“Who’s your agent?”
“I’m not using one.”
Her lips thin as she draws a breath. “There are options outside Mariana, you know.”
“And I’ll query them when and if I need to.”
The echo of the front door closing has us both turn toward the patio doors.
“Sounds like it’s time to finish off dinner,” Mom announces. She closes her book and collects her empty drinking glass as she rises from her chair. “Do me a favor and set the dinner table, would you?”
“Sure.”
Mom hesitates when Dad appears in the doorway, offering him a soft smile as she then passes by.
He watches her go without so much as a hello, let alone a kiss, and when he turns to set his steely gaze on me, I know why.Damn.
“Enjoy your afternoon?” The man doesn’t step outside, take a seat, or do anything that could be construed as familiar. Gentle.
Instead, the officer of the law hooks his goddamn thumbs in his utility belt and stares down at me as though I’m some motorist he pulled over for speeding.
“Cut to the chase, Dad.” Fuck him. If he wants to play games, I refuse to feign stupidity to appease his ego. “What’s your point?”
“Beryl Phipps saw you. So did Mrs. Tweed.” He huffs, rolling his neck back and staring up at the ceiling before he stabs that critical gaze into mine once more. “If you wanted to be discreet, you sure went the wrong way about it.”
“Who said I wanted to be discreet?” I lean back in the chair and cross my legs, arms braced on the rests.
His nose twitches at my nonchalance. “Do you care that little about your reputation?”
The urge to laugh at the man tickles the back of my throat while I suppress a smile.If only he knew.“It was coffee, Dad.”
“With a known criminal,” he hisses, leaning forward to get in my space.
I let the conversation hang for a second—just long enough that the bastard knows I’m not intimidated—and counter, “He’s an old school friend.”
“You have better school friends to choose from.”
“None that have bothered to come see me since I’ve been back.”
“It goes two ways,” he grumbles, eyes narrowing. “You are allowed to seek them out, too, Kyra.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to.” Perhaps they don’t warrant my energy anymore.
The air thickens between us to the point I physically feel as though I might choke if I don’t get away from him.
“You won’t see him again. Is that understood?” Dad straightens his spine, shoulders back. “Not as long as you’re under my roof.”
“You’re going to treat me as though I’m a child again?” I scoff.
One eyebrow rises. “Did you ever prove you were worthy of me not doing so?”
Ooo, that asshole.I know what the heck he refers to, and to say I’m unimpressed would be a goddamn understatement of the century. How dare he? “As though you give a shit what people think ofme,” I grit, rising from the chair. “Let’s make no pretenses over what this isreallyabout: what people think ofyou. You haven’t said a goddamn word about me to anyone for years. Why start pretending you care what they think of me now?”
I shoulder past the bully, uninterested in what he has to say in reply. Screw him. He showed his true colors the day I dropped out of college, one year shy of earning my degree. He had no interest in the fact that I was supporting myself and thriving. No. All he cared about was the fact I was a failure—his words, not mine.
I’d failed him by choosing whatIwanted over following the family into law.
I’d failed him by not completing my degree anyway.
