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Little did he know how out of control she felt with her life and current situation. Living large and being outspoken did little to help her when Errol, Flynn, and their hyena of a mother, Ariana, conspired against her and the people she loved, with the full force of their wealth and influence backing them. As well as their knack for bribery and corporate espionage.
Lucas asked, “So, how do I know when she’s crossed a line?”
God, he smelled so good. Different from when he had been working out. Although that was a hedonistic, olfactory experience as well. Today he smelled clean, like Ivory soap and aftershave, alongside strong notes of testosterone-infused bad boy… capable of doing really dirty and delicious things to her body when naked and mounted on top of him, while sitting in a chair…
It took a moment for Birdie to get back on track with the conversation. “Well, when she called you an asshole, for one. But the good news is that you handled it like a champ and sent her to her room.”
“But now she won’t come out.”
“Make her.”
“How?”
“You are aware that you are the parent and hold the keys to the kingdom?”
“You want me to unlock her bedroom door?”
“That was a metaphor. No, I’m suggesting you tell her she has to come downstairs for dinner and discuss things like a calm and rational adult.”
“And if she says no?”
“Tell her that’s fine. More food for you. And then you tell her that you’re going to take her to church, and that’s that. Nonnegotiable. The agreement was, you got to spend time with her when you’re not at work. That includes Sundays, and therefore you will be taking her to church service, on Sunday.”
His criminally long eyelashes looked up at her, knowingly. “You don’t want to take her?”
It only took a moment for all of her self-confidence to deflate, feeling anxious and itchy.
She shook her head. “I can’t, Lucas. I know that doesn’t make sense. My parents never even attended the local church. But I can’t take her, and I don’t know where to begin to explain why. I just… know my limitations, and attending church is one of them.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll take her,” he said, reaching out to run his hands up and down her arms. “Have you told her about your parents?”
“Not yet. But I will. Just waiting for the right time.”
“I don’t think there is a right time for something like that. She needs to hear it from you before someone else with far less sensitivity tells her.”
“I know.” She nodded repetitively. “I know I have to do it. Soon.”
His ankles were no longer crossed, and she found herself standing in between them, her hands on his chest, leaning close to him.
His rock-hard chest, that she vividly remembered being naked and sweaty days ago, an obvious representation of his manic commitment to a rigorous workout routine.
It seemed, whenever she was this close to him, despite her anxiety or lack of self-worth, he had a way of knowing what to say, and how to say it, that calmed her and made her feel, in a way, important. Unlike when they were younger, BBST.
Now, standing inches from him she almost felt inextricably tied to him but at the same time, kept at a safe, discernible distance.
Much like the tangled heap in the corner of the room, she too was irreparably damaged but doing her best to remain within reach. Hoping that, like the stupid chair, he wouldn’t have the heart to let her go. What would she give for Lucas Santos to decide, despite her emotional splinters and torn wrappings, to keep her?
Running through impossible scenarios was pointless. Birdie needed to remain focused.
“Another thing,” she said. “I need a job. Like, yesterday.”
He was allowing her to remain within his personal space and she would take it. Shamefully. Every little crumb of attention.
He seemed distracted as well, finally asking, “Your husband’s estate hasn’t been resolved?”
“Something like that. It’s complicated. Are there any openings that you know of? Maybe you could put in a good word for me? Call in some favors, like you did with Erma?”
“Bird, if you’re short on cash, I can help you out. Consider it child support.”
