Page 23 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

My aunt’s words bring a smile to my face as I double check myself in the mirror, about a half an hour after arriving home.

Once I put the last touches on my makeup, I grab the sketches I’d brought home from work a few days earlier. There were a few changes needed in the outfits for some scenes of Late Nights.

Feeling refreshed and more beautiful than I have in a long time, I give Ms. Shelby her breakfast and one more head rub before rushing out of my apartment. I don’t want to keep Spencer waiting too long, even though it’s early enough that we’ll make it to set with plenty of time.

But the moment I step off the elevator and see the woman standing at the security desk, I come to a halt.

“Mom,” I blurt out.

She turns to me with narrowed eyes, dressed in her usual dark slacks, white button-up, and black suit jacket. Shonda Sterling is nothing if not professional-looking.

My mother looks me up and down, her eyes narrowing as she takes in my dress.

“Are you going to a costume party this early in the morning?” she snarks.

My stomach plummets as if the rug has been pulled out from underneath my feet. Her disapproving look in my mind the same as it’s always been.

“I’m on my way to work,” I say, my voice slightly shaky. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a work trip. The bank is hosting a convention. Don’t worry, I will be leaving tonight.”

My mother is the vice president of the second largest bank in the state of Michigan.

“You would’ve known I was coming if you hadn’t rushed me off of the phone yesterday,” she continues.

Suddenly I regret hanging up on her so abruptly yesterday. She must’ve already been at the airport or on her way when she called.

“Are you even going to invite me up to your apartment?” She looks over my shoulder, toward the elevator.

“I’m short on time,” I say honestly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Expected or not, I’m here. But I’m not here to talk about my trip.”

“Then what are you?—”

“I’m here to take you back home,” she says with so much confidence that it stuns me.

“It’s time to finally put this nonsensical career choice to the side and get back to reality, Ivy.

Do you know how embarrassing it is telling our friends at church and colleagues that you’ve moved to Hollywood to play dress up? ”

She gestures to my outfit. “And look at the way you’re dressed.”

My chest tightens as I look down at the outfit that I’d felt so beautiful in just moments ago.

“Play dress up.”

Even after all of this time, the way she mocks what I’m passionate about still stings unlike anything else.

“I mean, get real, Ivy. How long can this little fantasy last?” She tuts. “Just like that ridiculous idea you had of going to fashion school. Look where that got you.”

“A career that I actually enjoy,” I reply, needing to push back.

She rolls her eyes. “Tens of thousands of dollars in debt with no degree,” she counters.

I don’t bother reminding her that she and my dad are the ones who forced me to make a choice between finishing my fashion degree or completing my business degree, which was the only one they would pay for.

“When are you coming home to Michigan? I may still be able to get you a position at the bank. If you’re willing to start off as an intern and work your way up.”

I shake my head, ignoring the tears that well up in my eyes.

“I will not be returning to Michigan, and especially not to work at the bank.”

My mother’s uncle was the co-founder of First Michigan Bank, where she now works as the VP.

My father is the dean of one of Michigan’s top law schools.

To say my parents are high achievers is an understatement. And they expected nothing less of their children.

“I’m sorry I’m an embarrassment to you—” I say, but my mother cuts me off.

“You’re embarrassing yourself as well,” she responds curtly. “You’re out of your depths here. This is not where you belong, and if you keep on like this you know where it’s going to get you. You don’t have the temperament for Hollywood.”

The temperament.

She’s referring to my panic disorder. It’s her way of calling me weak-minded.

My heart rate starts to kick up, and the telltale signs of a panic attack begin to rise.

“Y-You should l-leave,” I tell her while my breathing starts to increase.

No, no, no!

The last thing I need is to have a panic attack in front of her.

“Ivy, your father and I won’t be around to keep rescuing you. What happens when you have one of your episodes at this job and your employer finds out what’s really wrong with you? Wha?—”

“I-I’m going to work now.” I barely get the words out, but I do. And then I brush past my mother, leaving her in my wake as I exit the building. I somehow spot the town car with Spencer inside.

Without thinking too much, I slip in the backseat.

“Ms. Sterling, since you didn’t have your breakfast, would you like to stop to-?” Spencer starts to ask, but his face drops when he peers in the rearview mirror and sees me.

I’m nearly doubled over in the backseat.

“Are you o?—”

“I-I’m fine. Just drive,” I manage to say through the closing in of my vocal cords. “P-Please,” I request when he hesitates.

I press the button to raise the partition, leaving me along with my panic.

My heart beats so fast that I fear it’s going to explode out of my chest. The fear only serves to quicken the spiraling thoughts in my mind. I clench my fists, my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

I try to remind myself that this will pass, but the only thing I can think is that I’m on the verge of dying. That’s how it feels inside of my body. Everything is an emergency.

Until it’s not.

Eventually, the panic attack tapers off. My brain fog starts to clear along with my vision, at the same time my heart rate slows down.

But the tears streaming down my face take longer to stop. All I can see is my mother’s face.

Once again, just when it starts to feel like my life is my own, that what I actually want is within my grasp, she shows up to remind me of how weak I am.