Page 142 of Scandalous Contract

Afternoons were for work. I'd camp out at the dining room table with my laptop open, coffee cooling beside me, and the teddy bear he’d given me sitting across the table just in case he wanted to log into the bear’s app and chat with me while he was working.

Julian always left after breakfast, dropping a kiss on my temple before whispering something filthy in my ear about what he'd do to me once he got home. Then he was gone, off to work, and his absence made the house feel emptier, quieter.

As for my writing, some days, the words poured out of me, fueled by the echo of his hands, his voice, the memory of his mouth. Other days, I’d stall. I’d sit there, staring at the blinking cursor, stuck between scenes, not knowing which direction to take the characters.

When that happened, I'd pull out my phone, scroll through the secret pictures I'd taken of Julian. Pics of him flipping pancakes. Pics of Julian stretched out sleeping next to me. Pics of him laughing as we talked.

Pics of him mowing the yard while I worked in the flowerbed. Somehow, staring at those images would help me break through the block, and the words would spill out again. Julian was becoming more than just my research buddy and my inspiration for my story.

He was now a part of my life. And I couldn’t imagine going back to the days when he wasn’t beside me or just a phone call away. One Friday afternoon, I was deep into a steamy scene:my heroine was pinned against a shower wall by the man who worshiped her like she was his last breath,when my phone buzzed beside me.

It was my mom. I smiled and snatched the phone up, already saving my doc so I could close my laptop to chat with my mom.

“Hey, my beautiful queen bee,” I answered on the third ring.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted. “I just got off the phone with my little ladybug and decided to give my little butterfly a call too.”

“Please tell me you didn’t send her any money, ma.”

“No. I didn’t. I called because she sent me some money through the app thing on my phone.”

I laughed. My mom still wasn’t too fond of technology and sending money through apps. But she was getting the hang of it thanks to her ladybug, India.

“India sent you money?” I asked.

“Yes. That sweet child sent me fifty dollars and told me not to cook dinner today. She told me she’d ordered me some food and it was going to be delivered in a few minutes. And she told me to use the fifty when I go to bingo.”

I laughed. She’d sent me money yesterday, too. She’d also ordered some desserts from my favorite bakery and had them shipped to the house. I’d told her to stop sending me stuff and to save the money she was making from her job.

“She’s the sweetest little thing,” my mom said.

“I know, right. How are you doing, ma?”

“I’m doing well. How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” I said, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Really good, actually.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

“I expected you to spend thirty minutes telling me all the reasons you were considering making my little tabby cat quit her job and come home for the summer. But you haven’t complained yet.”

“I miss her, ma. But she’s growing up. She wants to earn money and be independent. I don’t want to be the one who hinders her growth. Plus, I went to visit her this past weekend. She and I had a lunch date, and I took her shopping. Then we went to Barnes & Noble and bought a bunch of books to read this summer. She loves her coffee shop job. I even stopped by the shop while she was working, and she made me a coffee complete with coffee art. She’s doing well, plus Ronnie is keeping an eye on her.”

“You’re handling this separation far better than I expected,” Mom said.

“I’m trying,” I said.

“You sound happy,” she mused, suspicion laced in every syllable.

I chuckled, pressing my palm over my mouth like that could somehow hide it. “I am, ma.”

Another pause, longer this time.

And then, in that knowing way only mothers seemed to master, she said, “There’s a man, isn’t there?”

I groaned, burying my face in my hand, laughter spilling out anyway. “Maybe.”

“Don’t youmaybeme,” she teased, voice lilting with delight. “I know that laugh. I haven’t heard it in a long time. But I know it. I know you. You’ve met someone, haven’t you? Someone you actually like?”