“Hey, at least take some food with you.”
“Samantha doesn’t like Chinese.” Waving goodbye, he leaves.
She looks at the food on the table, hands on her hips. “Ugh. Now we have way too much.”
“It’ll keep.”
Her nose wrinkles. It’s oddly cute. “You sound like a typical man.”
“Because I am a man,” I say, amused by her reaction.
I put some General Tso’s chicken on her plate, then beef on mine, plus one broccoli floret. My doctor told me I need to do better with vegetables. Apparently ketchup and herb sauces don’t count.
She takes her plate with murmured thanks. “Yeah, but you’re rich. You’re supposed to be all like ‘I don’t eat the same thing twice’ and snobbish.”
“What do you think I eat when I’m working late at the office?”
She thinks for a moment. “Takeout filet mignon topped with caviar and gold flakes?”
I laugh until my stomach hurts and tears form in the corners of my eyes. And when the mirth starts to fade, I realize the annoyance that’s been simmering from the shit show of the day is gone.
“Clearly, your laughter is an acknowledgment that I’m right,” Jo says.
“How does that work?” I ask, biting into my food.
“You’re laughing because you have nothing to say.”
I snort, then laugh again.
Her phone rings. She goes to her purse and digs it out. Her face falls when she sees the screen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s my dad.” Her shoulders tight, she bites her lower lip like a kid about to get into trouble.
“I can talk to him if you want,” I say. Her dad seemed like a conservative guy who doesn’t shy from saying what’s on his mind.
“No. I should.” Inhaling once, she answers with an overly bright smile on her face. “Hello, Papa.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Edgar
Jo listens for a moment, her lips pulled in.
Is she getting reamed?
The urge to intervene grows stronger, but I know inserting myself in the situation won’t solve anything. I’ve learned that over and over again with my family.
“Yes. Okay,” Jo says finally, then puts the phone on the table and sits down.
Her dad’s voice comes loud and clear through the speakers.
“Edgar, are you there?” he demands.
“Yes, sir.” Perhaps he’ll yell at me instead. I’m okay with that. I make a better—and sturdier—target than Jo anyway.
“I heard everything from Jo’s mother. Both of you should know better than to try to keep the problem hidden until you solved it. You should’ve told me as soon as there was an issue.”