Page 40 of Executive Decision

Paolo demonstrated a serve with Dora, who barely tapped the ball. Not to be outdone, Lanie stepped up and launched the ball hard with a beautiful overhand.

“Try to beat me!” Lanie knew I couldn’t.

“Now, you try.” Paolo approached from behind to position me and line up the shot. Instead of hitting the ball across the way to Dora, I pounded it into the ass of a poor stranger stretching on the adjacent court.

I wanted to die.

“Ouch! Jesus!” The man cried out.

A man in a suit approached. Someone had a security detail, and I’d hit them?What the fuck?

The man pulled back and turned. As soon as even the side of his face was revealed, I knew who I’d hit.

“Cal!” I called. “Shit! I’m so sorry.”

Cal’s scowl went to a smile as he walked up. “Jesus, Daph, that was… something.”

“It was a really bad serve. Blame the jetlag,” I said. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” Cal chuckled. “Startled. But it’s probably good for me.”

“Your detail isn’t impressed.”

“In that skirt? I doubt that is true.”

I flushed bright red.

“Fuck. Why did I say that? I… I was making a joke. Aninappropriatejoke. I just got beaned in the ass by a pretty girl and?—”

“It’s okay,” I said, mostly flattered.

Cal trotted to his game.

“Dumb balls,” Dora giggled. “What were you doing?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I said.

“Well, at least it was just Cal.”

“Yeah, it was just Cal,” I murmured.

Had he beenflirtingwith me? A man thought I waspretty. Not beautiful. Not lovely. Not wifely. Justpretty. Even if part of that was humor, there was enough truth to it, right?

15JURY AND EXECUTOR

Daphne

We filledthe Delphine conference room on the ninth floor of its flagship store. Instead of a board meeting, it was time to listen to my father’s will. We waited until all of us could return to Chicago—well, all but Derrick, who was deployed. The day was here. My mother stared, gaze steely out at the traffic driving by. I suspected she was only here as a requirement. She knew what awaited her.

Dora held my hand, nervous. Derrick was with us via phone conference.

My father’s attorney, Patrick MacDannald, arrived and slowly closed the door. We awaited the news. He pulled seven envelopes from his briefcase.

“Hello, everyone. I will pass these out appropriately, but first, I would like to read the youngest Mr. Delphine’s section as he is not here with us.”

“That would be me, right?” Derrick asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

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