Not Quite as Advertised. Tanya Michaels

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      AFTER DISCOVERING Dr. Dan had recently started seeing someone and then spending a fruitless hour studying color samples, Joss arrived home Saturday evening with a taupe-tan-rosy-beige migraine and a hissing Siamese who harbored plans to lacerate her while she slept.

      Despite the imminent kitty threat, she retired to bed early after a salad and a TV movie. It had been an exhausting week, and she needed rest before she tackled any of the formidable redecorating. She snuggled under the duvet and crashed hard, waking Sunday to a feeling of invigorated well-being…that lasted three and a half seconds.

      Then she winced in uncomfortable realization. Damn, she thought as she reached in her nightstand drawer for the plastic aspirin bottle, it was that time of the month.

      Brunch with her mother.

      Amazing how quickly headache threatened at the thought of seeing Vivian. Joss was tempted to cancel, saying she was under the weather, but mothers didn’t fall for that sort of thing—a lesson she’d learned when she’d claimed appendicitis in a fifth-grade attempt to gain more study time for a math test. Of course, she might’ve been more convincing if she’d been clutching her right side.

      She stomped toward the shower, wondering what kind of mood the schizophrenic water heater would be in today, and ignored Dulcie’s feline smirk from the foot of the bed. The vengeful Siamese, a Christmas present from Vivian three years ago, obviously sensed that Joss’s day would be an experience comparable to yesterday’s shots. Though Joss and her mother lived in the same urban area, they only saw each other on the first Sunday of each month, meeting for strained brunches. Maybe it was an odd tradition, considering their busy schedules and the lack of effusive affection between them, but they were each all the family the other had.

      Today was likely to be even less pleasant than usual, Joss thought as she washed her hair. Vivian had made her mark in the city as a high-end real estate agent, and she hadn’t been amused when her only daughter bought a house without once picking up the phone to consult her. You’d think she would applaud my self-sufficiency. After all, it was Vivian who had always endorsed striving for excellence and relying only on yourself. Viv’s motto was an adjusted version of the army’s—Be All You Can Be…because you can’t depend on anyone else. A cynical creed, perhaps, but one that had helped her raise a child by herself, while not only holding a job, but becoming something of a local expert in her field. Vivian never accepted anything short of excellence.

      Still, Joss thought as she went to her closet and debated what to wear, just once, it might be nice if she and her mother went somewhere casual, where they could relax and catch up and…wait, she must be thinking of someone else’s mom. Normally, their monthly brunches were held at a French bistro near Vivian’s condominium, but there had recently been a change in chefs. Joss’s mother refused to set foot in the place until “culinary integrity” was restored.

      Instead, Vivian had picked out the Well-Fed Waif, a place downtown that consistently garnered rave reviews. Joss could attest to the excellent service and food, but these days, she rarely visited the restaurant where she’d once been a regular. Located around the corner from where the Mitman offices had been, the Waif had been a favorite of hers and Hugh’s.

      It would be heavenly to enjoy the restaurant’s eggs Florentine again, she thought as she pulled on a lightweight turtleneck. Of course, since it had been a place she and Hugh had visited often and since she’d seen him so recently, he was bound to cross her mind. But that just made today the perfect opportunity for an emotional exorcism. What better way to drive out lingering memories of intimate working dinners and shared glances over morning mimosas than a few hours with her mother?

      “IF I’VE DONE SOMETHING to offend you,” Joss muttered, “just turn me into a dung beetle and get it over with.”

      Vivian paused in her small talk with the Versace-clad hostess standing behind a stained-wood podium. “Who are you talking to, Jocelyn?”

      The universe. “Nobody.”

      “Mumbling isn’t very well-bred,” her mother reprimanded.

      Neither was the four-letter word that had sprung to Joss’s mind when she’d entered the Well-Fed Waif and spotted Hugh Brannon. He sat at a corner table near the decorative fireplace, across from a gentleman who looked about Vivian’s age. Obviously the cosmos was having a little joke at Joss’s expense.

      Hugh. He’s everywhere you don’t want him to be.

      At least he wasn’t with a woman. Joss was over him, but that didn’t mean she was in a hurry to find him wooing a date at their old table.

      Vivian took in the conservative art, the strains of violin overhead and the fresh-cut flowers hanging in glass wall vases, then allowed a small smile of approval. “This place is acceptable.”

      Geez, Mom, contain your exuberance—what will people say?

      Truer to form, Vivian frowned suddenly. “I’m not pleased with the wait, though. If I’m to lunch with clients here, I need to know we’ll be seated a bit quicker. You don’t waste the time of Important People.”

      The hostess looked down, busying herself with straightening the reservation book and a basket of mints, clearly abashed, even though Joss and her mother had arrived mere minutes ago.

      Vivian had that effect—making people feel their best was inadequate. She would’ve had da Vinci stammering that of course the Mona Lisa needed a wider smile, and he didn’t know what he’d been thinking! In real estate, Vivian was such a whiz at finding fault with property СКАЧАТЬ