The protest dies on my lips when I see the look on his face.
Once back in the room, I perch on the edge of the bed and turn the information over in my head.
Still, I can’t keep my thoughts from wondering.
Am I a substitute for Mama Payne?
Is Mason trying to rewrite history by protecting me?
My heart aches at the thought that what he feels for me might be based on a lie.
Chapter Nineteen
Mason
“I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”
My father snorts next to me but doesn’t move his gaze from the glass. “Given how your last few meetings have gone, it’s better for everyone if I’m there.”
My head swivels in his direction, and I frown. “You would’ve done the same thing.”
My father raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have taken so many men and left the estate undefended. I also wouldn’t have put my fucking life on the line for that woman.”
I clench my hands into fists. “That woman is not going anywhere, and the sooner you can accept that, the better it will be for all of us.”
I’m goddamn tired of rehashing the same argument with my father.
I don’t expect him to approve of London, and I don’t need him to.
But I do need him to make his peace with her presence because it’ll make things a hell of a lot easier, especially when it comes to presenting a unified front.
There are too many messes, too many fires to put out, and while I thrive under pressure and the chance to show everyone why our family is not to be messed with, I can’t be everywhere at once. Between the attacks on the warehouse, the mole in our midst, and having to plan an engagement to Elise, I’m ready to snap.
The Fitzpatricks and Everetts should’ve been brought to heel by now. The old you would’ve had this taken care of already.
I shove the thought away and focus on my father, who is watching me intently.
I don’t like the gleam in his eyes or the pursing of his lips.
Something is up with him.
I’m getting a headache considering all the possible ways he might be trying to screw with me.
Jack Payne always has a plan, and today is no exception.
A meeting brokered by the Thayers with the intent of bringing all the major players to the table isn’t the kind of thing he’d be caught dead going to.
He doesn’t believe in truces.
He thinks you’ve failed to hold up your end of the bargain, and he’s not wrong. The Fitzpatricks and Everetts are even more dangerous and unpredictable than before, and just because it’s been a week of silence doesn’t mean it’s over.
Even this meeting doesn’t mean anything if we can’t get them to stop the mayhem.
“Besides,” Jack continues, “I’m curious how Thayer got them to come to the table to begin with. Unless he’s offered them something else.”
I make a noncommittal sound but don’t reply.
Thatcher must’ve made a deal with them.
