Page 17 of Princess of Pride
“I was making a call, not that it’s any of your business. I’m not the one sneaking around.”
“I’m not sneaking around.” I walk to him and tug his jacket sleeve to pull him back into the alcove and away from my father’s office door. “I was checking to see if my dad was still here.” He glances at his jacket sleeve where it’s pinched by my fingers. “Sorry.” I release the material and try to smooth out the crease, wincing. Nothing I do helps. Mr. Pressed and Polished won’t like this. “I could iron it for you.”
He raises a brow at that. “Do you iron?”
“No, but the housekeeper does.”
His gaze rakes over me from head to toe, and his lips flatten into a hard line. Whatever he’s thinking about me, it isn’t good.
Now mightnotbe the best time to negotiate a deal.
His phone dings. He reads the screen then types back quickly.
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“What is it?” he says, his gaze still on his phone and the reply text based on the second ding.
“I was hoping we could talk about a possible new plan regarding our immediate futures.”Myimmediate future, one where it includes a seat on your private jet.
“Fine.” He texts another reply.
Does he even know what I just said? “Would now work?”
“No.” Another ding and more reading. He exhales, but it sounds like a groan. “I have to make a call. Do you mind?” He gestures for me to leave and give him privacy.
“Tonight then? After dinner?”
His phone rings. He arches a severe brow at me and lifts his phone toward his ear, waiting for me to depart.
I nod and flee the area, heading to my bedroom. But I’m not giving up on my plan. I’ll go to the pool house after dinner and get him to agree, no matter what I have to do.
4
GUESS WHO’S BACK
I’d compare dinner with my family to a game of Mom trying to get Dad’s attention. It’s why I’ve never invited anyone over for dinner at the estate or at the country club or anywhere else my parents dine.
Lachlan has been here multiple times for various occasions, including dinner, although never with just the four of us. The last time he ate with us, Pippa and Hunt were here too. I was here because it was Christmas, and it was expected of me.
Dad sits at the head of the long table with Lachlan on his left. Mom is to the right of Dad and I’m beside Lachlan—per Mom’s insistence.
Not once has he spoken to me or even looked my way through all six courses. My Dad doesn’t care at all, too engrossed in their conversation about the business.
Mom has cleared her throat and nodded at me with encouragement so many times it looks like she’s having small seizures.
Thank God it’s time for dessert. After that I’m free and still on a mission to corner Lachlan at his pool house and force him to hear me out.
Owen, the server, sets a beautiful white and red dessert in front of us each. “Buttermilk panna cotta, lychee, raspberry and rose,” he says then takes a glass teapot filled with a red sauce and pours some over our desserts.
“Enjoy,” he says and refills Mom’s wine before leaving.
She’s on her second bottle.
She raises her glass and smiles.
Not again. I close my eyes to keep from rolling them.
We all know what she’s going to say.
