and tearing at the zipper of the dark blue sheath she’d just tried on. All of the colors were the right ones for her, but nothing seemed to suit her.
Part of the problem was her, though.
She was edgy and had been ever since he’d left her house without doing much more than kissing her again—after she’d told him, Yes, I’ll have an affair with you.
Maybe not in so many words, but she’d agreed to have an affair with Zach. Her best friend. The person she turned to when everything in her world was falling apart.
And here she was. Falling apart. Falling for him, it seemed. And what was she doing?
Having an affair . . . with him. But they hadn’t even had sex yet.
Yet. She wanted him so bad, so damn bad, she ached with it and they hadn’t done anything more than some killer make out sessions. Her body was all tight and achy just thinking about it, her heart kept jumping into these odd little twitchy races that stole the breath out of her and if she didn’t know better, she’d think she was having a heart attack.
No, she was just dying from want, but had Zach done anything?
After the make out session to end all make out sessions, had he done anything to follow through?
No.
Damn it.
Throwing the dress down, she moved into the closet and stared at her clothes. She had plenty of them. Nice stuff. Not designer stuff like she might have had if she’d stayed in LA but that didn’t matter. It was still seriously gorgeous clothing and—
The ringing of the phone interrupted her train of thought.
Zach.
She rushed over to the phone but the racing of her heart did a slow, hard thud before everything faded to ashes as she saw the name on the caller ID. Blanche Levine.
Curling her lip, she turned away.
Mommy Dearest.
Storming back to the closest, she tried to focus on her clothes again, ignoring the ringing of the phone. She might have done just fine if her mother hadn’t decided to leave a damned voice mail.
Hello, darling. It’s Mommy. I heard about the wedding . . . I’m so sorry. You know that if I’d had any input—
Abigale curled her lip. “If you’d had any input, you would have sold me to the highest bidder when I was eighteen.”
This Roger just doesn’t seem like he was the right man for you. But I’m so sorry you were hurt.
“Yeah. I bet.”
I keep trying to get in touch with you. Did that nasty Zach boy—
Spinning on her heel, she stormed over to the phone and snatched it up. “That nasty Zach boy treated me better than you ever did, Mother.”
“Oh. You are there. Abigale, how are you?”
At some point in the past twenty years, her mother’s Midwestern twang had changed to a soft, breathy little drawl that just didn’t suit her. Abigale couldn’t care less.
“I was doing so much better until you called. How in the hell do you keep getting my number? You have any idea how annoying it is to keep getting it changed only to have you track it down?”
A few seconds ticked by before Blanche bothered to answer. This time, she responded in a flat, level voice. “Perhaps if you didn’t persist in treating me like a pariah, it wouldn’t be needed. Abigale, I’m your mother, I have every right to expect to be treated with the respect that position deserves.”
“Oh, really.” Abigale smirked. “Mother . . . I’m your daughter. I had every right to expect to be treated with the kindness that position deserves. Instead, you stole my money, you let your boyfriend paw me, and you did every damn thing you could think of to get me to earn more money . . . for you. There was nothing left for me when I got away from you. Nothing.”
“I put a great deal of time into your career,” Blanche said, her voice cool. So calm and disconnected.
Sometimes, Abigale thought that was what hurt the most. Her mother’s complete inability to see why this had hurt her so much. With a sad smile, she shook her head. “You don’t get it, Mother. You never will. I’ll be calling the phone company on Monday. Save us the headache between now and then . . . don’t call again.”
Then she cut the call off and tried to brush it aside. Her mom, in the end, didn’t matter, really. And for the most part, she even accepted that. But as