Chapter 65: To Cheer Up a Mongoose, Give Them Pizza

“Rodolfo really is quite the charmer. You should meet him, he’ll win your heart, I just know he will. You know he’s won twenty ribbons at national dog shows?”

Octavia stifled a groan and plastered a stiff smile on her tired face. “No! Really?” she replied.

The distinguished lady blessed with owning Rodolfo had been boring Octavia to tears for what felt like hours.

Unlike Indira, the woman who had accosted her as she exited the bathroom actually had a Pomeranian…and that seemed to be the only topic she was able to converse about.

The charity lunch was just another event that was to be an expected part of her life now. She looked polished and appropriate in the outfit Sierra had picked out for her, some might even say pretty.

She was wearing loose flared pants and a matching top, both in a teal shade. Sierra had paired these with gold sandals and a chunky gold necklace and earring set.

But Octavia didn’t have a spare minute to appreciate her own outfit. At every turn, she was bombarded by some person who had made it their mission to introduce themselves to Raemon Kentworth’s new bae.

People were either bubbling over with simpering joy or masking deep scorn when they met her. She couldn’t tell which was worse.

Octavia wasn’t a huge fan of ass-kissery, but it was incredible how the aloof snobby glances of the party guests would transform into simpering smiles as they approached her.

While she stood next to him, they would give Raemon the most adoring gaze, then as their eyes landed on Octavia, they’d exchange the adoration for thinly veiled contempt.

And once again, the food was terrible.

~Raemon owes me big time for this,~ Octavia thought sulkily, tuning out for the story of how Rodolfo prefers fresh-caught salmon.

The only thought that had got her through the afternoon so far was of what she was going require Raemon to do for her that night. But even that tactic was losing its power.

“…and I told the man, ‘You must make sure the meal is gluten-free because Rodolfo absolutely cannot tolerate wheat.’ And they had the audacity to serve the foie gras on biscuits! Can you believe it? Biscuits!”

While Octavia fought herself to keep from rolling her eyes, a smooth voice interrupted, “The champagne is almost out, why don’t you go get a final glass, Gloria?”

Lila Bridlington-Scott appeared before Octavia, blonde and long-legged as ever. Octavia would have been startled if her body hadn’t been numb with boredom by then.

Octavia met Lila’s gaze with a calm, even look of her own. Meanwhile, Gloria wandered off at Lila’s suggestion without bothering to say goodbye to Octavia.

“Hello, Octavia,” Lila said. Her mouth curved into the tiniest of smiles, but her blue eyes flashed with a hidden fury.

“Lila,” Octavia responded. A quick scan of the model/heiress assured her she wasn’t holding a glass.

“It’s such a nice surprise seeing you here,” Lila continued.

“Then at least someone is entertained,” Octavia said.

Lila’s smile became a smirk. “Nice outfit.”

Octavia gave Lila’s tight white dress a once-over. “You too.”

“Of course it is,” Lila said, “it’s Dior.”

“Of course,” Octavia said, “Dior. Obviously.”

“Yours is what? Chanel, isn’t it?”

Octavia shrugged. “I’ll be damned if I know. Sierra picked it out.”

“Who’s that? A designer?”

“No. My personal stylist.”

“So you have a stylist now? Well, Raemon certainly is happy to shell out money for you.”

Octavia was amused.

“He is, actually,” she replied, “but I hired her myself. He couldn’t possibly afford the services of the renowned Sierra.”

“There’s nothing Raemon can’t afford!” Lila spat. As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, she checked herself and wiped the snarl off her face.

“I mean…you must share her contact information with me.”

Octavia was smiling now, genuinely. “I’d love to, but unfortunately, I can’t. She’s very particular about clients. She only works with a select few people.”

Lila’s eyes burned brighter. “I’m sure she wouldn’t hesitate to dress me, if she’s dressing you.”

“I doubt it,” Octavia said lazily. “She’s turned down plenty of famous people, even once declined to work with Oprah. Especially models—she hates dressing models. They’re too finicky is what she says.”

The look on Lila’s face was enough to make the whole dull afternoon worthwhile.

“Well…that’s too bad,” Lila said with some difficulty. “Maybe you should introduce her to me. Why don’t you bring her to see me sometime?”

This caught Octavia off guard. “Why?”

“Oh, it would be nothing serious, just a little get-together for us. You and I could have a little…chat.” Lila forced a pleasant expression on her face.

Again, Octavia was puzzled. “Why?”

Lila laughed. “Why not? I know we haven’t exactly been…on the best terms in the past…”

“You threw a drink in my face.”

“But there’s no reason we can’t start over!” Lila finished, ignoring Octavia’s words. “After all, we have so much in common.”

“Like what?”

“Octavia, you’re with”—Lila seemed to choke on her words—“Raemon Kentworth now. You’re moving among the highest class of people there are.”

“My god, I’m not marrying him,” Octavia said with a scowl. “Also, I’ve seen enough of the ‘highest class of people’ that I can stand. I just want to go home and take a nap.”

Again Lila gave a mirthless laugh. “You’re too funny, Octavia, really. We should set up a lunch sometime. How about Romero’s? It’s very exclusive, but I have a standing reservation there.”

“Do they have good wines?” Octavia asked.

“The best.”

“Oh goody. If I’m going to be drenched in dinner beverages, I’d like for them at least to be of the best quality,” Octavia responded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Bridlington-Scott.”

Octavia spun on her heel and walked away from Lila without bothering to look back.

She would have marched right out of the place if Raemon hadn’t appeared from nowhere and stopped her, stepping right in her path toward the exit.

“Octavia, what’s wrong?” he asked, looking down at her with an unwavering gaze and placing his hands on her shoulder.

“Nothing,” Octavia said with a scowl. “Can we go now?”

He continued to look down at her with a grim face but eventually his hands dropped. “Fine. Let’s go.”

It was a quiet ride in his Ferrari back to his penthouse. Once they were inside the house, Octavia flopped onto one of the couches with a sigh and slapped a hand over her eyes.

“I can’t do any more of these things,” she groaned. “The next time someone invites you for some blasted charity lunch, can you just send a check?”

Raemon sat on an ottoman beside her.

“Are you that miserable?” he said.

“I’m about ready to rip all my hair off my scalp,” Octavia said.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Yeah. Me too. I think enough people have seen me now. Can you just go to these things alone?”

Raemon took the hand she had over her eyes and clasped it in his own. “If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to.”

Octavia’s eyes shot open. “We? What do you mean ‘we’? I thought you have to go to these things.”

Raemon shrugged. “Not necessarily. I make the largest donations anyway. That in itself should make up for my absence.”

Octavia was annoyed. “Then why the hell have I been forced to parade around for the highest classes of society for the past few weeks?”

“It was a good idea to introduce you to society in a setting where you’d receive favorable reviews from the press,” Raemon explained.

“Reviews? Geez, what am I? A restaurant?”

“One or two events were enough to satisfy the media.” Raemon stood. “I think they know who you are now.”

“One or two?! But I went to, like…fifteen different things!”

“I didn’t know you didn’t want to go.”

“Right. Because I was soooo good at hiding how much I hated hanging out with your snobby friends.”

“They’re not my friends.”

“Which only makes me wonder more why I had to go to all those stupid things.” Octavia swung herself to sit upright.

“You know I lost years of my life listening to some lady babble on and on about her friggin’ dog-show-winning Pomeranian?”

“Maybe you should sue for damages.”

Octavia stood, facing Raemon with an indignant look on her face.

“I’m serious. She AGED me. I’ve never seen a dog show, and now thanks to her, I never will. I couldn’t enjoy it. Too many awful memories.”

“Fortunately, I have no plans to ever take you to a dog show,” Raemon said. He drew Octavia into his embrace. “So where do you want to go for dinner?”

“Lunch,” Octavia corrected him. “I didn’t eat any of that crap.”

“Very few people did, really.”

Octavia sighed. “I feel too tired to go out, though. I may never want to step outside again. How about we just order a pizza?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on! Damn it, now that I said it, I really want a pizza.”

“Then you’ll have one.”

Raemon took her by the hand and led her into the kitchen. Octavia sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, and Raemon rolled the sleeves up on his shirt.

Then he began pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cabinets.

“You can cook?” Octavia asked dubiously.

“My mother is French, Octavia,” Raemon said, laying some bell peppers on a cutting board. Pulling a large, sharp knife from a knife block, he began expertly chopping the bell peppers into thin strips.

Octavia watched as he prepped tomatoes, onions, garlic, and soon combined them all into a pan on the stove.

The sizzling of the chopped vegetables as he dropped them onto a warm skillet filled the room, and soon the savory aroma of a spicy sauce followed. While Raemon worked, Octavia marveled at his skill.

But, of course, he was a good cook. He was great at everything—duh. He was Raemon Kentworth.

Octavia’s phone buzzed with an incoming call.

“Hello?”

“Is it my Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?” a voice came through, crackled and slightly delayed.

Octavia’s face broke into a grin. “Is that the notable Dr. Wilde, PhD?”

The boisterous laugh that sounded through the phone answered her question.

“How’s my little girl?” Octavia’s mother asked.

“Not very little, Dr. Wilde,” Octavia said.

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re how old now?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Dear me…that old? How time flies.”

“Doesn’t it, though?”

Dr. Wilde chuckled. “So…habari yako?”

It took Octavia a few minutes to recall the response to the Swahili greeting. “Uh…mzuri sana?”

“Aha, so you haven’t forgotten everything from our time in East Africa.”

“Sure,” Octavia replied, “but that better be all you ask me. I can’t remember much more.”

“Well, programming languages were always more of your thing.”

“I thought you were in the northern part of the continent?” Octavia said.

“I was,” Dr. Wilde said, “but I decided to take a break. Tanzania is as beautiful as I remember. Busier…but still beautiful. Remember when you got lost in the market when you were seven years old?”

“You’ve never let me forget it.”

“Because I almost had a heart attack, you little mongoose! You were such a difficult child, wandering off whenever you wanted to.” Dr. Wilde chuckled through her disapproval.

“Now…please tell me why your name is in the news, Tavi.”

“Damn. You heard about it where you are?”

“Watch your language. And no, but I keep up to date with the news in the rest of the world. I just happened to come across your name in a tabloid.

“Have you gone and hacked a tabloid website and spread rumors as some kind of prank?”

“N-o-o-o…,” Octavia said slowly, “actually, it’s kind of true…”

“So you are dating some billionaire?”

“It’s a long story. But we’re not exactly dating…it’s more of a casual thing.”

“Oh? Are you using protection?”

“Mom!” Octavia exclaimed.

“Never mind, I know the answer to that. You wouldn’t be that foolish. So, where is this billionaire man?”

“Here actually. I’m in his house.”

“Let me speak to him.”

“Mom, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…he’s…he’s making a pizza.”

“Put me on speaker phone then.”

“But…”

Raemon appeared by her side, drying his hands on a towel. “I can speak with her.”

Octavia nearly jumped.

“How could you hear that?”

“Your mother is rather…audible.”

Dr. Wilde heard his words. “Ha! He’s got that right”—she whooped into Octavia’s ear—“give him the phone, Octavia.”

Octavia reluctantly handed her phone over to Raemon. He took the device and raised it to his ear with a calm, assured expression on his face.

“Dr. Rhondelle Wilde? Raemon Kentworth.”

Octavia couldn’t hear her mother’s response. She seemed to have abandoned her audible ways. All Octavia got from the conversation were Raemon’s responses.

“Yes, that is true…,” Raemon was saying, “…Yes…indeed….she is like that, isn’t she?”

She stared hard at Raemon’s face, analyzing his expressions to decipher what the conversation was about. But Raemon was the same as always, cool as a cucumber.

“…Really? Well….that’s interesting.”

Octavia’s heart nearly stopped when he directed a glance in her direction, a spark in his eyes.

“What?” she demanded.

Raemon ignored her, only responding to her mother. “…Did she? Well, well, well…”

Octavia was horrified. “Whatever my mother is telling you, it’s not true!”

Raemon’s mouth tilted into a gentle smile at Octavia’s reaction, but he continued to listen to Dr. Wilde.

“Hmm…I agree…that’s an excellent idea,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Huh…? Why?” Octavia said.

Raemon then handed the phone back to Octavia.

“What did you say to him?” Octavia frantically asked her mother.

“That’s none of your business,” Dr. Wilde said loftily. “Anyway, I have to go now.”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY???” Octavia demanded.

“Goodbye, dear. Make sure you stay out of trouble. And enjoy your pizza.”

“But, Mom—”

Click.

Octavia was only left with the beeping of her phone. She lowered the phone slowly with a dazed look on her face.

Raemon watched her with an amused expression on his face.

“You all right there, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?” he asked.

Octavia glared at him. “You will tell me everything she said to you—or else.”

Raemon smirked and patted Octavia’s head. “Aren’t you a threatening mongoose? But no, I won’t.”

“Why not?” Octavia whined.

“Your mother told me not to.”

“So what? She’s my mother, only I have to listen to her. You don’t have to.”

“How often do people go against the instruction of Dr. Wilde?”

Octavia sighed. “Never.”

“Exactly. Now, don’t worry, I promise to make this the best pizza you’ve ever eaten. That will make you feel better.”

Octavia refused to let her glum face fade. “Pizza can’t cure what ails me.”

“Then I promise that tonight, I’ll do things to you that will.”

At this, Octavia looked up. There was a dash of cheer in her eyes.

“Now that could do the trick.”