Page 77 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

“Dinner, then?” I ask. “Why don’t you delay your move-out a couple days? We can have dinner.” We need to talk—I’m just not quite sure what about yet. I don’t want to give her up simply because our fake engagement is over. I really like her.

She looks at me, her eyes narrowing. “The weekend?”

“It makes more sense.”

She sighs as if the thought of dinner with me is a chore. “I suppose.” She says the words carefully, like she’s arranging them between shards of broken glass. If I didn’t know her better, I would say she just wants to move out and get on with her life. But Idoknow her better. Maybe neither of us knows where to go from here. All I’m sure of is that I want to figure it out.

“Hey, careful. Don’t get overly excited at the prospect of dinner with me.”

She laughs. “I am excited. This is my excited face.”

I grin at her, relief shuddering through me at the familiar warmth in her tone. “You’re beautiful.”

“And excited.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Jules

I don’t know if it’s because of the fresh, crisp air of this October day, but there’s a lift in my chest and I can’t stop smiling. I feel like I’m about to go on vacation or something. I’ve spent the morning trying not to replay my conversation with Leo last night. He wants to have dinner. To talk. And I want that too. I like the guy. Imorethan like him. He’s not the man I thought he was when I met him. He’s a flirt for sure. And he has women asking for his number all the time, I have no doubt. But I don’t think he’s some kind of unreliable, unfaithful womanizer. He’s not the player I thought he was. It’s early between us, but we share an undeniable chemistry in and out of the bedroom.

Maybe he was right the first time we met. Maybe heismy destiny.

I arrive at the coffee shop where I’m meeting my dad and order. It’s just before twelve, so there’s no line. I’d like to order for him too, but I wouldn’t be able to recite his coffee order for a milliondollars.

I can’t help but think about my mom’s reaction when I tell her Dad has reappeared. I haven’t said anything about him turning up on the roof terrace. I know it would upset her, and if he’s just going to turn around and disappear again, there’s no point. I get the feeling I’ll have to have the conversation sometime soon. He texted this morning to confirm our meeting, and he seems determined to get a job here. I know I’ve told Leo I don’t want him to hire my dad—and I don’t—but I wonder if he knows someone outside of the Hart company who might have an opening. My dad’s obviously motivated about finding work.

I take a seat and check my watch. It’s two minutes past twelve. A shiver of anxiety passes down my spine and I try to shrug it off. I don’t need to worry. He’s going to show. If he wasn’t, why would he have texted this morning? He wouldn’t have bothered. I swallow and try not to look out the window. I used to spend hours sitting on my windowsill as a child, waiting for an unfamiliar car to pull up outside our house, hoping my father would open the driver’s door. Every now and then, that’s exactly what happened, and for a few days or weeks, or sometimes even a month or two, we would be a family.

Until he left.

I’d never know when he was going to go. He could be happy as a clam at dinner, and by morning, his car would have disappeared, the suitcase he came with vanished with him. He’d never leave a trace of himself behind. Except that last time, when he left his comics. When I was old enough to analyze these things, I often wondered whether his leaving them behind was a sign. Did he want to leave a piece of himself with me?

“Hey, Dollface!”

I snap my head up to find my father standingover me, arms outstretched. He’s fifteen minutes late, but who’s counting?

“Dad,” I say, jumping up from my seat. Without thinking, I accept his hug. He pulls me in close. It should feel familiar. A hug from my dad is something I should take for granted. But his arms feel alien, his frame doesn’t fit. It feels a little awkward, but at least I can’t smell whiskey. I hold on for as long as I can.

Eventually, he pulls back and holds me by the shoulders. “You look great, kid.”

I smile. “Thanks. Can I get you a coffee?”

He sits while I get him a double espresso. While I watch the barista make his drink, I wonder whether he always drinks espresso, or only when he might want to be done in a mouthful. He just has to take a gulp and it’s gone. Then he’s free to leave. Espresso is the coffee for people who don’t want to be in one place for very long. It’s coffee for my father.

I slide the cup onto the table.

“Thanks, doll,” he says.

“You’re welcome. You ready to meet Leo?” Between his lateness and the time it took to order his drink, we don’t have much time. Twenty minutes or so before we’ll have to leave.

“Sure thing,” he says in the same upbeat voice he uses when he says “Dollface.”

I know Leo’s not going to give him a job, but I still want my dad to make a good impression. “He’s my boss, Dad. So… you know. You gotta be on your best behavior.”

He laughs. “I’m always on my best behavior. Tell me about being manager of The Mayfair,” he says. “What’s it like being the boss of so many people?”

“It’s good,” I say. “It’s early days, but I’m enjoying getting things in shape. I think it’s got an exciting future.”

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