One that was positioned to make it look like she was there with Tripp and not his father.
There was one of Tripp talking to Clark that must’ve taken place when I was in the study. It was a great picture, even if it didn’t accurately portray that strained relationship. The last was again angled strategically. It must’ve been from when we got into the dining room because the staff was still there. I was partially inframe, but with the angle and the way Tripp was standing, it made it seem like I was part of the household staff.
“Tony sent it,” he said, shaking his head. “He and my publicist think Clark and I should do more together since this is getting some buzz.” His lips tipped down as he looked at me. “Do me a favor, don’t repost any of this shit.”
“Of course not.”
My shoulders loosened when the video looped with only the lone sighting of me. Considering there’d been a point at dinner when Tripp had been using my hand to touch his dick under the table, it could’ve been worse.
It also likely explained why Josh had reached out after weeks of silence. Because although the glimpse was quick and obstructed, he’d probably recognized me.
Hopefully, he takes my hang up as a hint.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SEEMS LIKE THE RUMORS WERE WRONG. BORING
GREER
Standing in the hallway ofthe small but surprisingly tidy apartment building, I paced. I lifted my hand before dropping it. I moved toward the stairwell, going down three steps before backtracking to the door.
Quit being a coward.
The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can go to Gilded.
That was incentive enough—inappropriate as it might be—and I finally knocked on the door. It opened instantly.
“I was wondering which way the coin was going to land,” my dad said by way of greeting, making it obvious he’d been observing my indecision through the peephole.
Oops.
“I was wondering, too,” I said honestly.
“Come in.”
Like the rest of the building, his apartment was basic but nice.
He gestured to a couch. “Are you thirsty?” I was about to decline since my stomach was doing more flips than an Olympic gymnast when he tacked on, “I made you orange lime water.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
He went into the kitchen before returning with a plastic cup. “My finest glassware.”
I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.
I’d known seeing my dad would be hard. That the feelings I’d worked so hard to compartmentalize would come rushing free. I’d expected betrayal. Frustration. Anger.
Any of those would’ve been easy. Welcome, even.
My gaze darted around the room for some sign that Gloria had been there because Iwantedto feel indignant rage.
But there was no evidence of her, which wasn’t surprising. The no-frills apartment didn’t fit into her life of leisure. Neither did my father without his expensive wardrobe, loaded bank account, and celebrity connections.
With nothing to restoke my ire, I was left with one emotion.
Sadness.
Overwhelming sadness.
