“I thought you didn’t speak to your father.” Cal doesn’t wait for Roxy’s departure, because, like all of us, he knows nothing escapes her.
“I know he doesn’t.” She closes the door, leaning against it.
“Are you two ambushing me? What is this, a schoolyard?” I approach the door, glaring at Roxy.
She rolls her eyes, but steps to the side. “Most of the time, all of you behave like schoolchildren, so the answer to your question is yes. What’s the answer toCaleb’s, though?”
“He didn’t ask anything, Roxy. A question ends with a question mark, sweetheart.” I smirk.
“Sweetheart me one more time and I’ll staple your tie to HR’s desk.” She returns my glower with her own.
And while I question whether this encounter is high school behavior, now I’m the one engaging in a glaring contest. For fuck’s sake.
“My apologies, Roxy.” I open the door.
“Xander—” Cal follows me.
“I’ve got it covered, van den Linden. Go hover over someone else.”
“Mr. Stone, will you want dinner in your room tonight?” the concierge greets me when I emerge from the underground garage.
“John, I think I’ll just have a bite at the bar. No worries. Have a nice evening.”
“If I may, Mr. Stone. The team at the spa found a journal. It only occurred to them now that it might belong to your companion from last week.” He pulls a small diary from behind his desk.
I open it, and on the inner cover, I find Cora’s name. I slam it shut.
“Thank you, John; I willreturn it to her.”
I stroll to the bar in the corner of the lobby. The place is open to the public from the street side, but it has a private area with tables always available to the hotel’s guests.
After ordering a steak and a glass of wine, I pull my phone out. My fingers tap reluctantly until I’m just a green icon away from calling my father.
The events that led to my move to the East Coast flash through my mind. A silent whisper reasons with me, suggesting I’m carrying more blame than I should own. I know my family—they would look the other way, protect me.
And that would only lead to more self-loathing.
Not that I don’t hate myself for my role in the sale of our developer holdings, but at least I don’t need to do it under the watch of my loved ones, constantly wondering how much of their disappointment they hide.
Some wouldn’t even try hiding their contempt. Well, fuck them all. I’m richer than I’ve ever been, and it’s all my achievement.
Yes, fuck them all. The sentiment spurs the reckless gene in me, and I’m about to tap the green call button when the phone rings, and I almost spill my wine.
Jesus.
“Xander speaking.”
“Xander, it’s Sissy.” The sweet Southern drawl hits my ears.
“Sissy, how are you?” I deploy the Xander-Casanova persona, but my heart is not in it.
“I’m in the city, and I was hoping we could go out. It’s been too long.”
“Sissy, I’m too busy tonight. Let me know when you’re here next time.”
Busy? Eating my dinner alone? I guess I can always do more work when I get upstairs to my room. And that’s what I’ll do, so I’m not lying.
“Aw, don’t be such a bore, X. Work can wait.”
