He looks up, removing the earphones. “What?”
I begin unbuckling my shoes. “Nothing.”
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding at my shopping bag.
“Stationery.”
His eyes glaze over—as I’d hoped. He knows I have a few ‘notebooks,’ but they don’t mean anything to him. Before meeting Finn this afternoon, I stopped at my favorite local home store for another journal. I’ve been feeling new things the last couple days, things that deserve their own fresh pages.
“How’d the presentation go yesterday?” Rich asks. “Is it going to be a good dinner?”
“It’ll be fine.Daddysat in, so everyone’s happy.”
“He won’t always be around for those meetings,” Rich says, sensing my sarcasm, even if it doesn’t surface often. “Learn what you can from him.”
I look in the fridge and roll my eyes. “Might want to save the extreme sucking up for when my dad’s actually in the room.”
“I’m not sucking up. I’m trying to get you to see the silver lining. And remind you that he won’t be around forever. I wouldn’t want you to look back and have any regrets about your relationship.”
I grip the door handle. Rich has some goddamn nerve talking to me aboutregrets. I know that feeling better than anyone. I came to the fridge for water, but I bend over and grab a bottle of Chardonnay I’d shoved into the back corner of the bottom shelf.
Rich eyes me as I uncork it. “I thought I got rid of that.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Wisely, he doesn’t respond. “Did you wear those to work?”
“What?” I ask, playing dumb as I pour a glass.
“Those tights.”
Rich rarely comments on my wardrobe, but then again, I rarely wear anything other than black, gray or navy. “They’re trendy.”
“Is trendy right for an office environment?”
“Clients like to know we’re cutting edge.”
“Our clients are mostly white men over fifty. I guess they’d notice, though . . .”
Just like with my dad, I try not to get into arguments with Rich. Tonight, though, I’m feeling feisty. Blame it on Finn. Or on the fact that I’ve been halving my pills the last week. Either way, Rich is trying to make me feel bad about the tights, and I’m not going to let him. I sip the wine. “Are you jealous?”
He looks taken aback by my out-of-character question. “I’m just not sure it’s appropriate,” he says slowly. “Is it Benny? Are you trying to fit in with her?”
“My assistant?”
“She’s always wearing stuff that’s borderline sexy. She gets away with it, but it’s not really appropriate. Maybe she’s not the best influence on you.”
If he saysappropriateone more time, I might blow. This is generally the time I start to back down. Admittedly, though, I’m a bit curious what’ll happen if I test his limit. “I hadn’t really noticed Benny’s sexy wardrobe,” I say, which is not exactly true. “But I guess you have.”
“Areyoujealous?” he asks. “She has a boyfriend.”
“How do you know?”
“I take an interest in the people I work with,” he says, tilting his head forward. “Don’t you two ever talk about that stuff? You’re together all day.”
“Not really.” Benny may be my assistant, and a very good one, but she’s only a year younger than me. She holds me together, rolls her eyes along with me, keeps me on schedule. We get each other, but we’re different. Several piercings rim the edge of one of her ears, and her tattoos constantly peek out from her skirts, low-cut blouses, and sleeves. We’ve hardly spent a minute together past six o’clock. Our personal lives just don’t come up. “We gossip sometimes, but just about work.”
“That’s fine by me. She’s not a friend I’d choose for you. Anyway, I really don’t think you should wear them to dinner.”
