Sweet Liar (Dirty Sweet, #1)(27)

“Oh.” I didn’t have any better understanding now than before. “Are they inappropriate? Was that why your mother didn’t want you to go?”

“Not really. They’re just...normal. They comment on video games while they play. Mom didn’t want me to go because she said I needed to get my homework done tonight since I wouldn’t get any done tomorrow because of Thanksgiving and then after that you and I are doing that ski trip.” He paused as he toed off his shoes. “I would have rather skipped Connecticut, but nobody asked me.”

Again, that cruelty. I wondered how much of his ability to hurt me had been learned from his mother. How much he’d inherited from me. How two broken people could raise a boy to become a whole man.

Ellen had defeated me that way. She’d destroyed parts of me that I’d never have back. She’d made me bitter and cruel in return.

I vowed not to be that man to my son.

“You could have told me. I would have canceled my dinner plans tonight to take you to the event.”

His eyes lifted to meet mine, surprised and curious.

“And we can cut Connecticut short. Come back Saturday night instead. If you’d like. So you can get caught up on your homework on Sunday.”

“Really?” He grinned. “Thanks, Dad. That would help.”

“No worries.” I stepped forward to tousle his hair. It was as much physical affection as he allowed these days, and even that he often pulled away from. This time he tolerated it, and it made up for the disappointment at losing an entire day of his company.

And I couldn’t say I’d been completely selfless in giving up the day with him, anyway. I had other ideas of how I wanted to spend that time.





I shut the door to the den behind me and slumped against it. “Well, that was terrible.”

“Tell me about it,” said Donovan, who had led me to his father’s office with the promise of “fucking escape.” He surely needed it more than I did—this was his parent’s house, not mine. The Thanksgiving meal we’d suffered through with all its pomp and circumstance had to be more of an affront to him, and I had been quite offended.

“Are all people this terrible?” I asked, crossing over to the bar to scour for a decent alcohol.

Donovan finished cutting the cap off a cigar and stuck it between his teeth. “Rich people are.”

“Thank God we aren’t them,” I said cheekily. “Looks like we have the option of bourbon or bourbon.” I held up both overpriced bottles so he could choose.

He looked up. “The Michter. It’s more expensive. We’ve earned it.” He toasted his cigar, drew in a puff, and rotated it until the heat was evenly distributed. “You’ll like this though. Illusione Epernay. It’s mild the way you Europeans tend to like things.”

He handed me a cut cigar in exchange for one of the glasses I’d poured. I sniffed the foot. It smelled like coffee and cedar and, when I drew off it myself a few moments later, I detected floral and honey notes as well.

“Very nice.” I sank into the oversized leather armchair and crossed my ankle over the opposite knee, letting the tension in my shoulders uncoil with the pleasant body of the tobacco. “Are all holidays with your family as awful as this one?” With more than two dozen high-class guests, the day had been filled with pageantry and performance. Much like this office with its overabundance of wood paneling and the gold-plated details. What a nightmare of a life.

“I couldn’t tell you.” He plopped into the rolling chair and leaned back to prop his feet on the massive desk in front of him. “I don’t spend time with them for a reason.”

“But now you’re in the States. For good?” He hadn’t given any indication that he was returning to the Japan office anytime soon, but with Donovan, you could never be too sure what his plans were.

He hesitated, either uncertain of the answer or uncertain he wanted to share it. Finally, he said, “For good.”

“I’m guessing Sabrina Lind has something to do with that.” I was fishing, and it was obvious. Hopefully it wasn’t as evident that the person I was really curious about was Sabrina’s sister, and he’d unwittingly tell me something useful.

Donovan had never been one to show his cards, though. Even years ago when I’d first met him. When he’d practically been engaged to my stepdaughter.

He wasn’t eager to show them now, either. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”

“I’m somewhat surprised she isn’t here today, after that scene you made the other night. Declaring you were her boyfriend right there on the streets of Manhattan.”

He gave me a sharp glare. “It wasn’t a scene. It was a necessary declaration.” Then, after a beat, “She’s spending the day with her sister. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Neither did I, which was why I was poking around for information. As she’d asked, I’d sent Audrey a text the night before when I’d gotten back to my apartment after Aaron had been found. It had been short and factual.

Dylan: He’s home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.





Audrey: I’m so glad.<3





She’d responded right away, and I’d wondered if I’d woken her or if she’d waited up for my news. Probably the former. And still the possibility that it could have been the latter intrigued me. As did the symbols that followed. A heart, according to Urban Dictionary. Or a ballsack, depending on which definition I wanted to rely on. Either could be considered appropriate.