“Frank’s here,” he said to her mother. “I’ll be in the greeting room with him. Don’t disturb us.”
“Yes, dear,” her mother said.
Greeting room? She’d forgotten what things were like here. It was as though they were in another world. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Shit, the stupid thing was dead. The charge on it just didn’t last anymore.
“I need to leave,” she said. “Could you ask Lawrence to take me home?”
“Oh,” her mother said, shooting a look at Chandler.
She ground her teeth together. Everyone here deferred to Chandler as though he farted gold coins.
“Yes, fine. Angela, please ask Lawrence to meet Lara out front in ten.” Chandler left quickly, obviously eager to speak to whoever was at the door.
Standing, Lara reached for her plate to clear the table.
“Lara, what are you doing?” her mother asked.
“Clearing the table.”
“That’s what the servants are for,” Emily said with a sneer. “You are so ignorant.” She swept out of the room.
“Please, Lara, put the plate down,” her mom urged. “Think of how it looks having you clear the tables.”
Lara sighed. She’d forgotten that everything was about appearances in this house.
“I’ll wait outside for Lawrence. Good night, Mom.” She kissed the other woman’s cheek lightly.
As she walked out toward the front door, Chandler was leading a thin guy with a receding hairline and pock-marked face toward the greeting room. It appeared the other guy was too busy looking around. Frustration briefly filled Chandler’s face.
She bit back a smile as she grew closer.
“Hello,” she said politely.
The man looked her up and down. A shiver ran up her spine. There was something creepy about him. She wished she’d waited a bit longer in the dining room.
“Hello,” he said. “Who are you?”
Chandler cleared his throat. “This is my stepdaughter, Lara. Lara, my colleague, Frank.”
Colleague? Why did he seem so shifty?
“Frank, if we could go somewhere quiet?” Chandler suggested.
“Lara. I don’t remember Chandler mentioning you.”
“Lara’s been living in Nashville for a few years, but now she’s returned home.”
She shot him a look. She wouldn’t say that exactly.
“Oh yes, children go through a rebellious stage, don’t they?” Frank laughed.
What a dick. She wasn’t a child. And she wouldn’t call herself rebellious.
She didn’t know what was happening here, but she didn’t like it.
Frank moved closer to her. Damn, he smelled like garlic. It was overwhelming.
“What do you do, Lara?” Frank asked.
Funny, he didn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as Chandler was.
“I’m a singer. I was in a band.”
“Sounds like fun, but I’m sure Chandler and your mom are glad you’re home safe and sound, under their care and protection.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, and her creep-o-meter went off.
Ding-ding-ding.
“I’ve got to get going, Frank. Nice to meet you.”
Not.
She gave him a tight smile before heading toward the door.
“Frank, this way,” Chandler said with a hint of desperation.
Bizarre.
Lara headed out the door. She sighed when she saw that Lawrence wasn’t there yet.
“Lara!” her mom called out from the front door. “Good, you’re still here.”
“What is it, Mom?”
“There’s no need to snap, dear.”
She winced. “Sorry. Who was that guy?”
“What guy, dear?” her mom asked.
“Frank. The one Chandler was meeting with. He was kind of creepy.”
“Lara! Don’t say that. He’s an, um, associate of your father’s.”
“Chandler is not my father.”
Her mom sighed. “This, again. Dear—”
“No, Mom, please stop. I just want to leave. Do you know where Lawrence is?”
“He’s probably on his dinner break.”
And now she felt terrible.
“Why don’t you come in and wait? Or just stay here since it’s getting late.”
No way.
“I want to leave.”
“So, this date of yours, why have we never heard of him before now?” her mom asked.
“Maybe because I didn’t want to bring him over here to meet all of you.”
Her mother gasped.
“Please, Mom, I don’t want to fight. Just . . . just get Lawrence to bring around the car.”
Her mother nodded and turned away.
Great. The one family member who gave a shit about her, and she’d just managed to insult her.
Good going, Lara. At this rate you’re going to end up alone.
9
“Here you are, miss,” Lawrence said. “We’re here.”
“Thanks, Lawrence. I appreciate it.” She drew herself out of the car, knocking her arm against the door. She hissed in pain and drew her sleeve down to cover her wrist.
If her arm hadn’t been going to bruise, it probably would now.
But it wasn’t anything she couldn’t live with. It was amazing what you could endure when you had to. And then, sometimes, just when you thought life was throwing you only lemons, you occasionally ended up with a pineapple.
Her pineapple was standing next to her motel room door, glaring at Lawrence as he got back in the car and drove away.
“Butch?” she asked, reaching into her handbag to grab her keys.
“Fancy car. Friend of yours?”
“What? No. He’s my mother’s driver.”