Chapter 4

Adrianna’s POV

Five years ago

I sat in the living room with the woman who introduced herself as Portia. She seemed to blend in with the silent sophistication of the living room. The interior of Lance's home was elegant in a soft way, with well matched nude couches and walls. The floors were panned with wood. There was an electronic fireplace below the television set.

My eyes fell on Portia again, the lady who exuded so much sexuality and charm that even I was impressed. Was she Lance's girlfriend?

I suddenly felt stupid, feeling the urge to do up my buttons. Why would he even look at me if he had such a sensual woman waiting in his home? Yes, she was a bit older, but I doubted Lance was the kind of man to let something so trivial as age get in the way of a relationship he wanted.

She poured herself some wine, her eyes next straying from me.

“You said you were Adrianna? His assistant?” she asked, settling down on a couch opposite me. I nodded.

“And you came over tonight to give him…” her eyes fell on the file I had brought in which now lay on the coffee table. “… that?”

I nodded again. Her eyes zeroed on the cleavage my gaping buttons exposed and my fingers flew up instinctively to cover it up. She smirked.

“Well, Lance isn't here right now. Why don't we have a little chat?”

Portia turned out to be really funny. So funny I could actually forget my embarrassment. She was an ex supermodel with an alcohol tolerance to rival a brewery. I limited my drinking to a glass of dry sherry, feeling myself loosen up to her. She was so down to earth and realistic for someone so beautiful.

“Do you know why I dress like this to go to bed?” she asked. “I even wear my most expensive scents to bed.”

I thought it was obvious. She wanted to look good for Lance.

“I am scared of dying when I don't look hot. If I die in my sleep, I would rather look so sexy that all my dead exes know that I didn't age one day since we broke up.”

I giggled, taking a sip of my sherry.

The door swung open and Lance walked in wearing a grey track suit and a pair of running shoes. His eyes narrowed once they fell on Portia.

“Mum, why are you…” he stopped and took a steady breath. “You said you’d quit.”

Mom?

Portia was Lance's mother?

I looked between them, registering the obvious resemblance. The eyes, the nose, even the mouth. Portia was simply a female version of Lance.

“I did quit.” She protested, pouting. “It was just a glass.”

“I don't care if it was a goddamn teaspoon.” He ground out.

“Don't you yell at me!” Portia yelled, her ire rising.

“You’re the one who's yelling.” He said. “You’re the one who broke your promise. You’re on the waiting list for a liver, Mom. No one is going to just hand their livers out to someone who's going to destroy it.”

Portia flung the glass she was holding against a wall, making it shatter into tiny pieces. “Fuck this.” She muttered. “Let me die then, since I'm so much of a fucking burden anyway.” She turned to me, a wry smile on her lips.

“Shit. I've scared your girlfriend away now, haven't I?”

“Lance! Lance! You're walking too fast!” I tried to get Lance to walk a bit slower so I could catch up. He held my wrist and made me tag along behind him.

“You should leave. You should never have seen that.” He said as he led me to the street, obviously intending to hail a cab.

“Wait, Lance!”  he let go of my wrist and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen I know you’re upset about what happened and the fact that I saw it…”

“Great, you’re a fucking shrink now, aren't you?”

I flinched. He had never spoken to me in anger before or even used a curse word in front of me.

He noticed this and his eyes softened. “Maybe you should leave.”

I shook my head. “No. How about…” I looked around. I supposed the wisest thing to do in that situation would have been to get in a cab and leave, but I couldn't bear to do that, to just run off and let him face it alone.

“How about we have a talk at my apartment instead?”

I had gotten an apartment close to work for convenience purposes. It was small and a bit cramped and lacking basic furnishing but it would do.

He seemed like he was definitely going to refuse. “You kick me out of your home, you cuss me out and you won’t even let me get you a drink?”

“I’m sorry about that.” He said as I handed him a glass of wine. I settled on the floor beside him—there were no couches.

“I thought she was your girlfriend.” I blurted out.

He stared at me blankly for a few seconds. “You mean… my mother?”

I bit my lip.

“First of all, I think that's illegal. Secondly, what led you to that conclusion?”

“I mean, she is pretty and stunning and…”

I turned to see him staring at me with a look of distaste.

“I should shut up now, shouldn't I?”

He nodded

“Your mother…”

“Liver Cirrhosis.” He said. “They won’t let her get a transplant if she doesn't stop drinking.”

I looked away, downing my wine in one quick gulp. He picked the wine bottle up and refilled my glass, nodding even I said 'thank you’

“I shouldn’t have sworn at you.” He said.

“You shouldn’t.” I agree.

“Your birthmark.” He said after a while.

“Oh this?” I giggled, pointing to the spot below my ear. “I consider it my prettiest feature. They say that your birthmarks indicate the places where your lover in your past life kissed you.” My voice trailed off and I swore internally. I tended to over share when I was tipsy. I blinked and took another swallow of the wine, surprised when he burst out laughing. His shoulders shook and he threw a forearm over his eyes.

“You never run out of surprising things to say, do you?” he mutters.

I stared at him, suddenly wanting to shock him even more. I leaned in, taking his face in my hands and brushing my lips against his.