Misconduct(69)

But I refused to look around. If I did, I’d see the door leading to the study where he’d mauled me four days ago or the stove where I’d made breakfast wearing only his shirt.

“It’s a large house,” I commented to Christian ahead of me. “I mean for just you and your dad.”

We all walked through the doors, and Christian turned around, regarding us casually.

“He’s my father, not my dad,” he pointed out, looking around. “And this is his house, not mine.”

Reaching over, he grabbed a bottle of water from the neatly lined-up beverages on the refreshments table and offered a cocky smirk. “Have fun,” he said, and then spun around, walking away.

My brother appeared at my side, shaking his head and watching Christian stroll away to his friends. “Pretty cold for a fourteen-year-old.”

Yes, he was.

However, I couldn’t help but envy him. Maybe if I’d known my own mind at that age as well as he did, I wouldn’t have behaved so stupidly. He stood his ground, he knew who he was, and he held everyone to a standard. Christian wasn’t denying himself good things because he was damaged. Rather, he was shielding himself against harmful things because he’d been disappointed.

Sometimes second chances were too much to ask. Or maybe he’d realize that his dad was still learning.

“Ms. Bradbury.”

Speak of the devil…

Elation swept through my chest, and I couldn’t keep the smile at bay this time.

Turning around, I held out my hand, keeping up appearances. “Mr. Marek,” I greeted as he took my hand, a mischievous look crossing his face.

He was dressed in a black suit, cut to flow with the shape of his body.

And even though the suit was dark-colored, his white shirt and light blue tie gave off a casual and bright appearance for a luncheon set outside.

He took longer than necessary, holding my eyes just enough to tell me I was on his mind, and then he turned to my brother, holding out his hand.

“Jack, right?” he asked.

My brother held out his hand, taking Tyler’s. “Yes, sir. Jack Bradbury.”

“Hi, Mr. Marek.” Kristen held out her hand. “I’m Ms. Meyer. I teach —”

“Earth Science.” He cut her off, nodding and taking her hand. “Yes, I know who you are. Welcome.”

I glanced around, wondering how long I should stick around before I left. Jack would undoubtedly stay until the party ended. The amount of suits here, all important people in New Orleans, was a social buffet for my brother, and I was sure he couldn’t wait to start making the rounds.

Kristen had the personality to fit in anywhere. She probably made friends easily. I was different.

Not difficult, just different.

And right now I was sure I’d have more fun at home repotting some plants or sharpening my new steak knife set.

“Well, make yourselves at home,” Tyler told us, gesturing with the rocks glass he held in his hand. “Food and refreshments are over there, so feel free to help yourself and mingle.”

He spared me a quick glance before addressing my brother again. “There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he told Jack, taking him away.

“And, Ms. Bradbury?” He turned back around, leaning in. “The ladies are over there.”

He nodded to the clique of beige and pink congregating around the tables, laughing and talking.

“It’s probably safer,” he said, and I jerked my eyes back up to him just in time to see his smug smirk before turning away.

Safer?

As in, I’ll be less intimidated?

I snorted, following Kristen over to the refreshments. Maybe he was teasing me. Maybe he was challenging me, but I wasn’t bored anymore.

Picking up a champagne flute filled with some kind of orange liquid, I floated around the party with Kristen, taking in the lively atmosphere and the beautiful day. The backyard was paved with more slate tiles, similar to the ones in the kitchen, with sparse sections of lush grass here and there. There were a few trees, as tall as one-story houses, and around the perimeter a cast-iron fence and a vast offering of foliage, including ferns, rosebushes, and neatly trimmed hedges.

There were tables with hors d’oeuvres and refreshments, as well as a full bar, because New Orleanians drink for everything. Even funerals. Lunch would most likely be served at the tables instead of buffet style, because, well, Tyler Marek didn’t do business half-assed.

And this luncheon was business.

The centerpiece of the backyard was a rectangular-shaped pool with deep blue tiles, which made it look like the Mediterranean Sea. Or so I believed. I’d actually never been there.

And then, glancing to the left, I instantly paused, seeing a single tennis court. I narrowed my eyes.

Why hadn’t I noticed that this week when I was here?

It wasn’t like I’d spent any time outside, but I’d taken a look through the doors at least and noticed the pool and the beautiful landscaping.

My feet and legs tingled with the desire to get on the court and break a sweat. I suddenly wanted to hold a racket and chase the ball again. For years I’d try – sporadically – to get back on the court and feel comfortable, but it never worked. Now I wanted to.

A love of tennis may have been “beaten into me,” so to speak, but it was still love.