meal, but they hadn’t insulted me either, and frankly, that was a win. As far as I was concerned, Pierre was worth every penny.
It wasn’t until dessert was brought out that the conversation started back up. Over bittersweet chocolate soufflé, I started to notice something—despite all of Mama Malone’s fawning, Ford’s parents actually seemed to criticize him just as much as they had criticized me at the last dinner. As if they didn’t think he was good enough either.
And without my tablescape or menu to fuss over, they were going at him full force.
“Your father has some thoughts about your latest deal,” Mrs. Malone said.
“What’s the issue? The deal was fine,” Ford said, looking to his dad.
“Now, now, what I said was that—” Mr. Malone started.
“It was disappointing,” Ford’s mother interrupted. “You could have gotten at least another quarter million if you had just pushed harder.”
“They would’ve walked,” Ford said. “They were skittish to begin with.”
“No one walks away from Malone Real Estate Holdings,” his mother said. “They would have caved. They always do. And we really need to discuss your latest hire.”
She wasn’t eating her soufflé at all, but she was on her fourth martini.
“My latest hire is also fine,” Ford said.
“That’s the problem,” Ford’s mother said. “You seem to think ‘fine’ is good enough. It’s not. You have a family reputation to uphold. Your actions affect all of us.”
Ford didn’t say anything, but I noticed that he was getting less and less responsive with every criticism his mother heaped on top of him.
She didn’t seem to notice. “And that new headshot of yours. We’ll have to get that retaken. It’s not appropriate. I mean honestly Ford, facial hair? It just isn’t professional.”
She waited for Ford to respond, but he didn’t.
“Actually, people don’t really mind a bit of scruff these days,” I cut in, unable to listen to her anymore. “The current generation is…less judgmental.”
Mr. Malone nodded at me, though he didn’t contradict his wife.
Still, I knew what I was talking about when it came to headshots, and Ford’s mother was just plain wrong about Ford’s. It was professional and well-lit and fit in well with every other photo that Malone Real Estate had on their site. If anything, the headshot of Ford’s mother was the one that needed to be replaced. It was straight out of the eighties, with soft focus lighting and obvious Photoshopping that was clearly intended to make her look younger, but instead just made her skin look waxy and dull, like a doll’s.
“The photo is good,” I reiterated. “In my professional photographer’s opinion.”
Mrs. Malone just sniffed. Ford looked miserable. It made me want to stick up for him, so I figured I might as well sing his praises.
“I’m not sure if Ford mentioned it,” I said, “but he gave a seminar on the business of real estate last weekend for my nonprofit, and the students absolutely loved it. He’s an excellent teacher. And if he’s half as good at his job as he is at talking about it, I have complete faith that he’s worth his weight in gold at MREH.”
Ford’s parents were both staring at me now. Then a smile—one I didn’t trust—forced its way onto Mrs. Malone’s face.
“Well isn’t that lovely,” she cooed. “I’ve heard all about your little charity, Mara. All the good it does. And you know what, we should all be helping out. Don’t you think so, Ford?”
“Ford already helped out a lot by teaching the class,” I tried to say, but his mother ignored me.
“I think we should throw a big fundraiser to help out, don’t you?” she kept going. “A big shindig, with all of Chicago’s cream of the crop. Why, I know the perfect person to help.”
My heart sank. I knew exactly who she meant and where all of this was going. And the worst part was, I’d basically walked right on into it.
Ford’s parents were taking over, just like they’d done with my marriage. Only this time, they had their sights set on my charity—inserting fucking Claudia into the one thing in my life that I was most proud of, which frankly I’d busted my ass to build from the ground up.
Claudia. It was always Claudia.
I couldn’t help wondering if there was some sort of blackmail at play. Did Claudia’s family somehow own the Malones, have dirt on them the way the Malones had something on my family? It would make sense.
I looked over at Ford, hoping he would object. But as usual, he didn’t.
Instead