Page 18 of Samson

“No, I’m sorry.” She sighed deeply. “That’s not what I meant. I know how hard you’ve worked to put all that behind you. I’m just being overprotective. I’m worried he’d look into your past and get suspicious.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. That’s settled then. Now get out of here so I can get ready. I don’t want to be late for my first day of work.”

The doorbell rang, and Samson opened his eyes, trying to place the sound that had woken him. When it rang again, he pulled his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. It was almost noon.

He scrubbed a hand over his face at the third ring.

“Do you want me to get that?” A woman’s voice floated to him from the living room, but before he could say no, he heard the door open.

“I’m looking for Samson,” came a gruff voice.

Samson groaned, then threw back the sheet. This was the last thing he needed.

When he stood, it was too fast. Blood whooshed in his ears, and his head pounded. He’d drunk too much the night before.

“Can I tell him who’s looking for him?” the woman asked.

Samson grabbed a T-shirt off the floor. He pulled it over his head and tugged at his boxer-briefs as he walked into the living room.

When he reached the door, he skirted around the blonde who’d answered.

“Dad,” he said, bracing his hand on the door frame. “What are you doing here?”

His dad wore a deep frown that made his bottom lip disappear. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

He didn’t hide his disdain as he eyeballed the woman wearing an oversized men’s dress shirt.

“Dad, this is Kelly.”

The woman’s head snapped around to him.

“Uh—Sorry,” he said. “I mean Kerry. Kerry, this is Arthur, my dad.”

“It’s Katy, actually.” She harrumphed, then marched out of the room.

Samson sucked on his teeth as he listened to the banging coming from his bedroom. Then he said, “What are you doing here, Dad?”

“I thought we could have lunch together. But I can see you’re busy.”

“No, he’s not,” Katy said as she emerged from the bedroom, pulling at the hem of her dress. She shoved the strap of her purseover her arm and pushed out the door. “Don’t call me,” she said over her shoulder as she stomped down the hall.

Samson watched her go with little expression.

“You weren’t going to call her anyway, were you?” Arthur said.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Are you going to invite me in?”

Samson took in a deep breath and stepped back. “You want a coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

Arthur sat on a stool at the counter while Samson pressed the button on the coffee machine and waited for the whirring to stop. “Is there a particular reason you’re here?”

“I can’t visit my son for the sake of it?”

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