Page 63 of The Betrayer
The thought sent another flush of annoyance through me, and I took another deep breath.
It was probably all the stress lately—that had to be it. Between all the preparation for the gala and the buyout and accompanying high-stress trip to China to secure funding, I hadn’t had a break in months. The late nights, the pressure, the sleeplessness, the anxiety, and the high stakes combined to make everything look worse than it was at this particular moment.
That had to be it. I was overtired.
How could I be upset with Angela for being loving? Wasn’t that what you did in a relationship? She was showing me in her own way, which, to be fair, might look awkward to the casual observer. Neither of us had a lot of practice in the romance and relationship arena. I certainly wouldn’t win any awards in the best boyfriend category.
Angela and I might have been at the top of our respective fields, but in this respect, sometimes it felt like we were both still bumbling around like kids.
Footsteps in my bedroom heralded Angela’s turn into my room, her reflection appearing in the mirror, wine glass still in her hand.
“So, do you know who your dad is bringing tonight yet?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, not yet. I barely had a chance to talk with him on Friday beyond getting caught up.”
By then jetlag had hit me like a punch in the head. I’d slept most of the weekend so I could be ready and alert for work and this dinner today. It had also been an excellent excuse to avoid Angela in case she wanted to continue our conversation we’d started in Shanghai.
“You’re still okay with this?” Angela ran a finger down my suit coat, brushing off an invisible speck of dust.
I shrugged and turned, resting back against the sink. “I’m trying to give him a chance to prove himself. He ran things well while I was gone, and I don’t want to break the streak.”
“You do realize he’s your father, and you’re the kid, right?” Angela asked as she moved to stand in front of me, one side of her mouth tipped up in a subtle smirk.
“Maybe if he wants our relationship to reflect our roles, he should act his own,” I replied, trying not to let my aggravation creep into my tone. Not too much, anyway.
Angela shrugged. “I’m sorry to tell you that it might be too late for that. He’s been this way forever. Not sure he’s up for a significant change at this late stage.
“I guess I’m an optimist, then. I think there’s good in everyone.”
We watched each other for a moment, something odd passing between us as a flash of emotion across Angela’s face that I couldn’t read. Then she turned away, fidgeting with the ornamental vase of copper and metal flowers my interior decorator had placed there but now I couldn’t be bothered to dust unless my housecleaner did it.
“What’s her name, anyway?”
“I don’t remember if he ever told me. Just said it was a friend.” I slipped my suit jacket off the hanger, sweeping at the smear of something Angela had left when she had brushed the invisible dirt from the sleeve.
“Probably some bimbo he found at a strip club or something like it,” she huffed and tilted her glass back to finish the wine.
I winced. She had a point, but it was still in poor taste. She didn’t know my father well enough to speak of him like that. She hadn’t even met him yet.
“If nothing else, my father doesn’t do strip clubs,” I said by way of a gentle reproach as I put on my suit jacket and adjusted it in the mirror until it sat perfectly.
However, Angela didn’t seem to hear the rebuke because she shrugged. “Not much of a stretch, in my opinion,” was her reply as she padded out of the bathroom, her empty wineglass lying forgotten on the bathroom countertop.
I stared at it until I heard the ding from my phone saying my car had arrived.
Slipping my shoes on, I grabbed my coat to find Angela already at the door, smiling sweetly as she waited for me. “I have a great idea,” she said as I closed and locked the door behind us.
“Yeah?” I slipped the key into my pocket as we headed toward the elevator.
“When we get home, we should cuddle up and watch a movie. It’s cold tonight, so the weather is perfect.”
“Yeah, sure,” I agreed faintly.
When we get home.
Home? As in my apartment?
Had that been a slip, the generalhomeas in where we were, or was Angela getting ahead of herself?
