble even in her teenage years, which is more than I can say about you. You were a little hellion from the age of four.”#p#分页标题#e#

Beau rolled his eyes in spite of himself. Use your mom’s Miss Alabama sash to make a slingshot once, and you’re labeled a troublemaker for life.

“What did she say when you said no?”

He could almost hear the frown in his mother’s voice when she answered, “She said she was sorry to have bothered me and she got right off the phone, as well she should after overstepping like that. But she sounded sad.”

“I’m sure she did,” he said, his voice flat. “Since working with me is such a hardship.”

“I suspect she needs the money,” his mother said in an off-hand way. To the former beauty queen who had never lacked for anything in her life, money was one of those trivial things only the unsophisticated worried about. “But I’m calling to make sure her complaints are without merit. You were always so great with Loretta. You’re not giving her daughter any trouble, now are you?”

“Don’t worry,” he answered. “Josie won’t be calling you anymore. I’ll take care of it.”

“Now, Beau,” his mother said. “Don’t do anything rash…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Beau repeated.

Then he said, “End call.” But he kept the phone gripped tight in his hand even after he heard the phone click off.

Josie had called his mother behind his back, to tell on him like he was a toddler she couldn’t control. But he wasn’t a toddler. He was a grown man. And before Josie left for the night, she’d know that.





CHAPTER 8

JOSIE DEBATED WHETHER TO REMIND BEAU she wouldn’t be around that evening as she walked up the stairs with his dinner tray. On one hand, her mother had always done the Prescotts the courtesy of letting them know when she was leaving the house, especially if it was for more than the couple of hours it took to run her weekly errands.

On the other hand, her heart was still in a permanent state of cringe since the call with his mother.

It couldn’t have gone worse. First she’d stuttered through her request for more money, not being nearly as diplomatic as she would have liked as she explained the situation. Then Mrs. Prescott had responded in a way that made her feel like the lowest form of dirt, reminding her that there were many “illegals,” she could hire for less money and that Loretta had never complained about Beau even when he was an unruly four year old and prone to throwing back-to-back temper tantrums.

She hadn’t known how to explain that dealing with adult Beau was worse than dealing with a four year old. Four year olds didn’t make your job harder just for the hell of it. Four year olds didn’t snap at you whenever you tried to help them. And most of all, four year olds didn’t look like Beau Prescott.

When she’d dropped off a snack for him and Mac earlier that afternoon, she’d found him doing chin-ups with weights strapped around his ankles, and she literally stopped and stared. He was working out in a ratty, gray college t-shirt with “Bama” written across the front in tall, crimson letters. It had become so thin over the years that it clung to his sweaty body and made her wonder what it would feel like to reach underneath and feel those muscles, warm beneath her hands…