I shrug, but nod, and she gives me a grim look, probably thinking of Mallory.
The next two hours move at a crawl. Each time I return to his table, Christian tries to convince me to go out with them. The more Bloody Marys he orders—round three done, round four on deck—the more persistent he becomes. I debate giving him my number if only to shut him up, but I don’t want to agree to something when I have no intention of keeping my word. I also don’t want Christian McCoy to think I’m in any way interested.
I’m on my way to pick up their entrees when I see him.
No way. No freaking way.
I stop dead in my tracks and do a double take at the tall, broad figure waiting by the hostess stand and wonder what I did to deserve this sort of bad luck.
Could this morning get any worse?
Dr. Drunkard isn’t alone. He’s accompanied by a handsome older couple that is unmistakably his parents. How do I know? His father has the same thick head of dark hair, and his mother, while blonde, has the same lithe figure as Landon—tall with long limbs that would appear gangly on most people but make her look like a retired runway model. With his father’s smart attire and his mother’s Louis Vuitton handbag, they fit in perfectly to the room filled with upper-class members, and another piece of the puzzle clicks into place. It makes sense that Landon comes from money. It would explain the house, at least. And the arrogance.
At first, I think there’s no sign that he drank half a bottle of bourbon last night, or that he slept on a lounge chair outside, because of course not. People like Landon Blair aren’t outwardly affected by overindulgence or shitty shuteye like the rest of us. But as he follows the hostess across the dining room, I see him reach up to rub the back of his neck with an unmistakable grimace. I don’t like to laugh at other people’s pain, but in this case, I allow myself one tiny smirk. Maybe it’s karma.
“Wipe the drool off your chin, Violet,” says Jake, noticing me watching Landon. “The man’s with his parents, for God’s sake.”
“Even I can admit Landon Blair’s too good-looking to be around us mere mortals,” says Ollie.
“Do they come here a lot?” I ask, ignoring their comments. I wasn’t ogling. I was…caught off guard.
“His mother, Kathleen Blair, and father, Nathan Blair, Sr., donate a lot of money to the club. They have brunch here every Sunday, usually with the kids. Well, most of them. Junior’s always here, but I haven’t seen the youngest, Eli, in a while. I think his membership got revoked.”
I’m about to open my mouth to tell them that I live with the man when I see her. Mel. She wasn’t home when I left this morning, so I’m extra surprised to see her standing in the doorway to the dining hall. I can tell immediately that she’s pissed off about something, and it’s almost impressive how she schools her face as she approaches Landon’s family.
“Ah, and the girlfriend makes an appearance today,” notes Ollie. “That’s rare.”
“She’s always seemed a bit high-strung to me,” says Jake.
“Which is why they’re perfect together. That family’s so cold I need a parka just to take their drink order.”
For a moment, I consider going over to say a formal hello to my sister’s table, but I’m not quite sure what the etiquette is for this sort of thing. I can pretty much guarantee that there’s no way Landon’s family will want to be interrupted by Mel’s nonexistent sister, but not saying hello seems rude.
Pursing my lips, I decide to deliver my entrees to Christian’s table and pretend I didn’t see them, then give Mel a surprised wave on the way back.
And so that’s what I do. As I set down the multiple orders of French toast with extra sides of bacon in front of the drunk idiots, I feel a set of eyes burning a hole in my back. When I glance up, I watch Mel mutter something to Landon, who’s oblivious to my existence. He says something back to her, looking vaguely annoyed, and she stands and heads toward the door.
“Meet me in the hall,” Mel mutters as she passes me.
I nod before smiling politely at Christian. “Anything else I can get you?”
Christian gestures to the four near-empty Bloody Mary glasses. “Another round, gorgeous,” he says with a wink. My smile tightens, but I nod.
“Coming right up.”
After I finish putting in the drink orders, I let Brit know I’m taking a bathroom break and excuse myself momentarily. I’m eager to talk to Mel, but my excitement fades when I find her waiting in the hallway with her arms crossed and her expression one I can only describe asseething.
“Hey, what’s up?” I try, suddenly wary. I do a mental tally of anything I could have done to make her look at me like that and come up blank. “How was your trip?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you got a jobhereof all places,” she says in a rush, her voice low and furious.
I blink at her. She’s mad about…the job?
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “It was pretty miraculous how it happened, actually—”
She shakes her head. “God, Violet. No. This isn’t a good thing. How could you not tell me?”
I shrug, a little bewildered by her reaction. “There wasn’t time. You left on your trip before I could—"
