Page 39 of Negotiating Tactics

Then I looked at Aunt Clem, who made no effort to hide the scowl on her face.

“So, he’s back in town, huh?” she said, her voice deadpan and ice fucking cold.

“He’s been around for a little while,” I said. “I think he might be settling in for a bit. He’s got a girlfriend, and he’s been a positive influence on her kids.”

Or at least I thought he was. My dad had mentioned us all getting together, but that hadn’t happened yet, so I hadn’t actually met the woman or kids he talked about nonstop. But that was just an oversight, I was sure.

We all had incredibly busy lives, so I didn’t expect them—including my father—to change their plans to accommodate a meeting with me.

“Hmm,” Aunt Clem said in a tone that conveyed exactly what she meant.

But knowing that didn’t stop me from asking “What do you mean?”

“It’s not my business, Alex girl,” she said.

“Has that ever stopped you?” I asked, my face turning up in a smile.

Her eyes glittered with amusement. “Nope, and it won’t today either since you’re insisting.” She turned serious and then shook her head in what was far too close to sympathy. “I just don’t like the way that man treats you.”

She looked sympathetic, which made her words hurt that much more.

Still, I tried to shrug it off.

“Nobody’s perfect,” I said, feeling and sounding lame.

“No, nobody’s perfect,” Aunt Clem said patiently.

I could see she wanted to say more but was holding her tongue.

I wasn’t sure if I appreciated her keeping her opinion to herself, or the fact that she was so upset on my behalf.

Decided I’d go with the last and leave it at that.

Because my father had his challenges, but Aunt Clem had never had a chance to see the other side of him.

She and Birdie had only met him once, one year when he’d happened to be in town for Christmas.

Aunt Clem had invited us over and made her famous fruitcake.

I would concede that fruitcake was usually not my favorite, but Aunt Clem’s was pure heaven.

But after I’d had my slice and then decided I wanted another, my father had suggested I ease off. Told me, like he had so many times before, that I was a pretty girl, but a second slice of cake was not going to land me a man.

His words had lost the power to hurt me, or at least I thought they had, but Aunt Clem had been scandalized.

Birdie had escorted her from the room in an attempt to make sure Aunt Clem didn’t violate her rules about cursing on the holiday, and since that Christmas, which had to have been seven, maybe eight years ago, his name had been mud to Aunt Clem.

Or maybe it had been the last straw.

I’d mentioned in passing to Aunt Clem that he hadn’t been around much when I was a kid, and between that and the fruitcake comment, Aunt Clem’s mind had been made up.

I knew where Aunt Clem was coming from and knew that no matter how she felt, she always had my best interests and my feelings at heart. So there was no reason to force the matter.

Clearly, Aunt Clem agreed. “Birdie, you want to prepare some of that lunch the chef left?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, standing.

“You need some help?” I asked Birdie.

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