Page 43 of Role Play
I narrow my eyes, not appreciating what he’s insinuating.Poor little rich girl with laughable problems.
“My career is far from charmed.”
“When it comes to author stuff, Sora’s dad is about as useful as a snail in the Kentucky Derby. He doesn’t support her career at all. Just calls her a couple times a year to make sure she’s alive, and flies in every now and then to buy her love with multimillion-dollar spare houses.”
I hang my head, accepting defeat in trying to control this conversation. “Forrest, if there are any other wildly personal and painful details you’d like to learn about my life, Daphne is at your service.”
“Good,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm. “Because I have questions, Daphne.”
“Fire away.” If Daphne grins any wider, her face is going to rip in half. I don’t like how much these two are already getting along.
I turn to Forrest, returning to my mission at hand.Getting him out. “Didn’t you say you had to get going soon? To pick up your daughter?”
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, that I had the gall to bring up his daughter.
“Right.” He nods, setting down his half-eaten pastry. “I should probably grab my coat. Daphne, thank you for sharing your breakfast. Very kind of you.”
He disappears upstairs, and Daphne immediately rounds on me.
“Daughter?” she hisses. “He has a kid?”
“Yes, a little girl,” I confirm. “She’s adorable.” I don’t offer Daphne a name or age, because I don’t actually know it. But I clarify what I can. “He’s a really good dad. Not just the dote-on-her-to-shut-her-up kind of dad. He’s trying to raise his daughter right. It’s impressive.” Of all the lies I told this morning, that sentiment was genuine.
Daphne fans herself theatrically. “Hot, great in bed, and good with kids? Marry him. Immediately.”
“Don’t get too comfortable with him,” I urge, my voice low. “We’re probably not going to work out long term.”
“Why?” she counters, like she’s taking personal offense. “Unless he’s a serial killer feeding dismembered body parts to wild hogs, there is no excusable reason for you not to snatch that man up in a hurry.”
“We’re just not compatible, Daphne. His job is?—”
“My job is what?” Forrest asks, returning and once again unexpectedly interjecting himself into our conversation. Howcome I don’t hear him coming down the stairs? The man moves like a ninja when he chooses to.
Forrest stands a few paces away, dressed in his rumpled tux coat from the night before, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck. “My job iswhat, Sora?” he repeats.
“Complicated.”
The look he’s giving me is layered with emotions. He’s studying me like I’m a book written in a language he doesn’t understand. “That it is,” he answers shortly.
“The walk-of-shame look suits you,” Daphne remarks, raising her brows at me, forcing light humor into the tension between Forrest and me.
He relaxes, grinning, returning to his easy confidence and charm. “I prefer to think of it as the stride of pride. I’m not remotely ashamed about last night.” He shoots a playful wink my way, but compared to all the Forrest winks I’ve received so far, this one feels forced.
“Well, I should get going,” he adds, buttoning his jacket, covering as much of his chest as he can.
“Shoot.” I tug on his dress shirt that’s blanketing my body. “Do you want this back?”
“As much as I’d like to see you strip down…keep it. It’s just a plain white button-down. Easily replaceable.” He holds out his hand to my friend. “It was nice meeting you, Daphne. Sora, I’ll call you later?”
“I’ll walk you out,” I say, ignoring Daphne’s suggestive eyebrow-waggling.
Outside on the brownstone’s steps, the morning air crisp against my bare legs, I finally let my smile drop.
“Thank you for that,” I say quietly. “For not saying anything.”
“No problem.” He shrugs, adjusting his jacket. “My services come with discretion included.”
The mention of payment brings me back to reality with a thud. “About that. The money…”
