To Sir, with Love - Lauren Layne Page 0,25

in some serious eye cream, because I wouldn’t have pegged her for a day over fifty. Her dark shoulder-length hair is thick and shiny without a hint of gray, her figure trim, and her skin has the healthy look of someone who’s decided to embrace the natural aging process and sunscreen.

“I thought I was your best friend,” the equally attractive man beside her says, glancing up from his phone with a wounded expression. Dressed in a light gray suit sans the tie, with a tanned complexion and deep smile lines, he’s her perfect match, and I feel that usual tinge of delight and jealousy at seeing two people who clearly belong together. I want that.

She gives his arm a fond pat. “You’re in the top five for certain, dear. Right in between my navy Tory Burch flats and Fendi sandals. It’s a good place to be.” Her pretty blue eyes move beyond me, her smile widening. “Sebastian, there you are.”

“Mom. Dad.” The gravelly voice from behind me sparks an annoying tingle of awareness down my spine. Then his actual words register. These are his parents?

No. No way can two people so charming and pleasant produce him. They’re all wide smiles and geniality. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen his teeth.

But on closer inspection, I realize the woman’s eyes aren’t just blue. They’re aqua blue, albeit a good deal more friendly than her son’s. And while Sebastian doesn’t particularly resemble his father, the elder Mr. Cooper has the same Ivy League airs and command of the room.

Belatedly, I realize that if these are Sebastian Andrews’s parents, that makes them Vanessa and Gary Andrews, CEO and CFO of the company, respectively. I am annoyed to have to admit I’d stereotyped them by imagining them to be cool and aloof, instead of the type to cheerfully discuss shoes with a stranger.

“Thanks for pushing the schedule back for a late lunch,” he says, and I glance at Noel, realizing that when he’d said Mr. Andrews had been able to move some things around, he’d pushed back lunch with his parents. To meet with… me?

It’s nearly as puzzling as Carlos’s flowers on his reception desk.

“Not a problem!” his mom says. “Will Genevieve be joining us?” I’m starting to ease around her to make my exit, but she looks my way once again. “Sebastian’s girlfriend would go absolutely bonkers for your shoes.”

Genevieve. The name fits her.

I smile politely. “I believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about anything with as much affection as she had when she found a pair of over-the-knee dove-gray boots.”

“Oh, you’ve met her!” Vanessa seems delighted. “Did Sebastian ever tell you how he and Genevieve met?”

I really don’t want to know, but the way Sebastian shoves his hands into his pockets and scowls means he doesn’t want me to hear it either.

I glance his way and grin innocently. “He’s never said! But I love a good story.”

“Well,” his mother continues. “Gen’s mom and I were sorority sisters back in the day, and we became the best of friends. Roommates, maids of honor, the whole deal. We even got pregnant at the same time. Genevieve was born just six days before Sebastian, and in the same hospital. We burped them together, changed them together. They were basically betrothed from birth. We never would have pushed them together if they weren’t interested, of course, but you can imagine our delight when they hit puberty…”

“I got most of my gray hairs during that decade,” Mr. Cooper says, running a hand through his thick head of salt-and-pepper hair that’s a much lighter shade of brown than his son’s.

“That’s adorable,” I gush with a wide grin at Sebastian. “My sister and brother-in-law are high school sweethearts. They’ve been married twenty-one years.”

“You hear that?” Vanessa says playfully, raising her voice and glancing at her son. “Married.”

She drags out the word for emphasis in a way that makes me think it’s not the first time they’ve had that conversation, and while I can’t say I’m not a little curious about the situation, my exit is well overdue.

“Well, I’ll let you get to your lunch,” I say, lifting my hand for a little farewell wave. “It was nice to meet you!”

“Oh, I didn’t get your name, you of the fabulous shoes.”

“This is Gracie Cooper,” Sebastian cuts in.

Vanessa Andrews’s eyes flicker with something that looks like regret, telling me she knows exactly who I am and why I’m here, but I can’t seem to hate her for it.

Maybe because