Page 11 of Scandalous Contract

I started to speak again, but the door to the first floor burst open, and India appeared with a bright smile on her face, almost as bright as her curly hair, which was now dyed red.

She slung her long curls over her shoulder and asked, “Does it look as cute as I described?”

“Even cuter,” I complimented as she rushed over to give me a hug. “Red looks good on you.”

“Dad was a redhead, and my natural color has red highlights. So, I wanted to see what I’d look like as a ginger. Do I look more like you or dad?” she questioned, arms wrapped around my waist as she stared up at me.

When she was like this, she reminded me of the five-year-old who would come running up to me to ask if her freckles came from me or her dad. They came from both of us. He’d had freckles, too.

And though I hid mine under makeup, I, too, had freckles peppered across my nose that I’d inherited from my great-grandmother. I’d gotten teased about them a lot as a child. A black girl with freckles was funny to some kids.

They’d called me names likeConnect the Dots, Poker Face, and Little Miss Chicken Pocks. Kids could be cruel. My India was biracial, and she’d faced some of the same teasing as a child. That was why I’d taught her to love her freckles as a gift her dad left to her so she’d never forget him.

“You look like your dad. Almost his twin,” I told her.

Her smile brightened only to morph into something else entirely when a movement to our right caused her gaze to flicker to Julian. Her eyes widened, a small gasp escaping her lips as she stared over at him.

She quickly released me and patted her hair, her smile evaporating as she tried to look more serious, more grown-up. I held in my chuckle. Julian wasn’t smiling either. In fact, he looked completely different than he had before.

The Julian I’d just been arguing with? Gone. The moment India stepped in, his shoulders squared, his smirk vanished, and his gaze went flat. Professional. Disinterested. But why? Why was he pretending I hadn’t just seen the wicked side of him?

Gone was his smile and casual demeanor. He stood there, hands in his pockets, back straight, staring ahead. He looked cold and aloof. I frowned. What was he up to now?

My daughter leaned closer to me and whispered, “That’s THE Julian Cattaneo that I was telling you about.”

“THE Julian Cattaneo?” I whispered loud enough for him to hear.

“Shhh,” India hushed me. “Don’t talk so loud.”

Julian didn’t look at me. Not once. He stood there like he didn’t even know me. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders squared. Face unreadable. If I hadn’t just been the victim of his filthy mouth and flirtatious nonsense, I would have believed his little act.

But he couldn’t fool me. I knew what he sounded like when he whispered in my ear. I knew what it felt like when his lips touched my hand. And I damn sure knew what his smirk looked like when he was being all red-flagish.

But I kept all of that to myself. I didn’t need my daughter to know that I’d spent the last ten minutes trying not to let this young man make me come undone.

India cleared her throat and said, “Oh! Julian! Hey!”

Julian finally looked at her. His expression didn’t change. Not even a little. He nodded, cool and composed. Then he stared straight ahead again. I won’t lie, it was good to see that he didn’t flirt with everyone he came across.

“Mom, this is Julian Cattaneo.”

I knew who he was. And like him, I was going to pretend this was my first time laying eyes on him.

“Julian?” I frowned. “Oh, you mean Aubrey’s brother.” India nodded as Julian looked my way. I gave him my best polite smile. “Nice to meet you,young man.”

Julian’s expression remained completely neutral as he nodded. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Adams.”

The way he said that had my mouth suddenly going dry. This was a dangerous little game we were playing. So why did I feel more excited than I’d felt in years?

India, oblivious to the tension surging between Julian and me, continued, “Are you waiting for Aubrey?”

“Yes,” Julian replied, tone still flat. “She asked me for money so that she and her friends could hang out during spring break.”

Something about what he said made India’s smile falter. Panic flared in her hazel eyes before they flickered away from him just a little too quickly, and she cleared her throat. I knew my child. Something was up with her.

“Uh,” she started. “Well, um, Mom, I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

She was rambling. My brows lifted. “What’s wrong, Indi?”