Love Contract. Lisa Watson

“Now I raised you better than that.”

      He held his hands up in front of him. “Please, no sermon. I’ve already been properly chastised today—in two languages.”

      “Well good.” She nodded approvingly. “You deserved it. I recall her telling me that she was bilingual. What language does she speak?”

      “Is that relevant?”

      His mother arched her eyebrow.

      “Spanish,” he grumbled. “She speaks Spanish.”

      Humph. “You learned the language to increase your client base. This would have been a perfect arrangement. If you ask me—”

      “I didn’t.”

      “You got off light,” she finished. “I can’t believe you botched the meeting. You need to call her and apologize.”

      “I tried.”

      “And?”

      “And, as soon as I told her who I was, she hung up.”

      “Serves you right, but you have to try again.”

      “Mom, she knows my phone number now. The next time she won’t even bother to pick it up.” He eyed his mother. “Unless...you can—”

      “Forget it. You messed this up, now you’re going to find a way to fix it. I’m not bailing you out.”

      Adrian’s eyes bugged out. “Need I remind you that you were the one that put me in this position to begin with?”

      “I merely presented you with an opportunity. Your big mouth made you blow it.”

      “What’s all the ruckus?”

      Both turned to see Heathcliffe coming into the room.

      Norma Jean brightened at seeing her husband. “Hi, honey.”

      “Long story, Dad.”

      His father leaned against the closest wall. “So give me the condensed version.”

      “Our son insulted Miss Dixon, put his foot in his mouth, and got blessed out in the process.”

      “Thanks for the recap,” Adrian drawled.

      Norma Jean flashed a smile. “No problem, sweetie. Anyway, Cliff, I merely suggested he make amends for being loud—and wrong.”

      “Sounds good to me. I mean if he—”

      Adrian sat up. “Am I not sitting right here?”

      His parents resumed their conversation.

      After a few moments, Adrian threw in the towel. Getting up, he kissed his mother before walking over and patting his father on the shoulder. “I’m leaving now. I know when to call it quits.”

      “I guess that’s true. It has been a rather long, eventful day for you, hasn’t it?”

      Adrian nodded. “Dad, you have no idea. Mom, I’ll be over for dinner on Thursday, okay?”

      “Tell me something I didn’t know,” Norma Jean joked.

      Before Adrian got to the door, his mother’s voice stopped him.

      “Wait a minute.”

      Adrian turned. “Yeah?

      “Since you know Spanish, why didn’t you just answer her?”

      For the first time today a smile lit up his face. “And ruin that exit? Not on your life.” Adrian winked.

      “Scoundrel,” his mother called after him.

      When Adrian left the room, Heathcliffe settled himself in the seat his son had vacated and went back to discussing things with his wife.

      * * *

      Realizing he’d forgotten to ask his father something, Adrian headed back into the family room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his dad say, “Okay, Jeanie, fess up.”

      Silently, Adrian crept out into the hallway and stood there waiting to pounce.

      “Cliff, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      Heathcliffe scrutinized his wife. “You set him up again, didn’t you?”

      That got Adrian’s attention. He leaned forward to hear his mother’s confession.

      “I told you both, I only suggested Milán contact him for a job. No more, no less.”

      “Jeanie?”

      “She’s a nice young woman that I met in church through a mutual friend—”

      “And that’s it?” her husband interrupted.

      Adrian saw his mother shoot his dad the look. Despite being worried that he might have been duped, he was glad not to be on the receiving end of his mother’s pique.

      “Like I was saying,” Norma Jean continued. “Milán mentioned she’s looking for a job as an interior designer. Naturally, I thought of my baby. What’s the harm in that?”

      “Nothing, darling, as long as that’s your only reason for bringing them together.”

      “Oh, please. I haven’t involved myself in Adrian’s love life in forever. I’m not about to start now,” she huffed returning to her project.

      Heathcliffe got up and leaned over his wife. When they made eye contact, he flashed Norma Jean his look. She blushed when he kissed her soundly. “That’s my girl.”

      That was Adrian’s cue. The last thing he needed to see was his parents making out. There had been enough disasters today without adding that bit of horror.

      Stealthily, Adrian headed for the entrance. He was completely wrong about his mother. A huge grin began. For once in Lord-knows-how-long, she had respected his wishes to stay out of his love life. He was satisfied that his dogged determination had finally paid off. The good humor was short-lived when his thoughts returned to a hot-blooded Amazon beauty he had ruthlessly insulted. Great, you’ve prevailed in the war with your mother, he told himself. But how are you going to win the battle with Milán?

      * * *

      Later that evening, Milán raised her yellow-rubber-gloved hand to her forehead to wipe the sweat away. Returning to scrubbing her counter, she increased her efforts. “The man’s an idiot, Nyah,” she complained to her sister over the speakerphone. “I didn’t think they had men left that full of themselves. What, do they take aside boys that show the most potential when they’re young and program them to be self-absorbed idiots? I’m telling you if they do, Adrian Anderson got in line twice. You should have heard all the things he said to me. I swear he’s lucky that all I did was walk out. I felt like breaking something over his arrogant piñata head!”

      “Will you calm down?” Nyah Dixon pleaded.

      “No, I will not. I’m too pissed to calm down. El me besó, Nyah.”

      “¿Qué?” Her sister shrieked. “¿Por qué?”

      “Because he thought I was some stupid matchmaking setup. He thought his mother sent me and wanted to prove a point. I showed him my point,” Milán said hotly. “He’s lucky I didn’t land it farther south.”

      “Oh my. No wonder you’re in a cleaning frenzy.”

      “No lo soy,” Milan lied.

      “Honey, I can hear the exertion in your voice over the phone,” Nyah replied. “Clearly, you’re scrubbing the heck out of something. Not that it surprises me. You always take out your frustrations on your house, or whoever’s house you’re in at the time. Cada vez que te disgustarse, te conviertes en un limpiador obsesivo.”

      “I do not,” Milán protested. “There’s nothing obsessive about my cleaning.”