The phone rang, shrill and loud, distracting her from her contemplation of the big man taking up so much space. She peered at the display and let it go to voicemail. As soon as her voicemail lit up red, she picked up the phone and deleted the message.
She hung up and turned to find Jacob watching her. He nodded at the phone. “Someone you don’t like?”
She gave a casual shrug, the spurt of rage she had experienced upon viewing the number ruthlessly controlled. “The producer for my father’s show.”
“Oh. Right.” Jacob narrowed his eyes. “I remember Mei talking about that. A reality show of some sort?”
How diplomatic. Akira was certain Mei would never have merely talked about her ex-husband’s show. She would have passive-aggressively sniped about it. Deservedly.
Akira had been the one to break the news to her mother that her father was going to star on a show with his new wife. Yes, the one he made that sex tape with.
Mei carefully maintained her image as a quiet, soft-spoken woman, except around her daughter. Akira’s ears had rung for weeks. As much as she’d usually enjoyed provoking her mother, Akira had empathized on this occasion. It was unfair, the world they lived in, when a man could be amply rewarded for every wrong thing he did. Mistreat your wife? Women will still flock to you. Run your family business poorly? Make billions selling the assets. “Leak” a sex tape? Here. Have a reality show.
“Yeah. Follows the exploits of his crazy new family.” She adopted Chloe’s valley-girl accent. “Chloe, the aging starlet desperately clinging to her youth. Brandy, the eldest daughter, who finds love in all the wrong places. Brandon and Brendon, the elitist douche poor little rich boys. The vicious twins, Bronwyn and Brad. And of course, Mr. Mori, the aging hotelier money bank who’s a handy punch line for every joke.”
Jacob eyed her with appalled fascination. “That sounds awful.”
“You’re probably the only person in America who doesn’t know about the Benton-Mori train-wreck happy hour.”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV,” Jacob responded, almost apologetically. “And I don’t really understand the concept of reality television. Did you know Kati watches this show which is basically just a bunch of women trying on wedding dresses?” He shook his head, bewilderment stamped on his face. “Why would anyone care what dress a stranger wears to her wedding?”
Oh gosh. So darned cute. Amusement edged out her annoyance. “My father’s show isn’t nearly so wholesome.”
He grimaced. “It does sound like a train wreck.”
“The bane of my existence,” she heard herself say. Never had she discussed her father’s show so frankly, aware her true feelings would only bring the bastard more publicity. But Jacob was safe. Despite their tumultuous past, she could trust him. In this, at least.
“Why is the producer calling you?”
She ran her hand over her hair. She had left it down the past couple of days, having noticed how Jacob seemed to stare at her a bit longer when she did.Who are you, woman?“Because I won’t talk to my father. I obviously won’t talk to the producer either. My assistant fields his calls and deletes his messages during business hours, so I guess he’s resorted to trying to catch me at night.”
“Are you…involved with the show?”
She snorted a laugh, genuinely amused. “God, no. They’d just like me to be.”
His hands continued to idly fidget with the box while he studied her. He saw too much, she was certain. Far more than she intended for him or anyone to see. “I guess your relationship with your dad is as bad as the one you had with your mom.”
She took a deep breath. Sure, why not talk about her parents some more? “Worse.”
“I only heard snippets about him from Mei. You were a baby when they divorced, right?”
“A year old.”
“He got custody?”
She sat back in her chair, resigned to this. For some reason, she wanted to tell him whatever he wanted to know.
Because otherwise this might end.
Again, she brushed the frighteningly needy thought aside. “Technically, it was joint, but my mother didn’t want much to do with me. When I wasn’t at boarding school, I was with my dad.” Her smile was bitter. “Not because he particularly desired me, but his father controlled his purse. And Grandfather Mori believed in appearances.”
His brow furrowed. “You didn’t live with your mother at all?”
“If I had to come home from school and my father was sick of me, he would send me to her. She couldn’t do much about that. It would look bad if she straight up put me on the street.”
“Is that when you would spend time with your grandmother?” Jacob lifted the box, as if invoking the woman.
Her gaze drifted to the frame on her desk, the wrinkles on the older woman’s face not masking her beauty. Akira had stolen the photo from her mother’s house in a fit of righteous anger during a party. She had so few images of her grandmother. “Yes,” she replied softly. “She lived nearby. Until I was fifteen or so, if I came to see my mother, I could go see her.”
