Page 8 of Collateral Claim
I turn on my heel and tiptoe toward the dining hall, hoping like hell I’m wrong about who’s in the house. But no, I’m right. I hearhim.
Quietly, I push open the already ajar door and poke my head in to find Endo sitting at the head of our dining room table, reading a paper. My father stands by the window, sipping what I think might be gin instead of water. He hasn’t changed out of last night’s clothes and looks like he’s aged a decade.
“Good morning, luv,” Endo says, even though it’s after noon. He folds the paper on the table. His dark gaze sizes me up unapologetically.
I’m annoyed that he’s so unashamed when he’s checking me out, but if I bring it up, he’d probably do it more often just to anger me. I ignore Endo and walk over to my father.
“Good afternoon, Dad.”
My father looks up from the phone in his hand. “Scarlett,” he says. “What are you still doing here?”
“I live here.”
“I thought you left for your sister’s this morning.”
I frown. “No, I just woke up.”
“In her bed,” Endo adds, “and not in the chair I found her in last night.”
He was in my bedroom? “You moved me to the bed?”
“You seemed uncomfortable.”
His smirk tells me he’s enjoying this, which is precisely why I don’t take the bait, even though the liberty he took with me in my bedroom infuriates me.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I cross my arms.
A new message pings. “It’s just business,” he says, reading from his phone screen.
“What’shedoing here?”
“Hehas a name. My name is Endo.”
Fine. “What’s Endo doing here again?”
“Yeah, Dani, tell her.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Pembroke,” Catherine, our housekeeper, says as she pushes a cart full of breakfast foodsinto the dining room. Since Catherine can’t cook to save her life, it means her husband, Marino, is working today.
“Good afternoon,” I say. “Is Marino in today?” Normally, our chef is off on weekends.
Cathrine serves Endo first and nods at me. “Your father called us this morning. Said you have guests staying with you.”
“We do?” I ask, stunned.
Endo raises his hand. “Told you I’ll be staying at the house.”
My dad nods, looking as miserable as I feel about this news.
Cathrine arranges the table. “Congratulations, Ms. Pembroke.”
“Thank you?” It takes me a moment to remember that people think Endo and I are engaged. He’s made it clear he wants me to play along, and I don’t think that demand has changed. If anything, Endo showing up at my house escalated the situation.
“Right.” I touch my forehead as if I’m suffering from a migraine. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You know what? I have a headache. Perhaps I’ll have some coffee to clear my morning head.” I function just fine without coffee or other stimulants. If anything, they make me hyperactive and hyperfunctioning.
Once Cathrine leaves, I close the dining room door. “You’re not my fiancé,” I say firmly as I walk up to Endo.
He kicks the chair away from the table and gestures at it. “Have a seat, luv.”
