Like the rest of the female population of New York, I valued first impressions. If the gorgeous black Donna Karan number wasn't just right, if the Choos and handbag didn't match, and if the makeup channeled Alice Cooper more than Sarah Jessica, forget it. I wasn't walking out of my front door.

Thankfully, I'd outdone myself today. As I strode toward Drew's penthouse suite and my second home (like The Plaza staff would give me the time of day after Drew left town) I knew there was at least one area Lady Muck couldn't fault me in: if clothes maketh the woman, I was dressed to kill and then some. Black pencil skirt, baby pink cashmere twinset, moderate-heeled black pumps, and a cute little clutch complementing my demure look perfectly.

Not that I was trying to impress the old witch or anything. Given half a chance, I would've donned one of Rita's saris for a stir but what would that achieve? I wanted to prove a point at this meeting, not alienate the one guy who rocked my world.

My outfit wasn't the only thing making me feel good today. Before I'd left the apartment, I'd learned my first article had been accepted at Viand. Not bad for a trial employee and a much-needed confidence boost before I faced Her Ladyship.

Clearing my throat and squaring my shoulders, I rang the bell, annoyed when my finger shook. Nothing to be nervous about. Just because I'd called my boyfriend's mother a racist old bitch the first time we met didn't mean anything. Water under the bridge and all those other common English cliches.

My fake smile waned as the door opened.

Shit, you're not Drew.

"Lady Lansford." I inclined my head with a cool, polite nod that would've given Her Majesty a run for her money.

"Won't you come in?" Pure, frigid ice dripped from every word, a perfect match for her Arctic-bleak expression.

"Thanks." I entered and suppressed a shiver. I swear the cold radiating from every pore in her well-preserved body was palpable. Where the hell was Drew?

"Drew will be here shortly," she said, eerily answering my thoughts. "Urgent business."

She shut the door with a resounding thud, clasping her hands so tight her knuckles stood out beneath translucent skin, her contemptuous glance flicking me from head to foot.

Urgent business, my ass.

I'd kill him. Why hadn't he called? Warned me he'd be late? Daniel walking into the lions' den had nothing on this.

"He said he tried to call but you didn't answer." She made it sound like I'd ignored a royal summons and I silently cursed my last minute dash to the corner store for mints. A group of teenagers had entered around the same time, complete with blaring stereo, which is when I must've missed Drew's call. Bad timing.

Lady Luck as well as Lady Muck had it in for me.

"Would you like something to drink?"

A mojito, straight up.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

Like being stuck between a rampant Anu and jealous Anjali. Truly shudder-inducing.

"I see you're looking more respectable today." She waved toward a chair as she perched on the edge of the sofa, and while I looked longingly at the door and considered making a run for it, I gritted my teeth and sat.

"I'm sure a continent of Indian women would dare you to say they're not respectable in their elegant clothes," I said, deriving satisfaction when two spots of color appeared on her high cheeks.

Rather than backing down, the high priestess of anti-India went on the attack. "I don't know what you hope to achieve by coming here today. My son said you wanted to meet. Why?"

I stifled a triumphant grin. She was playing right into my hands and though Drew wasn't around to hear this I couldn't let the opportunity pass to score a few early points. "I feel we got off on the wrong foot last time. Considering I'm part of Drew's life, it seems only fair that we clear the air and get to know each other better."

That sounded truly barf-worthy, but hey, it had the desired effect as her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. However, you couldn't keep a bad woman down for long and she came back fighting. "You may think you're part of Drew's life, but we've already established it's only temporary."

She actually sniffed-how she managed to make it sound condescending I'll never know-and dabbed delicately at her upturned nose with a lace-edged handkerchief pulled from her sleeve.

"You think he's sowing his royal oats," I said, knowing I'd heard a similar line in an Eddie Murphy movie once, racking my brains to place it before Coming to America flashed into my head. I doubted Lady Muck would be a movie buff or appreciate Eddie's humor.

She did a mean, malevolent glare. "Exactly."

"You're wrong." I smiled, a self-satisfied smirk that screamed "I know something you don't," mentally counting the minutes until Drew returned to set the old cow straight.

"I'm never wrong." She pushed the New York Post across the exquisite marble coffee table between us and opened it to Page Six. "If you won't listen to me, see for yourself."

Unwilling to buy into her games, I glanced at the paper, not particularly caring what I'd find. Until I saw Drew and a gorgeous blonde with their heads close, her bejeweled hand resting possessively on his forearm.

I cared. Way too much to be good for me.

"Lovely couple, aren't they?"

I ignored her, my eyes drawn to the small print beneath the boxed pic.

Man about town-or should that read the world?-Lord Drew Lansford is seen here in New York with his regular girlfriend, Amelia Greyhart, heiress to Greyhart Industries. The two looked particularly cozy at the Waldorf Astoria, a favorite hotel of the Greyharts. What we want to know is when will Amelia become Lady Lansford? The two are regular companions in London and it looks like their global love affair is heading into new territory with the stunning pair spending time in New York. Perhaps the Big Apple will be the chosen venue for pending nuptials? Stay tuned.

I could've labeled the article a load of speculative crap except for two things: the date under the picture, and Amelia's blatant adoration as she gazed at him with wide eyes and smiling mouth. You couldn't fake that look, and my blood chilled as I realized the cool blonde WASP princess, every bit as stunning as I expected, had bought into the soon-to-be-engaged scenario Drew had conjured up for his mother's benefit.

I could've excused him. He couldn't control the Ice Princess' feelings. However, he could control who he spent his time with and where, and if my memory served me correctly, the date printed under that pretty picture correlated perfectly with our first drink date.

My gut twisted as I remembered not having that drink and why: the phone call on Drew's cell, his smooth 'something's come up' and taking a rain check.

Jealousy, vile and potent, strangled every well-thought-out reason why I'd demanded this meeting. I'd wanted to make nice with Lady Muck because I cared for Drew. But what if Drew didn't reciprocate? Was he that fickle he'd set up a date with one woman only to ditch her for another?

I didn't have any right to be possessive over what had been a first date but we'd come a long way and this irked. I blinked, willing away the image of Amelia touching Drew, and inhaled sharply, needing air to alleviate my sudden breathlessness.

"You're seeing sense."

I clenched my hands at Lady Muck's audible triumph and bit back a host of retorts, most of them involving the F-word I rarely used, and schooled my face into an impassive mask with effort.

With effort? Who was I trying to kid? It took a miraculous contortion of hundreds of tiny muscles not to look like Satan on speed and even then, a constipated grimace would've looked elegant compared with my rigor-mortis expression.

"I never would've guessed you'd read trashy gossip columns," I said, scoring a direct hit by the flash of fire in her eyes but unable to derive comfort from it.

"Everyone needs their fix of trash now and then." Lady Muck's pointed stare left me in little doubt where she thought her son was getting his fix.

Stupid, pointless tears burned the back of my eyes and I blinked rapidly, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. The newspaper photo rankled, but not half as much as having my boyfriend's mother treat me like doggy-doo she'd stepped in with her fancy shoes.

Her derision took the gloss off my earlier confidence and shattered any illusions I'd held of smoothing things over between us for Drew's sake. She made me feel worthless in a way being homeless and jobless never had. And it hurt, dammit, more than it should.

I wanted her to like me, to accept me, to acknowledge me.

That's when the stunning realization detonated. Why I'd really come here today, why her opinion mattered.

I loved Drew.

Somewhere between taunting him in Mumbai and flaunting him in New York, I'd fallen for him. Hard.

We'd dealt with a faux engagement-his, not mine-and a very real title, so that newspaper article? Not worth the print it was written on. The newspaper had fallen for the same scenario I initially had without knowing the facts. They'd printed a load of speculative crap and while the date that picture was taken still needled, I wouldn't buy into Lady Muck's games.

She hadn't driven me away first time around so she was still trying, using anything to make me walk away.

Try again, lady.

Realistically, I didn't want her to try. I wanted her to accept me. Something that would never happen going by her disgusted moue.

"You should leave." She rattled the newspaper in my face. "You'll never belong in my son's world, not like Amelia."

Damn her. Damn me for caring about her opinion so much.

Her imperious gaze swept over the outfit I'd chosen with such care. "Play dress-up all you like but you can't fool me. I know your type."

By the taunting tilt of her lips, she wanted me to ask 'what type's that?' but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Besides, I couldn't speak even if I wanted to. Sadness tightened my throat, making swallowing painful.

The sting of tears burned but I didn't look away, daring her to finish what she'd started.

She folded the paper precisely, creating a perfect frame for the picture of Drew and Amelia. "You'll never compete with that. Class above ass, I always say."

She held the picture in front of my face and I swatted it away, losing my battle to subdue the tears as the door opened and Drew strode into the room, more agitated than I'd ever seen him: tie askance, suit rumpled, hair virtually standing on end.

"Sorry I'm late." Horror dawned as he registered the tears. Crossing the room in three short strides, he laid a protective arm across my shoulder. "What the hell's going on here, Mother?"

"Nothing, dear. And don't swear, it doesn't become you." Lady Muck stood, cool, calm, confident, and unflappable.

"I'll do and say whatever I damn well please." Drew never raised his voice, unless you count the times I baited him in India, and seeing him angry and masterful impressed me.

"Shari's crying and I'd like to know why. What did you do?"

My "I'm not crying," and Lady Muck's "Nothing" overlapped and Drew shook his head, ready to throttle both of us.

"Shari, what's going on?"

"Your mom seems to think this is significant." I pointed at the newspaper clutched in her hand.

He snatched it and glanced at the photo before throwing it back on the table. "I've already explained all this. Amelia's a friend, nothing more."

"How can you say that?" Lady Muck's hands fluttered in the vicinity of her heart and for a moment I wondered if she was going into cardiac arrest.

Impossible. The battle-ax had to have a heart for it to arrest.

Weary to the bone, I eyeballed him. "I believe you, but you have to admit ditching a drink date with me for a cozy sojourn in a posh hotel with her is poor form."

His mother smothered a delighted snort and his tolerant expression shifted to furious in a second.

"Sit down, Mother, and don't say another bloody word until I tell you."

He pointed to the sofa and Queenie sat, honing her goldfish impersonations, when he turned to me. "I didn't know about the picture; otherwise, I would've explained it when I told you the truth at Starbucks, remember?"

I remembered. I'd demanded answers, he'd explained, and the make-up sex had been memorable. Heat seeped into my cheeks at the scorching recollection.

"That night I was with you when something came up? My assistant called, saying I had urgent business to attend to at the office so I dropped you off and headed there. The urgent business happened to be the interfering old biddy sitting on that sofa over there. Of course, Mother didn't tell me Amelia was in town or she'd been conveniently invited in another blatant attempt to push us up the aisle, so I spent a polite hour in their company before heading back here."

He held up a finger when his mom opened her mouth to respond. "Mother arranged for us to have supper at the Waldorf. I'd already taken a raincheck on our date so I went along. I hadn't seen Amelia in months and haven't seen her since. That's it. No cozy meeting, no secret liaison, no pre-planning. Isn't that right, Mother?"

He swung to face Lady Muck, his face thunderous. If Dashing Drew was seriously suave, Dastardly Drew was scarily sexy.

His mom lifted her head and I knew she wouldn't back down without a fight. "You're blind, dear." She stabbed a finger at the picture in the newspaper. "You can't deny Amelia's feelings for you. Look at her expression. She's smitten. Surely you return the sentiment-"

"Amelia's smitten all right." Drew touched my hand and winked. I didn't need the reassurance. Looked like Rita's wild theory had been right and Drew wasn't the object of Amelia's affections. "Here's a heads up, Mother. Amelia is dating some guy half her age. He's all she talks about. That look in the photo? Probably waxing lyrical about her toy boy while you visited the Ladies. Satisfied?"

I stifled a grin at the strangled "Yes" from Lady Muck's mouth.

"Now that's out of the way, it's time to get a few things clear, Mother." Drew glowered as he slid an arm around my shoulders. I straightened, proud to be by his side, part of me never wanting to leave. "Firstly, Amelia and I played a role around you all these years to keep you off my back. Secondly, Shari is the special woman in my life and you owe her an apology. And thirdly, you tell me right now what the hell is behind this bizarre vendetta of yours. You've never been racist in your life and I want to know what's gotten into you."

"Leave me alone, I'm tired," she said, her hands waving ineffectually in front of her, fluttering in helpless circles before coming to rest in her lap. In that instant, I almost felt sorry for her-almost, but not quite-as her stately frame crumpled before our eyes, turning her from an elegant older woman to a wizened crone sinking into the corner of the sofa.

Helpless, Drew glanced at me and I gave him a gentle push in her direction.

I was a feisty New York City girl, able to leap tall buildings and guys in a single bound, while my nemesis lay huddled in a pathetic heap. I could be gallant in the face of her humiliating defeat. Besides, I knew what it felt like to be down and out, and, at that moment, his mom's pathetic slump surpassed me at my lowest.

"Mother, tell me." Drew spoke softly, as if to a child, and my heart clenched at the myriad of emotions playing across his face: anger warring with disappointment, fear with concern.

I hoped she wasn't faking, because if she was I'd never forgive the old witch for putting the guy I cared for through that.

"Your father had a mistress, a half-caste woman, part African, part Spanish, a gorgeous coffee-skinned thing that stole his heart and effectively ended our marriage."

Drew's stunned expression mirrored mine and I plopped into the chair I'd vacated earlier, knowing I shouldn't be privy to this but unable to look away, like a horror-struck passerby at an accident.

"But you and Dad were married for forty years before he died," Drew said, laying a tentative hand over his mother's.

By his fleeting guilt, I could swear he wasn't as surprised by the news of his dad's mistress as he first made out. Perhaps his stunned expression was more about his mother knowing and how she'd kept it secret all these years.

"A sham, all of it. A cold, lifeless marriage for the sake of appearances. That woman had your father's love and I had nothing. I hated her." Her voice hitched and I froze, trying not to squirm when she raised accusing eyes to me. "I didn't want the same thing happening to Amelia. That's why I said those horrible things. To get rid of you before the damage was done. But I've made a mistake."

Unsure whether I should respond, I settled for an imperceptible nod and deferred to Drew, who took hold of her hands and squeezed. "Yes, you have. I'm sorry about Dad and your marriage but it doesn't excuse what you put Shari through. Isn't there something else you'd like to say?"

I would never know if she would've stooped so low as to apologize to me without Drew's prompting but I didn't care. She had demons of her own to conquer, that was punishment enough.

She released Drew's hands and stood, circumnavigating the coffee table to stand in front of me with hand outstretched. "I'm sorry, dear. I was very rude and you didn't deserve it. I hope you can forgive me. Considering our mutual regard for my son, we may have more in common than I first thought."

She glanced fondly at Drew, who watched us with bemusement, as if he expected me to give his mother a hug before throwing her over my shoulder in a mock Chan move.

I stood and shook Lady Lansford's hand. (Abrupt change in title but I couldn't keep calling her sarcastic pet names, even in my own head, after her apology. Didn't seem right.) If the regal old duck could apologize, I had to do a bit of groveling myself. "And I'm sorry for calling you names."