“Wow. An apology from a Maris. I should buy a lottery ticket.”
The old joke made me smile, but I was glad she couldn’t see me. “I just?—”
“I’m going to pretend you don’t actually think I would date an employee,” she interrupted. “It was a joke. You, of all people, should know that. This call is over. Feel free to try me again when you remember whoIam, Locke.”
The call ended.
I was crushed. She was right. I’d overreacted. I’d been so distracted by the goddamned go-go boy in my garden, I hadn’t had my head on straight.
I shot her a text apologizing, but I knew she wouldn’t accept it for at least a couple of days.
Accusing her of doing something our father had been notorious for was unforgivable.
And she wasn’t even the Maris currently sleeping with an employee.
16
JETT
Dinner was awkward as fuck.
Locke seemed off in his head somewhere and uninterested in conversation. After trying and failing for the third time to engage him in conversation, I finally pulled out my phone and started reading through a memoir I’d been enjoying earlier.
Was it bad table manners? Absolutely.
Would Mav have made me do the dishes for a week for reading my phone at the dinner table? Yes. Even at age twenty-six.
Did I feel one shred of guilt? Nope.
The faint scrape of Locke’s utensils was the only noise. I enjoyed the tender beef medallions with one hand while turning my page with the other. The Syrian refugee protagonist was now out of the boat and in the dark water.
“Vraj doesn’t eat meat,” Locke said.
I blinked up at him. “Correct. Neither does Selene Mercier. Roberto has it under control.”
“Mm.” He returned to his meal.
I watched him for another few moments until it was clear he was in his head again. Then I returned to reading.
When he was finished, he cleared his throat. “Did you have a nice day?”
I glanced up at him. “Me?”
His forehead crinkled as he gazed at me. “Yes. You.”
“Oh. Er. Sure? Yes. In fact, I did. This is a lovely property, and you have a kind staff. It must be a joy to come here regularly.”
Locke nodded and looked back down at his now-empty plate. Then he moved his fork around a little. If I hadn’t been put in my place so emphatically earlier today, I might have helped him out of this awkward moment. Volunteered more about the day or asked him about his. But it was clear that wasn’t what he expected of me. Or wanted.
I glanced back out at the sea, forgetting the doors were closed tonight because of a too-strong breeze and a chilly temperature.
My phone glowed from its spot under the table, resting on my thigh.
As soon as I gave up and snuck another glance at the page in the book, he spoke again, nearly causing me to jump.
“I thought about taking a swim after dinner.”
What the fuck was he doing right now? This was excruciating. I tilted my head at him. “It might be cold.”
