Page 94 of Why Not Both?

“The valet, obviously.”

His smile is fragile, but real. I get out of the car and he comes with me. I take his hand and we climb the steps to the door. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knocks, but he pushes it open and we step inside.

“Ah, Spencer,” a man greets us immediately. “Welcome home, sir. Miss Victoria couldn’t come with you today?”

“Hi Matthew. No. This is my—” He breaks off and looks at me. “This is Lis. Lis, this is Matthew. He runs the house.”

“Runs the house,” I repeat. “Like a housekeeper?”

Matthew chuckles. “Sort of. Right this way Spencer and Miss… Lis. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water will be fine for me,” I say. No way I’m having a single drop of alcohol if I’m driving that car home.

“Flat or sparkling?”

“Sparkling would be amazing.”

Spencer doesn’t ask for anything. Matthew leads us to a set of doors and the closer we get, the tighter Spencer grips my hand. When the doors open, I see a man between fifty and sixty years old sitting in a chair with a short glass in his hand, filled halfway with amber liquid. He’s turned away from the door and doesn’t look up until we enter. Then he does and I’m startled by how much Spencer looks like him. His hair is more silver than blond. But his eyes are the same clear blue and they have the same cheekbones and chin.

“Spence, my boy,” he says with a smile, though I notice the haunted look in his eyes as well.

Spencer flinches at the sound of his name and I remember him telling me he didn’t like being called Spence. In fact, in the almost four months that I’ve known him, I haven’t heard a single person call him that.

“Dad,” he says, coming into the room and sitting on the couch across from his father. He pulls me with him and we sit together, thighs touching, his hand still gripping mine.

“You couldn’t have worn something more appropriate?” the man asks. “You look like a homeless person. Where’s Vicky?”

Vicky? What is with this man and his nicknames?

“She couldn’t make it today. This is Lis. Lis, this is my father, Beckett Cole.”

He turns toward me. “Lis? What’s that short for?”

“Amaryllis.”

“Hm. Well, wouldn’t Mary be a better nickname for you then?”

I smile as sweetly as I can and say, “If you call me Mary, I might have to stab you, sir.”

Spencer makes a funny noise halfway between a snort and a cough.

Matthew returns with my sparkling water and I take it with another smile. He lets us know that lunch is ready, so we follow him to the dining room. There’s a huge table and we’re spaced out so far that we’ll have to shout to have any kind of conversation. I take one look and shake my head.

I pick up my plate and move it closer to where Beckett is sitting and then I pick up Spencer’s, grab him by the arm and seat him next to me so I’m between him and his father. Beckett watches this with a scowl on his face.

“You didn’t like the placements?”

“Not particularly,” I say with another sweet smile. I have zero desire to ingratiate myself to this man. He can hate me all he wants. In fact, I hope he does.

“Well, then, Amaryllis, how did you meet my son?”

I sip the water, fixing my eyes on him. What is his insistence on calling people by names they don’t want to be called?

“It’s Lis. Only my mother and my sister call me Amaryllis, and only when they’re angry.” I briefly consider telling Beckett exactly how I met his son, but I’m not sure Spencer would like that. So I say, “We work together. I’m the head chef at Blue Vista.”

“Oh. An office romance, then.”

His tone is disapproving. I know he’s thinking that I’m sleeping with Spencer for my job which is exactly what I feared. But sitting here, I don’t care what this man thinks. He could think I’m the scourge of the earth and I wouldn’t care.

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