Charity Case - The Complete Series - Piper Rayne Page 0,257

the wrong linens and flowers.” I grab my phone searching for the number of the woman who does all the events at the club. She’ll make sure everything is up to my mom’s standards.

“You really don’t like your mom, huh?”

I click on the number and my thumb hovers while I continue talking to Victoria. “Neither of us care much for the other. I’m a constant disappointment and she’s always advising me on how I could’ve been a perfect wife if I’d only cut out my tongue.”

“She said that?” Victoria’s mouth goes slack jaw.

“No, but heavily implied my sharp tongue needs controlling if I’m ever going to keep a man.”

“She’s so different than my mother.” She shakes her head.

“Your mom is nothing like mine, believe me.”

“I thought something was up since she’s never set foot in the office or called the office line.” She stands, seeing my phone lit up, waiting to call the person. Forever the perfect assistant and I’m going to miss her help when I promote her.

“Yeah, there’s no scheduled lunch dates and I’d never trust her with my daughter if I ever had one.”

Victoria’s mouth dips down. I’m sure it’s a buzzkill since her, Jade, and her mom are like a three-generation trio of love. “I’ll let you make that call then. Can I handle anything for you? Balloons? Entertainment? Just let me know.”

“You’re the best ever, thanks.”

Her lips turn up into her usual optimistic smile and she shuts the door on her way out.

I make the phone call and luckily Tracy is more than happy to organize a Crowley event. She gushes on how much she loves my mom and I’m pretty sure she’ll make the event jaw-dropping amazing. I snap my usual enthusiasm into place because we wouldn’t want anyone getting the idea that I don’t want to plan her party. Let them believe I’m just swamped with this non-profit foundation I’m running. My mother can spin anything the way she wants. Good ol’ mother, reputation is key.

Chelsea walks in as I end the call.

“Am I bothering you?” She sits down in the chair in front of me. No papers in her hand, no phone clutched in her grip. Fear that she’s turning in her notice wraps around me.

“Not at all. What’s up?” I ask.

“We have a situation. The venue usually uses this one caterer, but that caterer has to work another event for some family member or something. So we need to find a great caterer on short notice for the gala.” She cringes, and her outward expression matches my inward one.

“Okay,” I say, using my computer to pull up a list of caterers.

“I’ve literally called all the big ones. I’m on a waitlist, but everyone else has bad Yelp ratings and I didn’t think this would be the time to try out a newbie.” She crosses her legs, her arms clasped in her lap, her face holding a green tint.

“Are you okay?” I side eye her.

“Let’s just say all those sweets I’ve been eating? I’m not going to have to worry about gaining a pound.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Yeah, but as long as my body isn’t my own, I’m happy. Means the little bean is still there.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I can’t even imagine what she and Dean are going through. Every day waiting for the ball to drop.

“What have the doctors said?” I press print and the hum of my printer fills my office.

She crosses her fingers in the air. “All good things…so far.”

“Special delivery!” Victoria comes in holding a box.

Normally I might have assumed it was for me, but since Chelsea is always getting deliveries from Dean, I’m not surprised when Victoria hands the present over to her.

“We’re going to have no money to raise this kid.” This time her smile does reach her eyes, her cheeks round, and her eyes glisten.

Do I look like that when I’m with Roarke?

“Um…I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration,” Victoria says.

We both wait, eager for Chelsea to open the gift. Dean is definitely an outside the box kind of gift giver.

She pulls another wrapped gift from the cardboard box. It’s in Cubs wrapping paper. She reads the note and places it on my desk then giggles to herself and tears off the packaging.

Victoria eyes the note on the edge of my desk. “May I?”

“Sure,” she answers, her concentration intent on opening the box.

“Thought tearing the paper would be a good stress reliever. Love, Dean,” Victoria reads it and then sets it