Billionaire With a Twist(10)
I turned, following his gaze to the cluster of Douchebros by the elevator. Chuck was right in among them, looking exceedingly chummy as they pounded him on the back and laughed at something he had said.
“Now there’s some love at first sight,” I said dryly.
A laugh startled itself out of Hunter’s throat, but his eyes stayed worried.
“Not sure about the kids?” I joked. “It’s true, if they get Harry’s brains they’ll all be doomed.”
Hunter chuckled again, but this time it seemed more out of politeness. “Chuck…has a certain tendency to intrigue. I sometimes think he would have been happier working in the CIA than at a liquor company.”
“So send the director his resume,” I said with a grin.
Why did I want so badly to make this man laugh? Was it just that I was remembering his easy smile the night before, the way it had lit up his face and made him look half a decade younger? Or was it something else—those faint lines at the corners of his eyes that I hadn’t seen before now, worn by worry and care, making me want to soothe them away?
“The truth is…Knox shares have been falling, and this is my last chance to turn the company around,” he said, and the way he said those words, his eyes distant, I wasn’t sure if he knew he had spoken them or if he’d just thought them so fervently that his lips had to move. “So if I fail now, the vultures like Chuck move in. I can’t fail.”
My heart lodged in my throat, fluttering, and I gripped his hand impulsively.
“I won’t fail you.”
He looked at me then, in a way that none of my colleagues or even my family had ever looked at me before. He looked at me like he really saw me.
And then he smiled, a slow grin that called up moonlight and moonshine and soft, rumpled sheets. “I’ll hold you to that.”
FOUR
“Oh honey, are you sure you want more of those potatoes? Your figure’s so…robust…already, darling, and you know what they say about carbs.”
Ah, home sweet home.
I ignored my mother as she fretted with the strand of pearls around her neck, opting instead to ladle even more mashed potatoes onto my plate. Maybe it was a little childish, but something about everything my mother said made me want to do the exact opposite.
Besides, if I chewed loud enough, I could almost drown out her constant stream of passive-aggression.
“Actually, I was just reading an interesting article on the important role of carbohydrates,” my older sister Paige put in. “They’re really important! I’ll get you a copy, Mom, I’m sure you’ll have lots of really insightful things to say about it.”
My mother sat back in her chair, preening slightly, my deficiencies temporarily forgotten. That was Paige, always the peacemaker. I shot her a grateful look, and she sent me an apologetic smile.
It was always like this, going home for family dinner: Use the right fork, talk about inoffensive topics like the weather and diets and the resurgence of pastels in spring skirts, and always remember to duck before Mom hurls a cannonball of hurt you.
Honestly, if she’d been a general in The War Between the States, the entire Union army would’ve given up and gone home in despair before a single shot was fired, and probably spent the rest of their lives crying on their wives’ shoulders about how impossible it was to win her approval.
Which is all to say that if the food weren’t so delicious, and if I wouldn’t have major guilt about leaving Paige to fend for herself, I’d have thrown myself out the plantation-style windows at one of these dinners at least five years ago, if not earlier.
My mother interrupted my ruminations with a question tailor-made to prove my point.
“Is that how you’re wearing your hair now, dear?”
Well, obviously, Mom. “Yes.”
“But it looks so nice when you wear it back from your face,” she said with a frown. “Is loose hair really considered professional these days? Honestly, Allison. And besides, you don’t want men to think you’re not ready to settle down.”
“Really?” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage, which was not exactly up to the standard of, say, Switzerland. It was hard to stay neutral when all I seemed to remember were constant judgy comments about how I needed bangs to hide my overlarge forehead, and how buns made men think you had accepted your fate as an old maid. “I’ll think about that.”
What I was going to think about was getting a hot pink mohawk, or shaving my initials into the side of my head, or maybe working on some dreads. Sure, it’d be professional suicide, but wouldn’t the look on my mom’s face be worth it.
Yes, yes, it would.
“So, meet any boys lately?” she asked, with a smile so pained and bright I could tell that she was already prepared for my usual answer.
“No, Mom,” I said, ladling more asparagus onto my plate. Maybe if I kept eating I could finish all the food on the table myself, and then there would be no more reason for me to stay in this house. “And I’ve been out of high school for six years, so I’m dating men these days. They came highly recommended from a trusted source.”
Paige hid her smile behind a lavender napkin embossed with a cursive B.
My mother sighed as if I was put on this earth solely to frustrate her. “Very well, Allison, have you met any men lately?”