Not My Brute (Angels of War Series #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

I'm an hour into the mountains of paperwork when Mum comes into the reception. I lift my hand and wave to her, typing numbers on the calculator. She moves the plant pot that sits next to the door to the other side of the room, tidying up the magazines on the small table as she goes. It's getting late in the day, and I know she'll be itching for me to close up.

I tell her that she doesn't have to wait for me to leave before she does, but she won't have any of it.

"You're free tonight, right?"

I quickly write the numbers down on the page before looking up at her. "I was going to stay behind to finish off the tax figures."

"Oh," she waves her hand in the air. "Taxes can wait another day. Allie asked me out for dinner and said to bring you. You made quite the impression on her."

Allie as in Bret's Mum. I curb a smile, choosing to type random numbers into the calculator instead, wanting to look busy. "Taxes can never wait. They're the law."

Mums slender fingers reach over my arms to pull the electrical cord out of the calculator. "Our taxes aren't due until March. Quit your worrying."

"Yes, but I need to keep the figures in order, so we don't end up paying more than we need to," I respond, watching her roll her eyes.

"Honestly, Diana. Am I going to have to beg you to join us?"

I giggle then, causing mum to smile too. My lips smooth into a grin. "No need to beg. Where're we going?"

"La Belle, the Italian in Market Street. The table is booked for six. Allie just got back from a little vacation."

"Bret told me," I respond, earning her narrowed gaze.

The desk creeks when she sits on the edge of the wood, leg crossing over the other. "Bret is her son, right?"

I nod, knowing that she knows who Bret is. Don't kid a kidder, mum. "Yes, and he also works here two days a week."

She smiles. "How did you become so close?"

"We're not close," I say, shaking my head. If I let on about our kiss, she'll beg me for more details, acting insufferable until I spill the dirt.

Her left eyebrow raises, the edges of her lips tipping up. "Okay, love."

There she goes pulling the 'I know better than you' face, and it's insanely irritating. Especially, when she knows nothing about my private life. The bits I only choose to tell her at least.

I shake my head, wanting to change the subject. "Do I need to get dressed up or is a casual thing?"

Mum slides off the desk to turn to me. "Wear one of your pretty dresses. You never know who will be there."

I mentally go through every outfit in my wardrobe, picking a dress here and now. It's a black silk slip type dress with lace trim around the hem and spaghetti straps to hold it up and over my chest. I'll wear my long grey soft faux fur coat over the top and red strappy heels.

I spend another seventy minutes on paperwork, deciding to call it a day when the words merge on the page. It's pitch black outside, and I have to use the torch on my phone to see the outside lock on the reception door. The lights out there is energy saving, throwing out only a small amount of brightness. It's ridiculous, really.

Once in the house, I find mum in the upstairs bathroom, curling her hair. We say hello, me squeezing in next to her near the sink to pick up my face oil to wash away the grime of the day. Finding a headband in the drawers next to my leg, I push away my hair to get ready to smoother my face with sweet smelling oil.