The chocolate chip cookies were freshly baked and gooey, and Clover stuffed one in her mouth and washed it down with ice-cold milk that Jemma poured for her from a ceramic pitcher. Working here did have its perks, she had to admit.
An older bear couple who looked familiar settled in across from her, with vaguely disapproving looks on their faces. They were introduced as Marjorie and Michael Thomas, distant relatives of the McCoy family.
“So, I understand you’re from the Jones family,” Marjorie said, arching an eyebrow, her words dripping with honeyed venom.
Oh, good. Here it comes, Clover thought.
“And I understand you’re from the Thomas family,” she replied.
Marjorie looked momentarily confused. “Well, yes. I just introduced myself,” she said.
Clover ignored her and dug into her sandwich.
“You’re coyotes and bears. That’s an interesting combination.” Marjorie sounded out every syllable of the word “interesting” and stared intently at Clover, as if expecting her to sprout wings or grow horns on the spot.
Yep. They were half-breeds, all right. Clover was feeling more and more out of place. She should have known this would happen.
“So, what is your family up to these days?” Marjorie continued.
“Well, I’m working here.” Clover took another big bite.
“Yes, I see that.” Marjorie answered condescendingly. “What about the rest of your family?”
“They’re fine, thanks for asking.”
“I used to see your sister with Jeffrey all the time. I haven’t seen her here all week. How has she been?”
“Doing quite well.”
Jemma shot her an annoyed look. “Is the interrogation over now? Our guest might like to eat her lunch.”
Marjorie let out a small huff of annoyance and turned to talk to her husband. “The preparations for the Jamboree are coming along quite nicely,” she said. “All of the finest bear families will be there.”
The national Jamboree was a gathering of bears from all over the country. This year it would be held in Gainesville, Florida, and the McCoy family, as usual, would be major sponsors. It was an invitation-only affair that had been held since the early 1900s, and only shifters of impeccable pedigree were invited. In other words, not the Jones family.
“It’ll be a wonderful opportunity for the men in our family to meet some appropriate young ladies from good families, won’t it?” Marjorie said just as the conversation around the table reached a lull. She’d spoken in a deliberately loud voice, and everyone turned and stared at her.
Clover felt her cheeks heating up. She got the clear message. She wasn’t appropriate, her sister wasn’t appropriate. This went a long way towards explaining why Sam wouldn’t let her sister marry his brother. Someone from the Jones family, at the notoriously snooty Jamboree? It would never happen.
It was also quite clear that no matter how much Sam flirted with her, he’d only use her and cast her aside. Apparently that was the McCoy style. People like her were good enough to screw, not good enough to marry.
Marjorie favored Jemma with a huge, beaming smile. “I’m sure you’ll be attending, won’t you, young lady?”
Jemma gave her a frosty look. “The only people who go to the Jamboree are boring, stuck-up twats with sticks up their asses. So no, I won’t be going.”
Marjorie choked on her iced tea, her husband glared, and Clover pushed back her chair and stood. She’d lost her appetite, which was quite uncommon for a bear. “I need to get back to work,” she said to no one in particular, and walked quickly away from the table.
“What?” She heard Marjorie’s loud, smug tone behind her. “We just got rid of one of them, and he has to invite another charity case onto our property? Remember to count the silverware, that’s all I have to say.” She deliberately raised her voice at that last part.
Jemma ran after Clover.
“Ignore that old bitch,” she said. “She’s got three daughters she wants to marry off to a McCoy, and if she could get Sam to marry one of them it would be the coup of the century. It’ll never happen. She’s paraded them in front of him a million times and they’re not his type.”
“What is his type?” Clover asked, then cursed herself for even wondering. Why did she even care? She’d be working here for a month, tops, and then she’d get out of here.
Jemma considered the question. “You know, it’s hard to say. He dates a lot of women but none of them ever seem to last for very long. He says it’s because he’s married to his work, but I think it’s just because he hasn’t found the right woman yet. I think what he needs is a challenge; the second he meets a woman, they usually drool all over him and act like idiots.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me back there,” Clover said, pausing in the doorway of the office building.
“No probs. Seriously, I’d rather poke my eyes out with a stick than go to the Jamboree. It’s like an eighteenth-century debutante ball where everyone’s trying to marry you off to someone from a quote unquote good family. Puke.” Jemma made a face.