Damn it.
“Hello, Father.”
Her voice sounds different.
When he looked up, he spotted a blush rise along the side of her neck.
“Oh, hello, Katie. I should have known.” There was a pause. “Why doesn’t he ask me himself? And don’t say he’s too busy or that he’s not available. He’s standing right there, isn’t he?”
She fixed her eyes on Clarke. He watched her lip curl.
“Father,” she said in a snarky tone. “There you are. You’ll never guess who I’m with right now. Sir Leo Clarke. We’re in the men’s room at the Royal Horseguards Hotel. I’ll put you on speakerphone so you can say hi to him.”
Clarke’s eyes blew open.
“Say hello, Sir Clarke,” she said, holding the phone up to him.
Shaking his head, he stumbled backwards. He couldn’t escape the feeling that there was some kind of force field around the woman and if he was caught within its range he would be compelled to do her bidding.
“Cecilia,” a man said. “I don’t have time for your antics. While it wouldn’t surprise me to discover you in the men’s room of a five-star hotel, it would surprise me to find Sir Clarke with you.”
She chuckled, her eyes on him. “Oh, really.”
“Enough. There’s no reason this couldn’t be managed through Katie.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to his daughter. There’s no warmth there.
“But since you insist, I’d like you to ask Anker to come to a party I’m having. It’s right after the Austin race, so he’ll be nearby. It’s Timmy’s birthday. He and his friends would be thrilled.”
That playful expression vanished.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes.” She paused. “His birthday?”
“His fifth.”
“Yes.” He watched her swallow with difficulty. “I can bring him.”
“That isn’t necessary. He can come on his own. He won’t have to stay long. Katie can give him the particulars. I’ll have her reach out to you for his contact information.”
The line went dead. The man didn’t even say goodbye. Or thank you.
Tossing the phone back in her purse, she avoided meeting Clarke’s gaze and walked up to one sink. He used the one beside it.
Once she placed her hands under the water, she began to sing a song that included just about every synonym for the wordpenis—dong, stiffy, dick, etc.
Don’t look up, he told himself, staring at his hands under the stream of water.
That’s what she wants. She wants to see some kind of puritanical look of horror on my face.
He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
When he moved to turn off the tap, she stopped her singing.
“Not yet. Not until I’ve finished. That way you’ll know you’ve washed thoroughly.”
And like some kind of obedient puppy, he obeyed, forgetting that he’d already met the twenty-second minimum.
