He gives me that look that he thinks says I’m wasting my time. A condescending smile splits his face, but nerves are making his eyes too tight, his laugh a couple of octaves too high.
“You can spend your time going down that road, but I’ve known Leon a long time. I know what he values, and frankly, Damian, I don’t think you have it.”
My eyes flash with the challenge. The insult doesn’t bother me. My skin is far too thick for that, but if he thinks I can’t convince the Vitales that I’m someone they want to do business with, he is sorely mistaken.
I open my mouth to respond when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder behind me.
“Damian, Walt, lovely young lady,” my father says to the group of us.
“Dad, I didn’t expect you to be here. This is Sasha,” I introduce. Protectiveness surges, seeing my father in the presence of the ex-business partner who betrayed him. My father has more dignity and class than that man will ever know.
“Hello, Mr. Edgerton. Pleasure to meet you.” Sasha reaches out to shake his hand, a gesture she didn’t extend to Walt, I note.
“Mark, what brings you here today? I thought you’ve been out of the business for years. Don’t tell me you’re thinking about jumping back into things.” Walt tries to make it sound like a joke, but there is a growing look of fear in his eyes. I smile. “You’ll have some hard competition on your hands trying to compete with this one,” he laughs, gesturing to me.
“No. I would never. Damian would wipe the floor with me. He’s far too business-savvy. A lot like me when I was his age, but he’s smart enough to avoid the same pitfalls.”
Walt bristles at the comment.
I don’t know how my father does it. Showing up to these dinner and industry events when he knows that his ex-wife’s fuck buddy is going to be here. But he’d been part of the industry for so long, these dinners are a social function for him. He doesn’t let Walt take that away, and I respect him for that.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Walt says, making eyes between Sasha and me like I’m about to take a knee with a small velvet box in my hand.
We stand around in an awkward silence until Walt gets the hint and moves it along. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sasha turns to me with a smile.
“Well, he seems like a tool.”
A loud laugh bursts from my father. Even I have to crack a smile at that.
“He is,” I confirm.
I take Sasha for a lap around the room, stopping to talk to certain people, showing my face, and collecting pieces of industry gossip that I always take with a grain of salt. People who gossip are generally not picky about who they gossip about or whether the information has any veracity. I can only imagine the things they’ve said about my father over the years, about me.
The evening goes smoother than I expected. Having Sasha with me is proving to be an asset. She’s pleasant and personable, but she’s shrewd enough to pick up on the bullshit without having the luxury of knowing any of the players.
She doesn’t awkwardly invite me and her on any romantic couples getaways.
Maybe Ishouldhave asked my mother to set me up with someone for that dinner. Having Sasha by my side would have been a lot less complicated.
That thought feels like needles under my skin. An image of Brielle, that red dress peeking out from underneath her heavy blue coat, the rosy tint to her cheeks, steals my thoughts for a moment. I shake her out of my head and turn my attention back to Sasha just as the lights flick to take our seats.
My father joins us at our table for the dinner-and-speeches part of the night. I always buy at least four tickets to these things, whether I plan to attend alone or with someone. It guarantees I don’t have to knock elbows with someone while I’m trying to eat my dinner. With Sasha on one side of me and my father on the other, it doesn’t seem like I’m going to have that convenience tonight.
“Mr. Edgerton, did you used to be in the advertising industry, too?” Sasha asks.
“A long time ago. I’ve put that behind me now,” my father answers curtly. I know the question that comes next, and I try to catch Sasha’s eye, but she isn’t looking my way. Asking my father why he quit this business only ever ends two ways, and neither of them is pretty.
“Are you doing anything else now or just enjoying retirement?” She smiles.
No “why” or “what happened”?
I breathe a sigh of relief.
My father points a genuine smile at her. “It’s my time to relax and enjoy my golden years. And I get to watch Damian dominate his competition without having to worry about being one of them. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I told Walter Burke that he would wipe the floor with me.”
She looks at me now with a warm grin. My expressionless face masks the pride I feel when he says that.
“What about you, Sasha? What do you do?”
