Chapter 45
I looked up to see his unreadable expression.
Then I wheeled over, passing Tamara, whose face went pale as a sheet.
Harlan frowned, but he stayed silent, and he just wheeled me out.
He told me to get in the car. I was about to sit in the back, but he stopped me, saying, “Front seat.”
Confused, I glanced at him. “My mom wants to dine with you,” he said in a toneless voice.
So that was why he didn’t invite Tamara.
The place Marilyn picked for lunch was just a 10–minute drive away.
Harlan wheeled me in, and I spotted her in the private room–dripping in gold and jewels, all glitz and no class.
She took a sip of coffee and then sneered at me. “Charlene, you feel good about getting what you want, huh?”
I gave her a half–smile. “Not bad.”
She snorted, slamming her coffee cup on the table. “You’re really milking this, making my son wheel you in like you’re the future missus already.”
Harlan frowned. “Mom, Charlene’s foot’s hurt.”
Marilyn just scoffed and started ordering food.
The dishes piled up, but I couldn’t eat a bite, not with all the chili drenched on them.
I got it. Marilyn was trying to take me down a peg, knowing my stomach was wrecked from all the drinking I did for clients.
I thought she was throwing down the gauntlet this time.
When I didn’t touch my fork, Marilyn sneered, “Why? You don’t like the dishes I ordered? Or are you trying to embarrass me on purpose?”
With that, she clanked her fork down. “Harlan, this is the gem you picked? You’d be better off marrying Jones Group’s heiress!”
1 paused and then stabbed some spicy fish, swallowed it hard, and smiled at Marilyn. “Mrs. Shannon, I was just deciding where to start.”
Marilyn huffed, clearly pissed. She dropped her fork and ordered a bottle of hard liquor.
When the waiter brought it, I inwardly scoffed. This stuff was notorious. One sip and I’d be in the ER tonight.
Marilyn tapped the bottle, her eyes mocking. “Join me for a drink?”
I stared at her, my heart sinking.
For my brother’s surgery bills, I guessed I had to join her. Just as I reached for the glass, Harlan grabbed my wrist, saying, “Charlene can’t drink.“”
Marilyn glared at him, her eyes icy.
Harlan added, “We have work to do this afternoon. She needs to stay sharp.”
“Oh, Harlan, you’re all grown up now, ignoring your mom’s words,” Marilyn sneered, slamming her glass down.
Harlan’s brow furrowed, but he stayed silent.
Marilyn stopped pushing the drinks but found other ways to nitpick.
If I didn’t eat, she’d say I looked down on her. If my spoon scraped the bowl, she’d call me rude.
During the meal, Harlan just sat there, not sticking up for me.
I paid closer attention, avoiding her traps. By the end of the meal, Marilyn sneered, “No matter how you dress up, you’re still common folk. You can’t fake being high–class.”
My stomach was cramping, and I snapped back, “Some high–class folks need us common folks to lift them up.”
IN
