Page 12 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

A weight presses down on my lungs, and it’s hard to breathe. As much as I resent Mum and the control she has over my life, my reputation is important to me. I don’t want to destroy it.

“I don’t have a friendship with him,” I begin, hating myself for denying Seb as though he’s something to be ashamed of.

But he pissed me off tonight and it makes me think that Mum probably has a point.

He’d never be able to commit to anyone, and to look like another woman he could easily toss aside won’t do me any favours.

It’s all optics. At least to Mum it is, and I’ve been abiding by her rules so long that it’s hard not to see the world that way too.

“He brought me home because of my ankle.” Mum’s gaze darts to my foot for the first time, but there’s no sympathy or concern in her expression.

“We only see each other at parties. We don’t—”

“He doesn’t fit with the brand. You know that. Erica Lefroy is elegant. Sophisticated. Pure. That’s your USP.”

“Don’t I get to be a person occasionally?” My voice wavers. “Not just a brand?”

“No.” She slaps her hand on the kitchen counter, and the crack of it makes me jump. “We’ve worked hard on this. Don’t mess it up by hanging around with that boy.”

The people-pleasing part of me wants to tell her I just threw him out. The other half of me wants to staunchly defend him. I settle somewhere in between. “He’s hardly a boy. He’s thirty.”

Mum flutters a hand as though anything I have to say is irrelevant, and Seb will always be a boy, no matter how many birthdays he has.

“You shouldn’t have let him help you today.

Those pictures of him picking you up… it’s all over social media.

It’ll give people the wrong idea. Like he’s Prince Charming to your Cinderella.

” She says it with such disdain that I physically recoil.

“You do not need a man to save you, Erica. Neither of us do. We’re a team, you and I.

Say it after me. We do not need a man to save us.

I am Erica Lefroy, and I am an independent woman.

I do not need a rich man .” The mixing of the pronouns makes me feel nauseous.

Am I a ‘we’ or an ‘I’? Who the fuck is Erica Lefroy?

Is she me or Mum? Mum snaps her fingers in my face. “Say it.”

“I am Erica Lefr—” I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to say it.”

Mum’s face reddens, her eyes widening. If she were a cartoon, steam would be blowing out her ears. “Men only want us for sex, Erica. They’re animals. Food and sex. Just like your father. Sebastian Hawkston is no different.”

Nausea roils through me. I want to scream at her that she’s wrong. How dare she compare Seb, who’s always been such a supportive friend, to the man who walked out on us? But that’s not the only way she’s off the mark. Seb doesn’t want me for sex. He wants some random woman in a hotel for that.

“Repeat it after me,” Mum insists. “I’m an independent woman. I do not need—”

“Stop.”

Mum’s gasp is eons-long, and when it’s run its course, she clenches her jaw before she speaks. “Tell me you’re an independent woman.”

I slump, shoulders rounding. “I’m not though, am I? Not when you’re here telling me what to do all the time.” I sound like a stroppy teenager rather than the empowered woman I was aiming for.

Mum inhales slowly and then exhales even slower.

“I am looking out for you in a way that man never will. You do not need him and he will damage what we’ve built.

I’ve put years of blood, sweat, and tears into this brand.

Into you . And it’s working. Our shoe line is taking off.

The makeup is being stocked in major department stores up and down the country, ready for release.

We’re finally exactly where we need to be to blow this up.

Do not jeopardise it by cavorting with Sebastian Hawkston.

You cannot be associated with a man like that without there being serious financial implications for us. ”

Anger flares hard and fast in my chest, but I’m not in a position to fight her on this.

“By all means, once you’re no longer young, or in high demand, have an affair with him, if that’s what you want. But do not do it now. There is too much at stake. No one will take you seriously if you’re dating someone like Sebastian Hawkston.”

“Seb.”

Mum’s head quirks, making her look like a bird hearing a predator snap a twig in the forest. “Seb?”

“He prefers to be known as—”

“I don’t care, and neither should you.” She clicks her tongue against her teeth.

“The only thing you should be concerned about is the launch of your new fragrance. The cosmetics line.” Mum pushes herself off her resting place by the sink and comes towards me at such speed, and with such a vicious expression on her face, that I freeze.

She taps my forehead with two fingers, each strike a violation that makes my body tingle with impotent rage.

“That is all that should be in this vacuous head of yours right now.” One more hard tap. “Stay focused.”

My body tenses, as if I can transform my skin into armor that will fend off another attack.

I can’t sit here and say nothing. I’ve done it for far too long.

“If I want to be seen with Seb, I’ll be seen with him.

He’s not as much of a threat as you think he is. He’s handsome, well-dressed, eligible—”

Mum steps back, her expression growing wary. “Do not start with me, young lady.”

“It should be my choice,” I say, loathing how it sounds like a desperate plea.

“If I’d left the choices to you, where would you be now?

Knocked up by a teenage boy on a drunken night out, that’s where.

” The statement winds me, pain blasting through my chest like she’s actually hit me.

“Mothering some bastard child in a council house, most likely. That you are anything at all is down to me and my choices. I saved you.”

She saved me? “You’re my mother.” You’re supposed to love me unconditionally .

Mum starts nodding, but in a way that tells me that I’ve confirmed whatever low opinion she holds of me. I should have known that throwing the idea of being a mother at her wouldn’t hit. She’s never been a mother. She’s been a manager, a manipulator. A dictator.

“You think you’re so special.” She gestures to my face, my body.

“Without me, you would be nothing, young lady. Nothing. You think that boy, that Seb , would be interested in you at all if you weren’t Erica Lefroy.

” The air quotes she makes with her fingertips around my name are pure mockery .

“ World famous model?” Her laughter reaches a higher peak, becoming almost manic.

“You little fool. Of course he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t look twice at you. No one would.

You don’t know how to count your blessings, you ungrateful little—”

She cuts herself off with another dramatic intake of breath, followed by a guttural groan that contains all the hatred I’m sure she feels for me.

It’s fucking mutual, Mum. “Let’s stay focused.

The brand. The perfume launch. The cosmetics.

” Her features settle into a stone wall.

“Stay focused.” She taps her finger on the end of my nose, and for a second I wish I were a dog so I could bite the tip of it right off.

Swallow it, digest it, and shit it out at her feet. It’s what she deserves.

“I am focused. I’ve always been focused. I would have been okay without you.”

“Oh, darling,” she says, all condescension.

“I know what’s best for you. For all of us.

If the movies are what you want, I’ll make it happen, like I always do.

” She tuts. “You really do need to work on that attitude of gratitude, Erica. An attitude of gratitude is a state of receivership. Resentment will get you nowhere. Be thankful for everything you have. Everything I gave to you. You should be on your knees, thanking me for sacrificing my life to achieve your success.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from screaming.

I don’t want more success. I want to be free .

Free from the dreaded ‘sacrifice’ that I’ve worn like chains my entire life.

Free from the control that Mum exerts over me.

There’s no point fighting with her. I don’t have it in me.

This fight is bigger than me. “Thank you, Mum,” I mutter begrudgingly.

Mum smiles, seemingly satisfied with my thanks, despite it sounding as though it was dragged up from the depths of the deepest ocean like a shipwreck.

“You’re welcome.” She arches a brow. “So, are we clear? Focus on the brand. The launch. Do not go out with or be seen with anyone who might affect your reputation. You’re the face of this brand, and I am as deeply financially invested in it as I am emotionally.

And if you want this Hollywood career, then I will get it for you.

First stop, breast implants. Then your body will finally match your gorgeous face, and we can take on the world. ”

We? She wants to take this from me too? I want to throw up. I want to destroy everything I’ve worked for. Take a match and burn every single photo that’s ever been taken of me— the legacy she created —just to hurt her.

Fortunately, I have enough self-restraint and common sense to realise that fucking things up for Mum is the same as fucking everything up for me.

I need this platform. This fame. This brand.

I need all of it, so I can use it as a springboard to launch myself into Hollywood.

Or at least as far away from my mother as I can get.

I will find success, and I will find it on my own this time.