DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) by Kristina Weaver

Author:Kristina Weaver [Weaver, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-09-11T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Dressed in my most posh outfit, I made my way across the city, precariously perching on the edges of bus seats, hurrying to stand when someone tried to sit next to me, and wishing I’d set aside some money for a taxi ride instead. A taxi would’ve been exorbitant, though. I was traveling to Manhattan proper, running late for dinner at one of the nicest hotels on the island.

It was my fault. I’d told my mother that I lived in a neighborhood not too far from the hotel — a fib that had made her preen with pride.

“Nothing but the best for my Gem,” she’d crowed, making me feel guilty and glad at the same time, a hot mixture of emotions I’d grown used to. If she knew I didn’t even have my own bathroom, she’d probably wither away into an inconsolable mess.

But now that she was visiting me, for the first time since I’d moved to the city, I needed to look the part of the reality I’d peddled to her over the past year. I’d gone over the notes I’d taken in my journal to keep my facts straight, tried to swallow my anxiety, and reminded myself that it could always be worse — I could still be sporting a hangover to go with the vintage pieces I’d arranged into what I considered to be a nice outfit.

I’d found the gray blazer in a bargain bin at a fine retailer, and it dressed up everything I owned. A subtly sequined tank top I’d plucked off the rack of a secondhand shop added some pizazz, and the black tuxedo pants I’d literally pulled out of a dumpster near my night job completed the quirky but surprisingly elegant look. I felt invincible in this outfit, polished off with a topknot and smoky eye makeup. This outfit looked like it belonged to a young woman who was confidently coming into her own in the big city, not a girl frightened of the future and unsure of her place in it.

“Look at you!” my mother exclaimed, making me glow with relief. “Look at my gorgeous girl in her gorgeous threads! Oh, just look at her, Frank!”

“Geez, please don’t let my mother bully you into gushing over my appearance,” I said to the man who stood up from the table with her at the same time. “This is embarrassing.”

“No need to be embarrassed,” he said, his British accent making me blanch, then shake my head at myself. What was this? Was it a British invasion here in the Big Apple? The injustice of the situation definitely wasn’t lost on me — I’d hooked up with a British sex angel last night, and my mother had netted one to marry.

“This is Frank,” my mother said, beaming, and I tried to put my twilight moment behind me. It was good to see her so happy. She deserved to be happy.

“I hope it is,” I said, smiling as I held my hand out for him to shake enthusiastically.

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