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She shifted her arm and glared up at him. ‘He’s a single dad, Rick. His wife died over a year ago, but I hardly wanted to bring that up while introducing you to the guy. God, Rick. What sort of person do you think I am?’
‘I see you so infrequently, Siena,’ he said, his face hard, ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know.’
‘Well, know that I would never date a married man, or actively not date one, as the case may be. And, to put your troubled mind at rest, I have no intention of throwing my terrible self at nice James Dillon either. I’m leaving tomorrow. There would be no point.’
‘So how about your fellow in New York? Why didn’t the fact you were leaving the next day stop you from hanging out with him?’
She glared at him from beneath her arm to find him spinning a grimy old soccer ball on the end of his finger. ‘James asked me out because he is a kind man and I agreed because I have seen enough of your ugly mug for one visit!’
Rick rocked back in his chair and watched her. ‘Here we go again.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You bounce about like a jumping bean while here, and bounce away before anything gets too settled. But this Dillon guy sees past the jumping bean, and that’s a rare quality. Probably more than you deserve.’
And there he was—the Rick she had run from the minute she’d had the chance. She was shocked it had taken him all of twenty-four hours to tell her she was worthless.
Siena’s blood quickly reached boiling point. Rick had cast off enough such throwaway comments at her as a kid that she had begun to believe them.
But she had shown him that she was better than that. She had shown the world she was better than that. She had flown into town for a personal meeting with Maximillian, for goodness’ sake! If that didn’t show Rick that she was deserving, then she had no idea what would.
Siena tried to sit up to defend herself but Rick threw the football at her and she slumped back into the couch, trapped and winded.
‘He’s a keeper, Siena,’ Rick continued. ‘He’s financially successful and, according to the girls who were watching you guys leave, he is—and I quote—a “hottie”. Don’t do a typical you and blow him off like you’ve blown off everyone else who has tried to get close to you.’
She managed to pull herself upright and keep her skirt from hiking under her armpits at the same time. ‘I don’t blow people off,’ she said.
‘That’s exactly what you do, Siena. You couldn’t give Dad the time of day from the second you became a teenager.’
I was a teenager! she wanted to scream. All teenage girls go through that cringe against their father. Especially ones who had always been daddy’s little girl. That didn’t mean that it was her fault that his heart had given way.
‘Heck, you tried to blow me off long ago,’ Rick said, ‘and you would have succeeded if I didn’t give you free rein on the end of a long rubber band. But I always knew you could never fly so far away that you would never spring back.’
‘Please! You have nothing on me.’
‘Of course I do. I am your family. As is my wife, who adores you. As are the twins, and I can see how your face turns all soft whenever they call you ‘Enna. And, as to little Rosie—she looks so like you did as a baby it brings tears to my eyes.’
‘Hang on a minute—’
‘Siena, do you really think you can pull anything over on me any more?’
She had tried, so many times, to break the pull and tug of authority and self-reliance that had framed her childhood, and in leaving she had always thought she’d won the tug-of-war for good. But now she was back she knew the war had never been over, it had just been an intermission.
A knock came at the door. It was one of Rick’s employees. ‘Um, yeah, hi. There’s a guy here in a blue suit and a funny hat who says he’s here for your sister.’
Siena stood and placed the football carefully on his desk to show Rick exactly how much more mature than him she was. ‘That will be Rufus. My driver. Thanks.’
The guy blushed beneath the grease streaks on his cheeks and left.
She waited for Rick to make some smart comment—wondering why she hadn’t used her driver the day before rather than crashing his car—but he instead let go of a long high whistle.
‘Well, you’d better fly. As always.’
‘Afternoon, Rufus,’ she said as he opened the back door of the thankfully air-conditioned limo for her.
‘Ms Capuletti. You really should have called me to drive you to your old neighbourhood yesterday,’ Rufus said as she slid into the back seat. ‘You could have been hurt.’
She thought she heard the words ‘women drivers’ muttered under his breath as he shut the door but she was too shocked to care.
