Page 25 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
I smile at her. “Next time I bump into her, I’ll report that you kept her secrets like a box of discovery documents opposing counsel doesn’t want me to find.”
“Please do,” she says. “Then she’ll keep telling them to me. She’s got some she’s holding out on.”
She gives me a small salute and heads toward her place, and I watch after her for a moment. Something about her expression makes me wonder if Lady Mantha is less of a mystery than Sami thinks. But maybe that’s because it’s the only other secret I know Sami keeps.
Anhourlater,mydad walks into my office.
My eyebrows go up. He needs something. When he’s ordering me to do something as a partner, I get called up to his office. When he wants to talk me into something I don’t have to do, he comes down to my office. I don’t know if he even realizes he does it.
He takes the seat across from me. “How are you?”
“Great. What’s up?” I can read him when he’s being cagey like no other associate in this firm can ever hope to.
“Just checking in.”
Absolutely not true. But if he wants to work up to it, I’ll grant him the runway. “I’m good. All settled in the condo.” That I paid for by myself. Besides the hours I put in at work, it’s some of the most solid evidence I can offer him that I’m not still a screwup. But he hasn’t asked to come see it.
Even now, he only grunts, his mind clearly somewhere else.
My disappointment is so routine that it’s barely a hiccup in my day. I push it aside. “Can I help you with something?”
His thumb drums the arm of his chair. “The Reillys are coming to town.”
I stare him down for a couple of seconds then shift my attention back to my monitor. Now I understand his nervous drumming. I make it a point to say yes to my parents whenever they ask for something, but I’m not doing this.
His hand stills. “JP mentioned looking forward to seeing you.”
I keep my eyes on the monitor without actually seeing it. “No, Dad.” He can’t ask me this as my boss, and I’m reminding him of that.
“He’s bringing Presley with him—”
“No.” Brower and Moore has handled Reilly Industry’s litigation for thirty years. John Paul Reilly and my dad were college roommates, and Presley, his daughter, is my age. Our parents used to joke about marrying us off. Presley never took it as a joke. She has it in her head that we’re meant to be; therefore, JP does too.
“It’s just dinner,” my dad argues. “We always go to dinner with them.”
“You’re right. I’m overreacting. Let’s go, and you sit next to Presley so she can grabyourthigh under the table all night.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t sit by her.”
I snort. “She has tentacles, not arms. Presley finds a way.”
“Josh, come on.”
I meet his gaze, wordless.
He blinks first and sighs. “All right. I’ll think of an excuse for your absence.”
“Tell her I can’t stand her. That should do the trick.” He would never be that rude to someone, and he frowns. “I’m kidding, Dad.”
“I don’t like you speaking of her that way.”
“You’re not a fan either.”
He can’t deny this. “Doesn’t mean you need to badmouth her.”
This time I blink first. “You’re right. Sorry, Dad. If there’s anything else you need, you’ve got it. But not this.”
He doesn’t look happy about it, but after a moment, he slaps his hands on his thighs and stands. “No dinner with the Reillys, but that doesn’t get you off the hook for Sunday.”
