Chapter 9
didn't expect her call that morning. My phone buzzed just as I was halfway through my second cup of black coffee, already buried under reports. "Lunch," she said. No pleasantries. No "How are you, darling?" Just one word, a command disguised as an invitation.
I should've said I was busy. I should've lied, claimed an urgent board meeting or a client call. But when it came to my mother, excuses only prolonged the inevitable. She always got what she wanted, one way or another.
So I found myself an hour later stepping into the glass-paneled restaurant overlooking the city,the kind she liked. Elegant, polished, expensive. The kind that whispered sophistication and control. The kind where silence was never truly silent.
She was already there.
Of course she was.
Sitting by the window, a glass of white wine in her hand, she looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine, graceful, poised, every hair in place. My mother never aged, she evolved.
"David." She smiled as I approached, her tone warm but threaded with authority. "You're late."
"Five minutes," I said, taking a seat opposite her. "Traffic."
She gave a small, knowing hum. "Traffic," she repeated, as if the word itself amused her. "You've used that excuse since you were sixteen."
"Still works," I muttered, signaling the waiter for water.
She tilted her head, studying me the way she always did, like a project that wasn't quite finished. "You look tired," she said. "You've been overworking again, haven't you?"
"Someone has to," I replied flatly. "Not everyone has the luxury of taking month-long trips to Paris."
She chuckled softly, unbothered by my tone. "Paris was work, darling. A board conference."
"Right," I said. "And the gallery openings and champagne nights were…?"
"Networking," she said, lifting her glass. "Something you should try more often. It helps with… balance."
"Balance?" I repeated, a brow arching. "I manage just fine."
Her lips curved faintly. "You exist, David. That's not the same as living."
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "If this is another one of your 'you need a social life' lectures"
"Who said anything about a lecture?" she interrupted smoothly, reaching for her napkin. "I invited you for lunch, not interrogation."
I narrowed my eyes. "You never invite me without a reason."
"True," she admitted, smiling again. "Which is why I'm glad you're still sharp enough to notice."
Before I could reply, she glanced toward the entrance, that subtle shift in posture she always had when the next act of her plan was about to begin.
And then I saw her.
A woman in a cream blazer and soft pastel blouse walked toward our table, her steps steady and confident. She wasn't loud in beauty,she was the kind that drew attention quietly, without effort. Her hair fell in smooth waves past her shoulders, and her expression was pleasant but measured.
My mother stood immediately, her smile brightening. "David, dear,this is Vanessa."
Ah. There it was.
"Vanessa Monroe," the woman said, offering her hand. Her grip was firm, her smile polite. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Carter."
"Dave is fine," I said, shaking her hand. "Pleasure's mine."
My mother gestured for her to sit, her tone light but brimming with satisfaction. "Vanessa and I met a few weeks ago at a financial conference. Brilliant woman speaks numbers like poetry."
Vanessa laughed softly, modestly. "You exaggerate, Mrs. Carter."
"Hardly," my mother countered. "She's been in finance for nearly a decade. Strong leadership, impeccable records. I could see her fitting in perfectly at Carter Holdings."
I blinked. "Carter Holdings?"
My mother took a sip of her wine, unbothered. "Oh, I didn't mention?" she said casually. "Vanessa's joining the company next week. I've recommended her for the managerial position in the financial department."
A silence stretched between us. I kept my tone even. "You… recommended her?"
"Of course," she said. "That department's been too lenient lately. It needs structure. Discipline. A stronger hand."
My chest tightened slightly, and Tiffany worked in that department. She wasn't the manager, but she handled reports, analysis, and auditing. She was quiet, steady, and efficient. The idea of someone new,someone my mother handpicked, stepping in made something unexplainably uncomfortable twist inside me.
Vanessa smiled politely, unaware of the sudden shift in my thoughts. "I'm honoured, really. I've read a lot about Carter Holdings. It's an impressive company, I'm excited to contribute."
"I'm sure you'll fit in fine," I said. My tone was neutral, maybe too neutral.
"You sound unconvinced," she said lightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
I gave a small, humourless smile. "I just don't like surprises. Especially the ones involving my company."
My mother reached across the table and touched my hand, the gesture soft,but commanding. "Oh, David. You need to learn to trust people. Vanessa's capable. Besides," she added with a knowing smile, "it's not just about work."
"Mother," I said warningly.
"What?" she said innocently. "She's smart, elegant, single"
"Stop."
Vanessa laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Mrs. Carter, please. You'll embarrass him."
My mother smiled. "He doesn't get embarrassed easily. He just gets defensive when I'm right."
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Of course," she said, her voice a silken hum. "You're my son. It's my job to meddle."
Vanessa looked between us, amusement softening her expression. "You two have quite the dynamic."
"'Dynamic' is one word for it," I said dryly.
"Oh, don't listen to him," my mother said, waving it off. "He's all bark and no bite. A true gentleman underneath the scowl."
"Mother"
She ignored me and turned to Vanessa again. "He's brilliant but stubborn. He works too hard, sleeps too little, and hasn't dated anyone in… How long has it been, dear?"
I shot her a look that could've frozen fire. "Don't."
"See?" she said to Vanessa. "Defensive."
Vanessa smiled, a little nervously this time. "Well, I suppose dedication isn't a bad thing."
"It is when it makes you forget you're human," my mother replied.
"I'm sitting right here," I muttered.
"Yes," she said, "and for once, I want you to listen instead of argue."
The rest of lunch passed with practised civility,my mother leading conversation, Vanessa answering gracefully, and me playing the reluctant audience.
I caught details in Vanessa's manner,her precision with words, the way she observed before speaking, her ability to disarm with charm. She wasn't the manipulative type,she was genuinely composed, competent.
And yet… she wasn't Tiffany.
Tiffany, with her quiet glances and clumsy coffee spills, her nervous laughs when Ethan talked too much, her soft heart that carried more courage than most people dared show.
By the time lunch ended, my mother looked satisfied,mission accomplished.
As we stood to leave, Vanessa turned to me. "I hope we'll work well together, Mr. Carter."
"I'm sure we will," I said. "Welcome aboard."
"Thank you," she said warmly. Then, after a beat, she added, "Your mother speaks very highly of you."
"I'm sure she does," I said dryly. "She's biased."
She smiled. "That's what mothers are for."
I watched her leave, confident, graceful,
When I turned back, my mother was watching me with that smug, satisfied expression.
"You're welcome," she said simply.
"For what?"
"For setting your life in order."
I shook my head. "You've done enough rearranging for one day."
She smiled, collected her purse, and rose from her seat. "You'll thank me later."
"Doubt it," I muttered.
She leaned in, kissed my cheek, and whispered, "You always do."
And then she walked away, leaving behind her perfume, her plans, and the faint sound of chaos quietly taking shape.