Whisper (New Adult Romance) Read Free Page B

for confirmation. Even though the last thing I wanted was for her to leave, I gave her a nod and promised to call her later.
    Once Leila was gone, my mother snatched up my bowl and sent it flying. The metallic crash should have made me jump, but I was used to her throwing things for effect.
    “Are you trying to ruin everything, Mia?”

CHAPTER THREE
    M om braced her arms on the counter, eyes savage and domineering. You'd think we were at some board meeting and she was glaring her employees into submission. I crossed my arms, a sick thought coming to mind. She was the CEO of me in a weird way. In charge of the business of turning me into a commodity. And right now, our stock was in free fall.
    “Is this some delayed adolescent temper tantrum?” Her fingers curled, like she was contemplating choking something. Or imagining wrapping her fingers around another dish and sending it flying. “You're better than this.”
    I gave her a halfhearted shrug. “Maybe I'm exactly this. I'm just following the standard trajectory. Wealth and fame at a young age, crash and burn once I get some wiggle room.” The tabloids called it freedom, but there was no such thing. For the briefest moment when I turned eighteen, I let myself believe that I could walk away from her. Write her a check and cut all ties. I even wrote said check. Left it blank – she could have had everything in my account if it meant I'd never have to see her face again. But my father chose my eighteenth birthday to make his escape. He finally grew a backbone and left my mother for some girl a year older than me.
    It was the first time I'd ever seen my mother cry. That I ever felt like she was human and cared enough about any of us to miss us if we went away.
    Four years later, I wished I’d had my dad's guts. He moved to Emerald Isle and was living a quiet life far away from the flashing lights.
    I looked down at the banana I’d peeled. It looked decent on the outside, but it was bruised and rotten within. I hurled it in the trash and turned back to my mother. A quick once over and I knew this was no intervention. She was in a tailored blouse and blazer, trousers snaking down to pumps. It was a uniform I knew well, the crisp separates she gravitated to when she was getting down to business.
    “So, who am I meeting with today?” I grumbled.
    She pressed her hand to her chest and pretended to be utterly shocked. “I came here because I'm worried about you, Mia. I saw those pictures splashed all over the Internet.” She dropped the parent act and became the monster that was scarier than anything under my bed. “Despite popular opinion, I didn't raise a coked-up whore.”
    I rolled my eyes to the ceiling before I maneuvered around her and picked out a container of yogurt. She snatched it away, turning it around so she could see the label, probably looking for the words low fat, then skimmed the nutrition info. Satisfied, she handed it back to me.
    “Do you need to go to rehab?” She didn't wait for me to answer, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “That could work...help you get your head on right and then you can rise from the ashes of your ruined career. Everyone loves a good comeback story.”
    I ripped the top off my yogurt. “I don't need rehab. I need—” A real mother. One that sees me. Cares about me, and not my career. Isn't so blinded by dollar signs that she lets her seventeen-year-old daughter pose in Maxim magazine.
    I didn't finish the thought. What was the point? The last time I approached the subject of my mother's lack of actual mothering, she had laughed in my face.
    Mom gave me a stern once over. “You're a Kent. Kents don't need mothers. My mother wasn't even around when I was a kid, and look how I turned out.”
    I looked at her pointedly. She was proving my point.
    “If I held your hand the whole way, then what pride could you feel in your accomplishments?” She gestured around at our hotel room. It was the nicest we'd ever stayed at. A