Shaken (Twisted Fox #2) - Charity Ferrell Page 0,33
do this again—play the savior when, behind his walls, he’s really the devil.
I drop my hand down and peel his fingers off me, one by one.
“Don’t touch me again, Archer,” I snarl, pushing him away and sliding off my stool. “Go call the woman you fucked.”
“Georgia.”
He attempts to grab my hand, but I swat him away and stick my finger in his face.
“No.”
He pulls back but calls my name one last time as I leave.
“Hi, sweetie.”
I peek up from stocking the beer fridge to find a woman plucking a pair of designer sunglasses off her face.
With a gorgeous Chanel handbag hanging from her shoulder and no doubt a monthly Botox budget, she’s crawled straight from The Stepford Wives movie. The opposite everything of our everyday customer base.
Our regulars don’t sport cashmere.
Don’t have rocks on their fingers that cost more than it would to feed a small village.
Either she’s lost—or from Archer’s world.
“I’m looking for Archer,” she states, her tone polite.
Cougar alert.
How many more of Archer’s women will I have to deal with?
I can’t stop myself from snapping, “Why?” I take a step back with a cringe, wishing I could backtrack my response.
A week has passed since I told Archer about my mother showing up at my apartment.
A week since I told him to keep his hands off me.
A week since I told Grace to punch me in the face to knock some sense into me if I looked at him with googly eyes again.
Archer and I have switched roles.
I’m now the one avoiding any run-ins, conversations, or contact with him.
“Uh-oh.” The woman laughs, holding out her hand. “I’m Josephine Callahan, Archer’s mother.”
Well, shoot.
Plot twist.
I pull myself together, embarrassment hitting me, and clasp her hand in mine. “Oh.”
Can I climb into a hole now?
She grins. “How long have you been dating my son?” She shakes her head with a tsk. “I swear, he hides everything from me.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks as I pull away. “The never day of never.”
My response doesn’t deflate her smile.
“I see he’s being his difficult self,” she says. “Difficult, but under that hard exterior is an incredible heart. It’s just overgrown from hiding so long.” Her smile widens. “It’ll be like hitting the jackpot when you make it there, I promise. Don’t give up.”
My mouth drops open as I scramble for a response. Even with her uppity appearance and barely moving forehead, she’s nice. The problem is, she doesn’t know my history with Archer. He doesn’t want me to find his heart. He doesn’t want any woman to find his heart. He wants her to find his cock, and then he discards her. I haven’t seen Dare Girl since the night he banged her—a clue he most likely played morning-ditcher with her as well.
“We don’t exactly get along,” I tell her. “That won’t be happening.”
“My son can be complicated.”
“Yes, he can also be a jerk, rude, and inconsiderate—no offense.” I slap my hand over my mouth at my outburst, but she doesn’t seem fazed.
“None taken.” She sighs.
I flash her a genuine smile and point toward a door with an Employees Only sign “His office is through there. Down the hall, second door on the left.”
“Before I hunt him down, how about a glass of your best wine?”
Uh-oh. If she drinks liquor like Lola described her husband did, our best wine will taste gross to her.
“Of course.” I twist around and eye our wine options. I’m not much of a wine connoisseur, so I pick the one ordered the most. Grabbing a glass, I pour her a glass of pinot blanc.
“He’s working through healing,” she adds when I hand over her drink. “I promise, he has a big heart.”
“That heart seems to shrivel up more and die when we’re around each other.”
She takes a sip, her face scrunching up as she swallows it down. “Thank you. Don’t give up on him, okay?”
16
Archer
“Knock, knock.”
I hear my mother’s voice seconds before she barges into my office without knocking.
“Please ask the cute spitfire employee out on a date,” she says, shutting the door behind her.
“Hello to you too,” I grumble.
She grins. “Hi, sweetie.”
Why is she here?
My mother doesn’t visit the bar frequently. The few times have been when I didn’t answer her phone calls and she was worried. It’s not her scene, and I understand. Some feel comfortable in sports bars, others in clubs, and galas if you’re Josephine Callahan.
She points toward the door. “That spunky little thing behind the bar? I like her, and she likes you.”