“Oh, I think you are.”
“My father has already made it clear that if I mess around with a student, he won’t let me inherit the business.” I shrug and sigh, “So, I guess that ends the possibility of that.”
She studies me like a hawk and rocks back onto her heels. “So, you don’t get the business if you’re in an inappropriate relationship?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s too bad. But it’s good to find out now because while I think you’re hot, I’m looking for a big payout.” She smirks as she eyes me up and down as if her wheels are still spinning, but I have no idea what she’s coming up with.
I pop my neck. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Not sorry at all. Of course, the rest of the women in attendance aren’t much better. They’re all looking for money, or to please their parents so their parents can make more money.
“You’re kind of in a bad position, aren’t you? Marry someone your father approves of or lose the company. Date someone he doesn’t approve of and lose the company.” She scans the room and settles on Dominque. “I guess Mr. Rodriguez’s daughter is in the lead. Rich. Pretty. Blonde. Tall. Available. And her dad is the head of a Fortune 500 Company. Hope it works out for you.”
For some reason, I don’t feel like she’s being sincere. I fight the urge to warn Dominique to watch out for Heather because she’s the kind of woman who goes after her competition like a jumping spider. Fast, lethal, and unrelenting.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Daisy
Dinner at my parent’s house is an ordeal. I’d much rather be with Alexander at his family’s dinner than mine. But that’s impossible. It would be easier if my sister was here to shoulder part of the burden, but she’s still got a free pass from her recent nuptials.
My mom passes the mashed potato bowl to me. “Now, make sure you don’t get too many starches. Half of your plate should be vegetables and salad.”
“Yes, mother.” I push down the urge to roll my eyes. It takes a Herculean effort.
After I plop a scoop of potatoes onto my plate, she raises her eyebrows. Too late. Instead of returning some of them to the bowl. I add another serving to my plate. “These look so good. I think you’ve outdone yourself today. They’re light and fluffy. No lumps. I’ll have to work out extra hard tonight.” I hand the bowl to my father.
“Thank you, dear.” Her cheeks turn pink at the compliment and shifts her attention to my father. “Remember, the doctor said to cut back on sodium, so there’s no extra salt. I even cooked with all low sodium or no sodium ingredients.”
He frowns and holds the ceramic bowl above his plate. “That’s ridiculous. My high blood pressure was only a few points too high.” He drops the bowl onto the table with a clunk. “Everything is going to taste bland. I might as well not eat.”
“Now, honey.” Her eyes well with tears as she grabs his hand. “I love you and always want the best for you. And I can’t imagine living without you. You’ve got to take care of yourself. And you need to exercise more.”
I watch the exchange in disbelief. Does she fret after everyone, and I never noticed? By never deflecting or challenging her comments, did I internalize her worry as a personal attack?
“I’m sorry, dear.” He turns his hand over and clasps hers. “I need to take better care of myself for you and the girls. And someday our grandchildren.”
“That reminds me. I need to call Julia and remind her she needs to take her prenatal vitamins.”
I grab my spoon and dive into the mashed potatoes. Here goes nothing. I hope it tastes better than I anticipated. “Is Julia pregnant? I saw her at Callahan’s a while back, and she didn’t say anything.”
“Callahan’s.” Her face drops as horror covers her features. “She was at the bar?”
“Um,” I cough and clear my throat. How far is it to the door? Thirty feet? Forty? Should I talk about how tight my jeans are? At least I didn’t say she’s living with two guys and won’t know who the baby belongs to until it pops out. That would go over even better.
“I’m calling her right now. She said she was going to start trying for a baby soon. She needs to be as healthy as possible.”
“April!” My dad barks and slams his fist onto the table, making the silverware bounce. “Leave Julia alone. She’s an intelligent woman who can decide when she wants to start trying to conceive. She doesn’t need you to decide that for her.”
“Fine.” She slaps a scoop of mashed potatoes on her plate.
My father turns and pins me with a look. “You’ve given up the shelter, right?”
“Yes.” My heart pangs in my chest, and then my eyes narrow. Why is it that he tells mom to butt out of my sister’s life but gets up in mine?
I hate not being at the shelter. Has Elijah started implementing his new business plan? Has Rick stopped drinking? Have any of the previous families come back because life got messy again?
Stop. Don’t think about it. Needing to save everyone is a hero complex. They don’t need me. They just need a helping hand. Anyone else can do the same things I do. Did. Things I used to do. “Yes, I’ve stopped going to the shelter.”