Page 19 of The Stranger
“When he implied I was your girlfriend, you told him I was.”
“I was keeping up the pretence, nothing more.”
“Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“He’s a lawyer, Delilah, not a judge. I wasn’t under oath.”
“What are you saying? I can only believe your words if your hand is on a stack of Bibles?”
This time, I roll my eyes. “They don’t use a stack of Bibles in court. It sounds like you have indeed been watching too many reruns ofJudge Judy.”
When she folds her arms across her chest and growls at me, literally growls, I have to turn my face and bite my knuckle between my teeth to suppress my laugh.
“Damien, could you please pull over here? she asks. “I’d like to get out.”
“Keep driving,” I grumble.
“You’re kidnapping me again?”
“Delilah,” I say, “I was trying to save face. I didn’t want to embarrass you by getting into it with him.”
“Yet you embarrassed me by throwing me under the bus the first chance you got.”
“Stop being so dramatic. Nobody was thrown under the bus,” I respond with a touch of annoyance in my tone.
“You told him I was fired from my last job.”
“Because I want him to help you with your case.”
“There is no case. I told you I didn’t want to?—”
“Rock the boat,” I mimic, repeating her words from earlier.
I see her reach for the door handle out of my peripheral vision as we approach the next set of lights. “Are the back doors locked, Damien?”
“Yes, Mr Prescott.”
When Delilah stamps her foot down like a spoilt child, it’s a struggle to hold back my grin. “You’re showing your age now, Miss St. James.”
Chapter 7
Delilah
Ifind my mother in the kitchen when I arrive back home. It’s late, but it has been an interesting day. A long, at times frustrating, but overall, a pretty cool experience. I feel like I’m living in some kind of alternate universe.
“Lilah,” my mum says, glancing at me over her shoulder from the sink where she’s washing dishes. “I wasn’t expecting you home so late. I was getting worried. How did the interview go?”
Was she really worried?
Or is she just pretending she cares?
I’ve received no calls or messages from her, asking if I’m safe or okay. It’s funny, even though I’ve always known I’m not the favourite child, I never would’ve doubted her concern for me once. Lately, though, I’m second-guessing everything when it comes to my family.
“The interview went well; the job is mine if I want it.”
“How wonderful,” she replies, picking up the tea towel from the countertop and wiping her hands on it. She crosses the room and kisses the side of my head, andnow I feel shitty for doubting her concern. “Listen, can we keep this between us for now? Your poor sister is going through a lot, and I don’t want to upset her further.”
I take that back.
