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His father smiles, but it’s fake. Or maybe not fake, but definitely insincere. “My father founded our company. A Thornhurst must oversee it,” he says, and I know whatever Winston might’ve had to say is long gone.
It’s unfortunate, because that might’ve been the first time to actually get to talk to Winston in an honest conversation. But we’re strictly back to business talk, so I know what’s coming next because he’s repeated it at least four times in the last couple of meetups.
“We were nervous when Mavin International purchased Thornhurst Properties. You can never tell what another company’s plans are when corporate takeovers happen.” Oh. This is different. Maybe we’re actually going to talk about business for once and not— “I’m certainly glad your father decided to let the two companies move as separate entities. And, of course, your family’s been more than accommodating. I’m thrilled you and Winston are getting to know one another.” There it is.
I stuff another piece of sushi in my mouth as our waitress comes back, setting down the plate of sashimi. “Oh.” My eyes widen in honest craving. “Yellowtail.”
Reaching over the waitress’s hands before she has time to pull them back, I grab a piece of the fish and pop it in.
“Cecelia, what is wrong with you?” My father grabs my elbow, leaning closer to whisper so only I can hear.
I know why he’s upset, but I can’t help it. He knew I didn’t want to come to this. And Mr. Thornhurst’s last comment of, yet again, mentioning how his son and I are “getting to know each other” grinds my nerves. So instead of apologizing for my conduct, I apologize for something else.
Looking over at Mr. Thornhurst, I shrink a touch, then reach for another piece of yellowtail. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell him, holding up the piece of fish toward him. “Would you like some?”
His expression and reply aren’t surprising. Delivering a stoic stare, his eyes flick over to my father, who doesn’t say anything. I’m sure Daddy is silently telling him he’s not sure why his well-to-do daughter, that’s been given everything she’s ever wanted, is acting like an unkempt brat right now.
But something else happens. Winston snickers, trying to hold back a laugh. I can’t help but look over at him, and he holds his hand over his mouth in a casual attempt to hide his smirk.
My phone starts vibrating, and I pull it out to see Stephanie’s name across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey,” she replies. “So, this is me. Calling you.”
“What? Really?”
“Here we go.” She giggles.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe that.”
“You really need to work on better lines, Cece. One of these days your dad is gonna catch on.”
“Oh, you’re right. Absolutely. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay, see ya— Oh, hey?”
“Yes?”
“Word around town is Bradley Peterson is bringing his entourage to the club tonight. I want to be prepared in case I meet him. Should I wear something lacy or a G-string?”
I bite down on my tongue. Hard. I might’ve drawn blood. Bitch.
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” I tell her, hearing nothing but a loud laugh on the other end. Hitting the end button, I get up from the table. “Daddy, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. There’s an emergency at the club and—”
“Emergency? Cecelia, I thought that’s why I hired Leslie and Tina.”
“I know, Daddy, but I need to take care of this. Luxe is mine, and I’m not going to just shrug off the responsibility to someone.”
“Fine.” He waves me off. “Don’t forget lunch next week with your mother and brother.”
“I remember,” I tell him, pushing in my chair.
Looking over at the Thornhursts, the elder gives me the same perplexed and annoyed face my father is giving me. Winston stares up at me, and there’s a small glint in his eyes. Does he know I’m lying? I don’t wait to find out and turn to leave.
Getting outside, I pull up a car service on my phone to take me to Stephanie’s when someone grabs my arm from behind. “Cecelia?”
Turning around, I find Winston. The last three times we’ve been across the table. Indoor lighting, formal attire, with both of us flanked by our fathers. We’re standing a couple feet apart, so it’s nothing monumental, but I finally see him in a somewhat normal atmosphere and not an appointment setting.
He’s clean-cut and shaven. Now that he’s standing up, I notice more how thin he is, but he’s at least six inches taller than me. His light brown hair is styled, combed back and partly to the side. The clean-cutness of him is only enhanced by his aqua blue eyes. By all accounts, he’s his father’s son on both resemblance and the corporate attire he’s wearing. But there’s something about his face that’s different. Maybe it’s the small smirk he’s still holding on to. It seems genuine. Natural. Not like something he’s supposed to be doing because he’s in a business meeting. There’s a warmth to him that eludes his father.
