Page 13 of The Match
I opened my mouth to give her a scathing reply, but the truth was that was exactly what I’d been doing. “What’s your problem?”
“I already explained that to you.”
“No, there’s more to it. That in no way excuses your completely unprofessional behavior back at the ranch.”
“You have some guts calling me unprofessional,” she said, rolling her shoulders back and rising to her feet.
“When you have a problem with someone, you ask them to talk in private, like a professional. You don’t start making snide remarks in front of others, huffing and puffing.”
“Right,” she said, tilting her head. “Anything else? I’m taking mental notes.”
“I could write you a whole damn report on this. Fucking hell, you Deveraux people.”
She rolled her shoulders back again, jutting her chin forward—the same commanding stature she’d worn at the ranch. “Don’t you dare.” Then she scoffed. “You know what? This conversation is over.”
“Suits me,” I replied sardonically. “I did what I came to do.”
“Which was what? Insult me?”
“No. Telling you that there is a way to do things, and it’s definitely not yours.”
“Thank you for the information. How generous of you to share it with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important call to make,” she said.
Her tone was dismissive, which only riled me up more, but I had no more patience for this. I’d wasted enough time on Grace Deveraux. This was going to stop right now.
Why did I even care so much? If anything, this was going to work out in my favor. I was going to invest in that ranch, and she and her entire family were going to continue to be shunned—apparently for very good reason.
Chapter Six
Grace
On Sunday morning, I went to visit Mom and Dad. They’d moved out of the city into a gorgeous mansion a few years ago. Lately, though, they’d been spending more time in the city, using their old residence as their weekend and vacation home. The two were only one hour apart.
“Darling, you haven’t touched your food,” Mom said.
I barely stifled my laughter. There was enough on my plate for two.
“I ate a lot, Mom. Your gumbo is still my favorite.”
“It’s the beans, I’m telling you,” she said with a smile. “I taught Theresa how to make it exactly like me. We’re so lucky that she’s still with us after so many years.”
“She’s amazing,” I agreed. Theresa had been working as a cook for my family for as long as I could remember. She was honestly like a grandmother to me. I was happy she was still with my parents.
They’d decorated this house the same way they had the one in the Garden District, in an art deco style that fit both of them well. They didn’t like classic furniture, but they weren’t ready for a totally modern setup either.
“Darling, how have you been?” Dad asked.
I met up with them once in a while—more often now that I was divorced—but this was the first time we’d gotten together in a few weeks.
“Busy.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said. “I called your office the other day, and they said you were still working even though it was dinnertime.”
I nodded. “Sometimes I do spend my evenings at the office.”
“Darling, there’s no need to overwork yourself,” Mom said. “You could always go back to working with your dad. You know how much he needs you.”
I sighed. I really didn’t want to start this conversation with my parents again. I didn’t like hurting their feelings.
