Page 30 of Covert

She schooled her face into what she hoped was a mask of nonchalance, while her insides churned with dread.

“Hi, Max. I’m here on business.”

“Business?” Max raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dylan, at her dress, and back again.

Resisting the urge to tug at her bodice, she squared her shoulders. “Max, this is Dylan Harmon,” knowing the instant Max that had entered the elevator her cover would be blown.

Dylan stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Max.”

Though by the dour expression on his face, Sam knew he didn’t mean it.

“Max is an old friend of my family,” she said, compelled to fill the awkward silence that descended on them.

As the doors slid open on the ground floor, Max shook his head, the supercilious smirk that she despised marring his haughty features.

“Come now, Samantha, I’m much more than that.”

Staring at Max with all the disdain she could muster, she said, “If you’ll excuse us, Max, our table is waiting. Nice seeing you again.”

She slipped a hand into Dylan’s and strolled from the elevator, hoping her wobbly legs would hold her upright, at least until they reached the ballroom.

Thankfully, Dylan seemed just as anxious to escape Max’s overbearing presence, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they were led to their table.

He didn’t speak until they sat, giving her valuable time to compose herself. Seeing Max had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Her stomach roiled with anxiety as she knew she’d have to answer questions that may have far-reaching consequences for her future with the man still holding her hand.

“Nice company you keep.” Dylan’s judgemental tone irked and when he released her hand, she felt oddly bereft.

“Hey, I don’t pick my parent’s friends.”

“Is that all he is to you?”

Sam resisted the urge to stick her fingers down her throat and make vomiting sounds at the thought of Max being anything but a friend to her.

“What do you think?”

“I think that old guy is smitten with you.” She barely heard his “not that I blame him.”

She shrugged, hating herself for having to perpetuate the lie she’d woven. “He means nothing to me. My parents seem to like him, which is more than I can say for me.”

“He acted as if he owned you.” Dylan persisted, gnawing at her waning resistance. “Especially that wisecrack about meaning more to you.”

Sam couldn’t hold out much longer. She needed to tell Dylan some snippet of truth, otherwise he wouldn’t stop until he dragged the whole, sordid story from her.

She sighed, wishing she hadn’t started down the disastrous road her hare-brained scheme had managed to steer her.

“My parents think Max would make good husband material.”

“What?” Dylan reared back, appalled. “He’s old enough to be your father.”

“Try telling that to my folks.”

She could hardly believe that after all the years her parents had lived in Australia, they hadn’t lost any of their European heritage, hanging onto archaic traditions with grim determination.

“But why?”

Sam had to tread carefully if she didn’t want her entire lie to unravel before her eyes. “They have old-fashioned values, believing every woman needs a man to take care of her, to provide for her. A woman’s place should be in the home, not the boardroom.”

She watched the shock register in his eyes and hoped his interrogation would end sooner rather than later.

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