He begins humming Alanis Morrissette’s “Ironic.”
Tap tap tap.
“THAT BETTER BE THE SHOES!” I bellow, roaring across the room to whip open the door.
To find myself face-to-face with Amanda and Andrew making out so hard he might as well surgically implant his tongue in her duodenum and be done with it.
Chapter Eight
“Do all the men in your family have tongues like that?” Dad asks, tilting his head like we’re watching Animal Planet.
“Yes,” Mom and I sigh in unison.
“MARIE!” Dad snaps, giving her a look. Sometimes, I forget that Mom and Declan’s father dated for a brief time.
“You asked, Jason!” Mom squeaks.
“Someone get me a spray bottle,” Declan grouses, neatly folding his cloth napkin on the table and crossing the room, grabbing Andrew’s shoulder and peeling him off Amanda. Does the man have suction cups on his—
“Hi!” Amanda chirps, breathless. Unlike the rest of us, she and Andrew are wearing street clothes. They have showered, and both wear the same pink-cheeked, slightly dazed look of two people who have spent the last twelve hours embedded in each other’s mucosal glands.
Or something like that.
“Hi!” Declan chirps back, glaring at his brother.
Andrew’s arm goes around Amanda’s shoulders, her fingers peeking out at his waist.
They are freaking adorable.
“You two!” Mom roars, storming up to Andrew, her finger in his face. “You knew they were in this room all along and didn’t tell me!”
Declan’s pinched expression softens. “You didn’t?” he asks Andrew.
Andrew’s jaw tightens, his face going hard. I see the resemblance to James, and why these McCormick men can pull off tough negotiations. “Of course I didn’t. Marie got the company jet, but nothing more from me.”
“Then how did you two know which room we’re in?” I ask Amanda.
“Because the cable news crew you kicked out of the hotel got their revenge,” Mom explains, picking out a black raspberry from Dad’s bowl and munching on it. “Their high school intern hacked into the hotel database and found you.”
“What?” Declan groans.
“He said it was easier than hacking a Minecraft server, whatever that means. Called your computer network security ‘a joke.’” Mom uses finger quotes to dig it in. Declan’s finally showing emotion. Finally.
Over network security protocols.
Or lack thereof.
Andrew’s kissing Amanda again, her back pinned against the door frame, his hands working through a geometry problem where the goal is to find the point of intersection where two legs bisect.
People would like math so much more if it involved real life like that.
“SHOES!” Amanda’s squeal halts their kiss, poor Andrew standing there open-mouthed and alone, as the tailor’s assistant finally arrives with a shipping container’s worth of new shoes for me.
Mom scans the scores of boxes. “All these for you?” she asks me. The assistant brings in the shoes, whispers something to Declan, and leaves quickly.
Amanda bends down and pulls out a strappy little pair of turquoise leather shoes with a red heel.
“Ooooooo,” she and Mom gush in unison.
I drink the rest of my lukewarm mocha and try to figure out who to glare at.
Declan catches my eye. You okay? he mouths.
I just do my best Grumpy Cat imitation in response.
“Here,” Amanda says, distracted by all the shinies in my room. She hands me a shopping bag. I peer in.
My purse from home. My ID! My favorite hoodie and jeans. My own underwear. Slip-on loafers. I grab my purse and clutch it to my chest like it’s a lost kitten.
I am real again.
Amanda and Mom open shoeboxes like they’re Charlie and they’re searching for the Golden Ticket. Andrew turns to Declan and the two start hissing about computer security issues and international competitors. Dad looks at the suite like he’s a peasant who has entered a palace and is taking it all in.
I realize I’m in a bathrobe, Declan’s arguing with his brother in his underwear, and damn it, she did it again.
My mother made this all about her.
“OUT!” I scream.
Mom and Amanda ignore me. Dad gives me a look that says, About time, kid, and reaches to tap Mom on the shoulder.
She stands up, holding an Aperlai high heel, her face flushed like she just had a quickie in a department store changing room.
“Everyone out,” I say again. Amanda shoots me a sympathetic look and makes a gesture that says, Call me. Andrew is muttering words like “non-reversible encryption” while Declan’s clearly not listening to him, eyes on me, taking in my attempt to re-assert authority.
I fail.
Amanda tugs on Andrew’s shoulder. He ignores her until she stands on tiptoes and whispers something so porny in his ear that the man turns a furious shade of pink and breaks off eye contact with everyone, grabbing her hand and departing.
And then there were two.
“We need to help outfit Shannon!” Mom announces, as if she’s gutting a bathroom down to studs and starting over.
“Shannon can dress herself,” Dad says.
Mom’s giggles remind me of Jeffrey when he watches a television show called Wipeout. Or when Declan tries to tell me my mother can be controlled.
“Shannon can’t tell the difference between eyeliner and lipliner, Jason. You expect her to color coordinate a—”
“We have a professional shopper for that, Marie. You can go now.” Declan’s hands are on Mom’s shoulders. “Shannon wants you to leave.”