“Besides,” I continue, ignoring her attempt to interrupt, “he’s exactly the kind of man I’ve been trying to avoid my entire life. Demanding, controlling, anger issues. Sound familiar?”
Maeve winces. “He’s not Dad.”
“I didn’t say he is Dad,” I explain quickly, poking at my sandwich. “But he has the same intensity. The same need to control everything around him.”
Maeve studies me for a moment with her eyes too knowing for comfort. “Noah’s not like that, not really. He’s actually?—”
“Please don’t defend him,” I interrupt, holding up my hand. “I work with him every day. I see how he operates.”
“And yet you’re still there,” she points out. “Weeks in and you haven’t quit. That’s some kind of record for Noah’s assistants, I’ve heard.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “The money’s good. And I need it.”
“Are things that bad?” Maeve’s expression shifts to concern, and I immediately regret bringing up my financial situation.
“Things are fine,” I lie, avoiding her eyes. The truth—that I’m one missed paycheck and one extra croissant away from disaster—would only make her offer help, and I’m done taking handouts. “Just trying to build up some savings.”
Maeve doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide, taking a bite of her salad before changing the subject. “Ezra and I are hosting a dinner on Thursday before Ezra gets buried with legal stuff with the city. Just family. Think of it like a Thanksgiving rehearsal. You should come.”
“Family dinner?” I repeat, feeling my stomach sinking to the very bottom. “As in, you, Ezra, and Noah?”
“And Martin,” she adds quickly. “He’s practically family. It’ll be fun.”
“That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” I mutter, pushing lettuce around my plate. I love Martin, I really do, but the man has no filter, and with him being so attentive and intuitive, he’ll pick something up between Noah and I and won’t let it go. I’m sure of that.
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.” Maeve reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You and Noah seemed to be getting along better. Maybe this could be a chance to?—”
“To what? Bond over dinner rolls while pretending we don’t want to throttle each other?” I pull my hand away, shaking my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Bea,” she places her cup on the table, “while you might want to throttle him, I think you might want to do so while you’re riding his face,” she adds in a serious tone, making me choke on the bite of my sandwich.
“Wha—the-khe—what—khe.”
“Are you okay?” she asks with no remorse in sight. In fact, she looks rather delighted with herself. “Need me to smack your back?”
“Maeve!” I start when I finally stop coughing. “What the hell?”
“What?” She blinks innocently. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to ride that King stallion. We all have been caught guilty—King men have magnetic personalities.” She giggles. “And of course, Martin called me the moment he left the office, so don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
Feeling my whole body heating up with embarrassment, I grab the glass of water and start chugging it, trying to suppress my desire to throw it at my sister’s head.
“So? Will you come?”
“No.” My tone is clipped. “My work and life are complicated enough without trying to survive your family dinner.”
“It’s your family too,” she says gently. “But I understand. The offer stands if you change your mind.”
We finish lunch with lighter conversation—her new fashion line, my tiny apartment’s latest maintenance disaster—and unspoken questions hovering between us.
“Are you going back to your studio?” I ask, while I try to steal a piece of chicken from her plate.
“Later. I need to go and meet with Jeff about a nonprofit gala I’m throwing next month.”
“He’ll be playing?”
“Of course.” She nods. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Even though we work at the same building with only ten floors separating us, I’ve been to her studio only twice since I started working for King Developers, and was sort of looking forward to walking back to the office together today. It feels nice to have a sister again, so maybe I should reconsider the dinner invitation.
