Page 8 of Luxe

"You been sleeping enough?"

"Yes." No.

"You sure? Do you need some money?" His eyes bore into mine. Earnestly. Annoyingly so.

"Ugh. See ya, Nathan," I huff and jump to my feet.

He frowns, and rubs his temple. "Wait. Geez, I was just asking."

"Well, stop asking!" I struggle to keep my voice low. I know he’s only asking out of concern, but I haven’t given him any reason to think I can't take care of myself. "I don't need money. I have a job."

"Kiara. It's not a job."

This time I have to bite my tongue to stop from shouting. I count back from five before I speak. "Nathan, it's not a job that you would want to do, maybe. But I do, and I make more than enough money to support myself." I stop before I start an argument worse than the one we’re having.

He mutters something under his breath, rubbing his temple even faster now. "You'd make more money working for us. I need someone—"

My hand comes up again, for the same reason. "Stop. I didn't want to have this conversation with Dad, and I'm certainly not going to have it with you. Why can't we have just one conversation where you two are not trying to force the company on me?"

His eyes narrow and he bangs the table, his hand a fist of white knuckles. "Dammit, Kiara! When are you going to realize, this is the best thing for you? What is the point of all this? Everything that Mom and Dad did, everything that I’m doing, if it's not to take care of all of us? At what point are you going to realize you're making us sick with worry?"

I lean over the table, my voice low. The words slink out of me, slow, deliberate. "I never asked anyone to worry about me. Never. Not once have I asked you for your help. Have I?"

He doesn't say anything, just pulls back, dark eyes locked on mine.

"Have I, Nathan? Name one time," I press.

He stays silent.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

He shakes his head. "Just because you haven't asked for it, doesn't mean you don't need it. I know one time when you should’ve called us. Or at least me."

The reminder cuts and leaves a scar that I’ll have to close later when I’m alone. I step away from the table. Away from him. Away from the past.

The bar is starting to fill up with customers, so I try to keep my voice down as I pick up my purse from the back of the chair. "You can tell Dad you tried. I'm going."

"Keeks," he says, following me toward the doors. "Stay. He just went to take a call. He’ll be right back."

"Tell him I'll see him next week," I say, sighing. The last thing I want is to fight with Nathan. Despite all the disagreements, he has always been there for me.

"Keeks," he says again, this time touching my shoulder, his voice softened. Given in. For now. "You know it's just because I love you."

His words squeeze my chest. And I nod; I nod because I do know. I do know that he loves me. I'm probably the person he loves most in the world. More than our mother, certainly more than our father, more than himself. Even when it made me hate him, I know he’s always loved me most. And maybe that's why he does so much to protect me. But that's not the way to love me, and he should know that by now.

"Get some sleep, okay? Stop going out at 2 a.m. every night," he says with a teasing shake of his finger.

"Yes, ‘Dad,’ I'll try," I say, brushing a kiss against his cheek and getting a smile. "Love you, Nath-ey."

"Oh, fuck off," he chuckles and pulls me in for a quick hug before shoving me playfully away.

I drape my jacket over my arm and turn toward the door to leave just as someone steps over the threshold, raising his hand in a greeting.

And the world gets pulled out from under me.

My brain freezes in place and before I can think of a quick getaway, a voice,thatvoice, says, "Hey, Kiki. Miss me?"

three

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