“Sure.” I hit the save button on the Excel spreadsheet I’ve been updating.
He tilts his chin at the calla lilies. “Nice flowers.”
Stick to the plan, Pascal. I paste on a smile. “Thanks.”
“From Court?”
I wish I could demur the way I did with Megumi, but it’s my dad. He knows me too well to be fooled. “Yeah. To thank me for the dinner on Saturday.” I take the purse out of the bottom drawer. As long as I act super casually, he won’t see anything. People give flowers to each other all the time, don’t they?
“Huh. Your mom’s the one who cooked.”
He has to be so literal. “I brought the pie. He sent something to Mom and Nijinsky separately.”
“What did Nijinsky do?”
“Be cute?” A thought strikes me. “Did he send you something, too?”
“Men don’t send men flowers.” There’s a calculation taking place in his dark eyes. And it isn’t reassuring. At all.
I stand up.
Just then, Court walks in, a laminated VISITOR tag around his neck. I pause and stare, suddenly hyperaware. All eyes—female and male—swing toward him. He’s impossible to ignore. His gait is unhurried, like a man used to having the world wait for him. There’s a sense of deep and calm satisfaction and confidence in his eyes and smile that say he’s assured of his place and position and wealth. He’s dressed in a simple blue shirt, slacks and polished loafers, but commands more attention than the asshole VP behind him in a thousand-dollar suit.
The butterflies from Z are back in my belly, fluttering like mad. And I can’t seem to stop the happiness from bubbling within. Oh God. I have it bad.
“Hi, Steve.” Although Court greets my dad, he stands next to me, making clear the real reason he’s here.
Crap. If I will him to compliment my pie, is he going to notice and do exactly that? Or is that going to deflect off his Teflon brain?
Dad smiles warmly. “Hello, Court.”
“Hi, I’m just about to go out for lunch with my dad,” I say quickly, so grateful Dad wants to eat with me.
“Oh. I was hoping to steal you away for lunch,” Court says with a small frown.
“Maybe next time—”
“We can always do it tomorrow,” Dad says, then turns to Court. “She usually gets a little over an hour off.”
My jaw slackens. A little over an hour? Since when?
“But you can take some extra time if you want.” Dad’s voice couldn’t be warmer or more paternal. He has never been this this proud or happy, even when I graduated summa cum laude from the University of Chicago. “You’ve earned some comp time.”
Comp time? We have that at SFG?
“Great, but I can’t let her spend her comp time on me.” Court smiles. “I’ll bring her back in an hour.”
Dad beams the delighted dad smile he usually reserves for Curie and Joe. He doesn’t think Court and I are anything, does he? Court didn’t even kiss me goodnight on Saturday.
“Have fun, you two.” He waves us off with an indulgent look.
Court puts a hand at the small of my back and leads me out. And I go along, since that’s better than being on the receiving end of Dad’s weird…expectant look. Court’s touch is firm but gentle. His palm tingles against my skin through the bright green dress I’m wearing, just like that night at the club and the Aylster Hotel afterward. My coworkers stare, and I see admiration and envy in some of the women’s eyes. I feel like the hottest thing in the world…but a small sense of hypocritical shame wriggles inside me. After all, I’ve been telling him we shouldn’t be seen together for the sake of my career. And I wasn’t kidding about the promotion being important. If I’m passed over again…
Suddenly, everything inside me starts to deflate.
When we’re inside the elevator, I try to take a step sideways to break the contact, even though my hormones want exactly the opposite.
But he moves with me, so that I’m trapped between him and the wall, like taco filling in a hard shell. I should try to push him away. But instead, I’m inhaling his scent.