The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,72

and got sloshed and fell down. They didn’t wear pearls and bake pies.”

Weston nodded. “When I went to rehab, I was pretty surprised that half the people in there were over fifty and looked pretty damn normal.”

“My mother did a different kind of scared-straight program. She kept getting headaches and blurry vision and probably attributed both to hangovers. It’s what delayed her diagnosis. She had a tumor the size of a golf ball in her brain by the time she told the doctor about her symptoms. She was just so used to hiding things related to her drinking.”

Weston took my hand and squeezed.

“Anyway, my point is, my mother was loyal, loving, kind, smart, and generous to a fault. She was the first person in her family to go to college, and even after she married my father, she continued to work part-time as an adjunct professor. Most people probably thought it was a fluff position, since she married into more money than she would ever need. But she took her entire paycheck and sent it to her parents every single week because they needed a little help. And when my father left us, she started teaching more classes and refused to take one dime from him, except for the cost of my education.”

“Wow.”

I smiled. “She was all those wonderful things. And she was also an alcoholic. I’m not gonna pretend there weren’t days that sucked. Because there were plenty of those. But alcoholism is a disease, not a character trait, and it doesn’t define who she was.”

Weston stared at me. I could tell he was lost in thought, but I couldn’t tell if he understood why I’d shared this. The look on his face was intense, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Did you approve a fifty-thousand-dollar increase to our budget for the Boltons’ construction?”

My forehead wrinkled. I had no idea what I’d expected him to say in response to my heartfelt admission, but this was certainly not it. “Yes. They needed an answer to avoid a delay, and you weren’t around.”

“Is your phone not working?”

I got angry. “I had called you once. You were supposed to call me when you got in, which you never did. They needed to add steel headers to a weightbearing wall in order to accommodate the extra weight on the roof above. It’s not like I approved an invoice for decorating. If you want to be involved in every decision, I’d advise you to be here.”

“Don’t do it again.”

My hands flew to my hips. “Then make yourself more goddamn accessible.”

Weston’s eyes darkened. “You’re not well-versed enough in construction to make large financial decisions, especially ones that involve Travis Bolton. He’s laying the charm on thick, and you fall for it.”

Two minutes ago, I’d wanted to hug him, and now I was seriously considering punching him in the face. “Screw you.”

He smirked. “Been there, done that.”

My eyes widened. “Go to hell!”

He glared at me. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around. Bend over the desk.”

Had he been drinking? He had to have fallen off the wagon and hit his damn head if he thought I was about to have sex with him. “I have no idea what I was thinking being nice to you and opening up.” I brushed past him and marched toward the door.

He called after me. “You’re forgetting your flowers.”

I halted and decided to show him what he could do with his flowers. Walking back to the desk, I picked them up with the intention of tossing them in the garbage. But before I could turn around, Weston had pushed up against me.

“I don’t know how to do nice, Soph,” he whispered in my ear. “This I know how to do.”

My pulse raced. I’d been practically shaking with anger. “Are you joking? You baited me into a fight because you don’t know how to be nice to me?”

He pushed his erection into my ass. “That depends on how you define nice. I would say giving you multiple orgasms is pretty nice.”

I wanted to be mad, but I felt my resolve slipping. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

There was a smile in his voice. “Yes, I do.” He paused. “Now bend over, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. One little word, and I turned to mush.

I stood there debating, wanting in the worst way to walk out the door, but somehow I couldn’t get my feet to align with my head.

Weston brushed the hair from my neck and kissed his way up to my ear. “I missed you, babe.” He snaked