Then a tight smile curves her lips. She casts a glance at her slim gold wristwatch before looking at me again. ‘I can be there in twenty.’ A pause. ‘No, I don’t have any lunch plans.’
She is unbelievable. Frustration fires inside me.
I watch as she replaces the receiver then calmly reaches into her handbag and lifts out a lipstick. She swipes it across her mouth and checks her appearance in a small compact mirror.
‘If that’s everything?’
Her cool dismissal of me—yet again—is like being scorched with acid. ‘Fine. Dinner.’
Her laugh is laced with surprise. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘Avery, this is important.’
‘How can it be important? I met you four nights ago. We’ve spent about two hours in each other’s company. There is nothing you could have to say to me that could be deemed “important”.’
I wanted to do this gently. To ease her into it, to get to know her a bit better to get a sense of how she’d react and what the kindest way to break the truth to her would be, but she’s forcing my hand.
‘I’ve got somewhere I have to be.’
‘Wait.’
She pushes her clutch bag under her arm. I stare at her, something twisting inside me.
‘What is it?’
‘Your buttons are wrong.’ My voice is deep, guttural. I cross towards her, my fingers hovering at the top one. ‘May I?’
I’ve caught her off-guard. She didn’t expect that. She compresses her lips and nods, looking over my shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
Even the words are cold, like she resents this tiny, insignificant offer of help.
‘Avery, it’s not an accident that we met.’
That catches her attention. She drags her eyes back to mine, her expression carefully guarded. ‘Isn’t it?’
Shit. I’ve scared her. She’s worth a small fortune. She probably thinks I’m some kind of stalker or madman wanting to kidnap her and blackmail her. Hmm. Kidnapping Avery...throwing her over my shoulder, dragging her to some out-of-the-way cabin, tying her to my bed. Stop it, dick.
‘I came here—to San Francisco—to find you.’
Her pulse is shifting for a whole other reason now. ‘Why?’
‘Because I need to speak to you.’
A furrow forms in her brow.
‘It’s about your mother.’ A pause. ‘And your father.’
* * *
His words come to me as if from another galaxy. My ears are screeching with the pounding of my blood, my feelings so completely off-kilter I can barely think straight, much less speak. I reach for my wristwatch on autopilot, feeling the fine metal there, running my fingers over it for strength.
I think of her often, even though I haven’t seen her in so many years. I still hear her voice in my head when I make decisions, when I screw up. Tomorrow’s a new day, starlight. You can fix this. My mother’s a part of my soul.
And my father? I think of him often too. I wonder about him—who he is, where he is, why he didn’t want me in his life. Why he left my mother to struggle the way she did.
I don’t know who my father is, nor the story of his relationship with my mother, but this man obviously does—or he knows something at least.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything for a man I’ve slept with but right now I feel a sharp burst of fury. Betrayal, anger, disbelief, disgust.