Never Say Never

styled, as usual, and her glasses were perched on her nose.
“Camila, darling.” Charlotte rose to her feet when Camila reached her, giving her a kiss on each cheek. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m ten minutes early, Mother,” Camila said. She sat opposite from Charlotte and reached for a menu.
“Exactly.”
Camila pursed her lips.
She ordered a steak, testing if her mother would comment about Camila’s weight, but Charlotte only looked at her disapprovingly before ordering a salad for herself.
“So, Camila,” Charlotte began after the server took their order. Camila braced herself. “I was disappointed to hear that you and Christopher didn’t work things out.”
“Yes, well.” The server brought Camila a glass of wine, and she took a hefty sip as soon as it was set down in front of her. “It’s hard to patch things up after walking in on him fucking his secretary.”
“Language,” Charlotte admonished, glancing around. Camila rolled her eyes—God forbid she ruin her mother’s perfect reputation. “Are you sure you didn’t drive him away?” she asked. “You do spend an awful lot of time at that silly little network of yours.”
“That ‘silly little network’ of mine is the third most successful network in the United States.” Camila ground out the words through gritted teeth. She ought to be used to her mother’s opinion of her career, never mind that she was one of the most successful women in her field.
“It’s not number one, though, is it?”
Camila took another sip of wine.
“Another divorce doesn’t look good, Camila,” Charlotte continued, “especially at your age. Think of your image.”
“My image is just fine, Mother.”
“Is it?” Charlotte asked. “Have you not seen what they’re writing about you? They say that you’re an ice queen, that you’re—”
“I don’t care.” Camila interrupted her. She knew very well what the gossip rags said.
“Perhaps you should.” Charlotte said. “When you married Chris, I thought you would settle down. But you pushed him away, like all of the others.”
The words hit their target, and Camila hated that her own thoughts echoed her mother’s disapproval—not that she would ever tell Charlotte that.
“Are you seeing anyone else? The longer you’re single, the longer—”
“I’m not.” Camila signaled the server for another glass of wine. “I’m happy being single, Mother.”
“Are you?” Charlotte asked. “You’re not lonely by yourself in that big apartment?”
“No.”
It was a lie, and Charlotte’s raised eyebrows told Camila that she knew it.
“If you’re looking for a date, Camila, you only need ask. I’m sure I could find you someone suitable.”
“Suitable” was code for a middle-aged white man whose family had money, not someone that Camila would choose.
“I’m perfectly happy with the way things are, thank you.”
The tone of her voice was intended to end the conversation, and her mother would have pressed on if their food had not arrived. She was relieved when they finished eating so she could escape, and she prayed, as Charlotte kissed her goodbye, that it would be a long time before they saw one another again.
Her driver took her back across town to Emily’s apartment, and Emily greeted her with arms full of Jaime. Camila’s anger melted when she saw her son, and she gathered him in a fierce hug, setting him down when he wriggled.
“Did you have a good morning?”
“The best! Come see my painting!” He took her hand and tugged at her, but Camila held back.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It’s fine,” Emily said. “Come in. Stay for a bit, if you like.”
Her first thought was “bad idea,” but when she glanced at Emily’s worn couch, surveyed the cozy apartment, and listened to Cassie and Maia talking, she decided it would be nice to have some company to take her mind off her mother’s scathing words.
“I—”
“Please, Mama? I don’t want to go home yet.” Jaime looked up at her with puppy-dog eyes, and Camila relented.
“Very well. If you’re sure it’s okay.”
“Absolutely. Come on in.” Emily took her coat and Camila kicked off her shoes. Jaime pulled her over to the easel in the corner where the paint was still wet on a canvas.
“You did this?” she asked, looking down at her son. He nodded. “It’s wonderful.”
“He’s a natural.” Emily appeared next to her. “You’ve got an art maestro on your hands.” She turned to whisper in Camila’s ear. “He might want to take it home.” Camila shivered to feel Emily’s breath so close. “But I told him he had to ask you first.”
“I can find somewhere to hang it.” When she was a child, the things she made never ended up on the walls—her mother never thought them good enough—and she wanted Jaime to be filled with pride whenever he saw his drawings in their home.
“I’ll bring it over when it’s dry.”
Camila watched Jaime wander over to the couch and climb up onto Maia’s lap.
“I’ve been replaced as his favorite.” Emily mock sighed. “I think it was because she let him use her handcuffs to chain me to the table. He didn’t release me for ten minutes.”
Camila laughed.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Do you still have some coffee?”
“The first batch is all gone because my sister is a caffeine addict, but I can brew another pot. How was lunch?”
“Awful,” Camila answered as she followed Emily to the kitchen.
“That sucks.”
“Yes, it does.” Camila waved her off, momentarily distracted when Emily reached for a mug, her shirt riding up to reveal skin at the small of her back.
Camila longed to touch the area. At least she wasn’t wearing leggings and a sports bra again. The sight of her toned arms and her firm abs had knocked her speechless. It was the first time Camila had seen her arms—usually they were hidden by a sweater—but Emily had serious muscles, and that had always been Camila’s weakness.
She was a little ashamed to admit to herself that after that day she had called Emily over to her place early twice more in the hope that she would see her in a similar state of undress, but both times she had been disappointed.
Camila looked up quickly when