Page 36 of Don't Leave Me

Oh, this is why I’m nervous; I’m a total daddy’s girl and I desperately want my dad to approve of Michael.

“Hello, sir. Nice to meet you,” Michael shook my dad’s hand, his eyes totally giving away his nervousness as well.

It was weird to hear Michael say “sir.”Oh, here I go blushing again.

“Likewise, Michael. You work with my Hana?” my dad asked, his southern accent still strong, his grey mustache even grayer than I last remembered.

“Yes, I’m the editor at the New York Daily,” Michael nodded.

My dad looked at me and then back at Michael. “You British?” he asked curiously.

I smiled to myself.

“I’m from Northern Ireland. So technically, yes, I’m from Britain,” Michael answered, smiling at me.

My dad nodded. “So you’re the editor, huh?” my dad sat down on a stool, still interrogating Michael.

“Michael went to business school at Columbia,” I chimed in.

My dad went to business school at Duke, so I figured that was something they had in common.

“Really?” my dad asked, seeming impressed.

“Yes, that’s right,” Michael nodded, suddenly holding onto my waist.

“How did you end up as an editor then?” my dad asked curiously.

“I worked as a business operations manager for quite some time, but when my uncle announced he was retiring as editor for New York Daily, I studied with him and applied for the job,” he explained, sounding so articulate.

“Oh,” my dad nodded, then looked back at me. “You two eat dinner yet?”

I sighed with relief. All was okay for now.

10

Chapter 10

My mom made me and Michael a plate of food and watched us eat, chatting endlessly and asking Michael all sorts of questions, my dad uninterested and making his way back to his recliner. My mom utterly adored Michael and he seemed to loosen up as the time passed. Eventually, my mom put my dad to bed and I quietly showed Michael around the house. He fell in love with the library; it was a double-height paneled library, thousands of books surrounding the room, two large leather couches surrounding the fireplace in the middle of the room.

“I spent a lot of time in here when I was growing up,” I smiled as we walked through the top floor of the library, eyeing the titles of the books.

“I’d imagine,” he smiled back at me, following closely behind me.

I pulled out an old worn out copy of “The Stranger” from the shelf, holding it up for him to see.

“I used to sit right on this chair,” I pointed to a loveseat near the window, “and read this over and over. I was obsessed with Albert Camus for years,” I explained, setting it back onto the shelf.

“I was obsessed with Jonathan Swift. I thoughtA Modest Proposalwas brilliant,” he chuckled to himself.

“Itisbrilliant,” I raised my eyebrows at him.

Michael smiled and put his hands on my waist, eyeing my lips lustfully.

“I’m quite interested to see what your bedroom looks like,” he said quietly, putting his hand on my cheek and tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

“I’d like to show you, sir,” I smiled crookedly at him, leaning my face into his palm.

His eyes darkened. “Now, Hana,” he demanded.

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