Page 66 of Shy Girl
“Dagny.” He smiled wide. “Wonderful to see you again. I was in the area and wanted to stop by for just a moment. Do you mind if I come in?”
Warning bells clanged in my head. He gave me no reason to suspect he was anything but another stutterer coming to talk to someone who could understand, but my hair stood on edge anyway.
“I'd r-r-rather you n-n-not come in-nside,” I said.
He shrugged, and to my surprise, didn't seem bothered. “Wise. Very wise. Would you be willing to meet for drinks at the bar?”
“Wh-what does this c-c-concern?”
A smile flitted lightly over his lips. “A breach of contract, if you will. Or, shall I say, a non-disclosure agreement?”
My heart felt like a lead weight as I mutely followed him toward the hotel bar. I stepped just behind him to give myself a little space to catch back up with the feeling of his stare on my skin. The cat-and-mice way his eyes had studied me. The firmness of his jaw as he'd said the words.
Non-disclosure agreement.
How did he know?
A few people drifted past us and called out to Anthony, laughing as they disappeared into the awaiting sandy beach and palm trees. My palms felt clammy at my side, and a chill had crept through me like a cloud had moved over the sun, but it hadn't. The sky was as bright as ever. The only cloud here walked a few steps ahead of me and hummed lightly, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
He was taking me for a drink, after all. Maybe hedidn'thave a care in the world. Would a man that was truly worried about saving face take me out for a drink? He'd be seen with me this way.
Maybe someone would draw conclusions?
My mind recoiled. No, I wasn't making any sense now. Everything had happened too quickly, so now I tripped over my thoughtsandmy words. Less than a minute later, Anthony opened a door to the hotel and gestured me inside with a grand sweep of his hand. The warmth on his face had me firmly locked in confusion.
Did he know?
Was I missing something?
Back when I planned to confront him about the choice he'd made, I expected frustration, maybe vengeance. But this Anthony was a calm summer breeze. A monster with their prey in his hands, more likely. A pleasant monster, however.
Becausewhohad control of the broken NDA?
He did.
We slipped through a hallway of wood with decorative netting and a cool blast of AC. A maid pushed a trolley past with a little smile as the hallway opened up into a ritzy bar. Dark paneling, gleaming wooden floors, and window drapes made from dried grasses left an edge of sophistication on the room. Anthony had to only raise two fingers to draw the bartender’s attention, and suddenly we sat in a booth near the back. No one else lingered indoors at this time of day, giving us the shadows place to ourselves. Anthony faced the doors while I looked out a window, my back to the room.
The place suddenly felt as small as a cubby hole.
I swallowed past my fear as I gazed across the booth without saying a word, and Anthony did the same on the other side. A waiter set down two ice waters.
“Nothing now.” Anthony waved him away with a gesture of his wrist. “Come back in ten, please. Notify my assistant we've arrived.”
“You've ar-r-r-rived?” I asked.
“I assumed you wouldn't be comfortable alone in the bungalow, and I try to avoid being in rooms with women that aren't my wife.”
The response, spoken with an undertone so blatant I could have swam in it, set me on edge.
WasIthe lesson that spurred that decision?
Once the waiter faded away, our eyes locked. Some of my courage had returned into the minutes between then and now, when I realized this would not be a friendly, happy reunion. Despite his genial air, he sat like a coiled snake. Tension hung across his shoulders and arms. Likely, there wouldn't be pride or astonishment or even rage on his features once we established what we each knew. At best, I could hope for indifference. A father-daughter reunion of bland annoyance.
My heart gave a little tremble, but I forced courage into it. Not much remained, but just enough for now.
“Dagny Taylor,” he murmured. A pleasant expression remained on his face, but I could have sworn I saw a sense of shock beneath it all. Perhaps curiosity.
I nodded once, then endured his business-like scrutiny. As if confronting me for the first time, he studied my face. I could feel his eyes mark my nose, my ears, my neck. The perusal felt mostly benign, likely the same thing I did the other night. At one point in my life, I'd imagined our first meeting to be something like this. The search for touchpoints or physical similarities between us. I'd longed for a biological father that wanted to share something with me, even if it was mere physical traits.
