Page 93 of Tempt Me
Crap. I’d forgotten. “Not yet. His birthday’s not until next Sunday. I still have time.”
“Of course.” She patted the soil around the plant’s roots, then peeled off her gardening gloves. Then she looked at me. Really looked, the way only a mother can.
She tilted her head. “You look a little better today.”
“I, uh. Yeah. Yes. I feel better.”
“Are you ready to tell me why you quit your job?”
I leaned against the potting bench. “I didn’t quit. Jamila fired me.”
Her blond eyebrows shot up. “Fired? Does this have anything to do with the call I received from Pavel Thakor?”
I winced. “I accused Winslow Keating-Ashworth, her COO, of corporate espionage. And I may have done it while impersonating you.”
She pursed her lips. “Your job was public relations, not sniffing out spies. Jamila shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”
“She didn’t. That’s why she fired me.”
“Why did you think Winslow was doing anything wrong?”
“I saw a photo of him somewhere he shouldn’t have been, and I made a connection. But it was only circumstantial. He somehow turned it around so I looked like the traitor. Jamila’s sensitive to things like that, you know. Betrayal of trust.”
“That’s why she and Jackson get along so well together. He’s loyal to a fault.”
Right. Which reminded me of how pissy I’d been the weekend before I’d accused Winslow. If Jamila had been looking for an excuse to cut ties with me, I’d made it too easy.
“Do you think Jackson would be upset if—” I clamped my mouth shut. The words had spilled out like pearls from a broken necklace. I couldn’t ask my mother about dating Jamila. I remembered the look on Jamila’s face when Winslow had produced that visitor log and the copy of my identification. She would never forgive me. Why should I reveal my bisexuality now, when it didn’t matter?
“If what, darling? Do I think he’ll be upset when he finds out Jamila fired you? Probably more at her than at you. Though, really, I don’t understand why it was your business at all.”
“I…I made it my business.”
She stroked my cheek. “That’s my Natalie, always trying to help everyone.”
That wasn’t right. Not in this case. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve shown them the picture of Winslow on that golf course and let them deal with it, but I hadn’t been satisfied with that. Not with Jamila. Because my feelings were too strong. Because I loved her. And love wasn’t something you hid from your mother, not even if your mother held all kinds of heteronormative ideas about a woman’s role in society.
“Mother, I”—I took a deep breath—“I need to tell you something.”
“Yes?” She stroked a lock of my hair into place on my shoulder.
“I love Jamila.”
She brushed a stray hair off my sweater. “Of course you do. We all love her.”
“No. Mother.” I clasped her hand to keep her from plucking every imperfection off me. “I love her romantically. She’s my person.”
“Your person? What kind of Gen-Z nonsense is that? Is that from an Olivia Rodrigo song?”
“Mother, listen to me.” I waited until she met my gaze. “I’m bisexual, and I’m in love with Jamila Jallow.”
“For goodness’ sake. She’s ten years older than you. She’s practically an older sister to you.”
“She is, and I love her.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Does she love you? I mean, I know she’s bisexual, too, but…”
That “too”broke me. She’d just accepted my sexuality and all the messiness it would introduce to her carefully ordered life.
