Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,5

real mother. A mother who would be proud of her only daughter.

“You don’t miss me.”

“Of course I do. And I’m hurt you’d even think otherwise.” Helene in full-on aggrieved mode. “Please, darling. Do come. For me?”

And of course her stupid heart ached. Wanting to believe her. Telling Christie that perhaps this time, on this occasion, her mother meant it.

“Mum—”

“Darling.” Helene’s voice was very soft. “We could have some together time perhaps? Just you and me?”

Lies. Such lies. Hot, angry words flooded into her head. Words that she could never say because somehow whenever she tried to speak the truth to her mother, the words always tangled themselves up and she couldn’t get them out. “M-m-mum…”

“Oh don’t stutter, dear. It’s a dreadful habit.”

Christie shut her mouth. Bit back the words, just as she always did. Hated herself for doing so, just as she always did. Hated her poor, deluded doormat heart for wanting something it was never going to get. Hated herself for giving in.

“Yes, okay,” she said, tiredly. “I’ll come to the party.”

“Wonderful.” The wounded tone vanished as if it had never been. “I’ll send the invite to you as soon as I’ve approved the mock-up. Oh,” a small pause. “I don’t suppose you patched things up with Greg, did you? We’d just love to see him again.”

Of course they would. Her family had thought the sun shone out of Greg’s proverbial. Even when Christie had told them about their breakup and his cheating, they’d been all “poor Greg,” making her feel as if she was to blame somehow.

Christie stared straight ahead, her jaw tight. “Patch things up? You do remember the whole cheating thing, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. But men are like that. You really have to make an effort to hold on to them.” Her mother sighed. “So you’re not going to try and get him back then? He was such a wonderful man. Very much our kind of people, darling.”

“No, I’m not,” Christie said stonily. Really, the amount of wine left in the bottle wasn’t going to be enough after this conversation. She’d need the whole bloody vineyard. “I think I’d rather poke my own eyes out with matchsticks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Christie. There’s no need for that kind of thing.” Helene sighed again, sounding long-suffering. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything different from you. All right, come by yourself. I’m sure we can find someone nice for you.”

Oh yeah, like the last family party. Where her mother “just happened” to have invited one of the younger tax lawyers from her father’s corporate law firm to “keep Christie company.” The guy had spent a whole hour talking about himself and his boat, then asked her about her stock portfolio. And since Christie knew nothing about stocks, still less about portfolios, the conversation had gone downhill from there.

Her mother’s version of “someone nice” was Christie’s version of “someone who liked to talk about himself and nothing else for hours,” in other words.

Christie swallowed. “I have a boyfriend already, okay?”

A complete and utter lie but it was the only way to get her mother off her back.

“You do?” Genuine surprise this time. “Anyone I know?”

Oh crap. Her and her stupid mouth. “No, no one. Sorry, Mum. I’ve got to go.”

“Make sure you bring him—”

Christie hung up before her mother could finish, her hand shaking as she stabbed the disconnect button.

Great. So now not only had she agreed to go to her perfect brother’s perfect engagement party, she’d totally made up a boyfriend to bring along as well.

Good going, St. John. Perhaps you could make up an imaginary guy for an imaginary date for Ben’s article, too?

Christie picked up her wine and swallowed the rest of it, choking only slightly. The alcohol sat in her stomach, lighting up a fire, her anger beginning to burn.

No, dammit, she wasn’t going to let her mother get to her like this. The days of trying to please her, trying to get just one word of praise from her, were over.

O-V-E-R.

She wasn’t hopeless with men. She hadn’t been with Studman, had she? Oh no, she’d had a sexy conversation. Involving garters and Bloody Marys and sheepskin rugs.

Christie set her jaw and glared at her laptop, determination hardening inside her.

She was going to get her date for her article and the date would be great. No, scrub that—the date would be amazing. She’d show her mother just how damn good she was with men.

And she knew just where to go and who to