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Despite knowing little about her, I feel like I’m not seeing the real Presley tonight.
“Tell me about you,” I say, leaning back in the chair, trying not to laugh at her deer-in-headlights look.
“Why?”
“We were going to be family—I’m interested.”
“Emphasis on thewere, past tense. Your interest comes several days too late.” She crosses one leg over the other and my eyes catch the rise of her skirt hem as it creeps up her thighs, revealing the part of her legs where her black stockings are sheerest. There’s a tiny run, capped with the tell-tale shining reflection of a dot of nail polish. An imperfection. “Unless you’re after some kind of sick revenge for my devious getaway by making me talk about myself.”
I chuckle. “Come on, it’s not that bad. I thought people liked to talk about themselves—isn’t that the first tenant of dating?”
“One, this is not a date. Two, talking about yourself too much is egotistical.” She tugs the skirt down, but it slides back up the second she releases the fabric. “In fact, the whole reason I came out tonight was to do precisely the opposite. Drink until I forget that I’m an idiot, go home and sleep until lunchtime tomorrow and then be a slovenly mess until bedtime. No talking necessary.”
Hmm. Presley is going to be a tough nut to crack. I’d expected her to be ready to spill her guts, ready to cry on someone’s shoulder about how horrible my stepbrother is so that she could get it all out and, in the process, give me something useful to take to my father in support that Mike isn’t fit to be CEO. But Presley is a steel trap.
“Tell me about your sister, then. Identical twins? Comes in quite handy, I see.”
“We don’t pull the twin switch often. In fact, I’m pretty sure the last time it happened we were still living at home.” Presley’s face suddenly changes when she talks about her sister. Like she relaxes. “Drew always looks out for me.”
The waiter reappears with our drinks and I hold my squat crystal tumbler out to Presley’s fancier glass. She clinks it against mine and takes a sip, immediately coughing.
“See, rocket fuel.”
“It’s great,” she wheezes, stubborn as hell. “I love it.”
“Sure you do.”
She takes another sip, steeling herself as if to prove a point. Presley’s not the kind of person who likes to feel like she can’t keep up, that much is obvious. “When are you going back to Sydney?” she asks.
“Eager to get rid of me?”
She laughs. “You’re not the only one who can be curious.”
“I’m staying for a while.” Not that I’ve told anyone in my family yet—that surprise will come soon enough. “Got things to take care of.”
“Like taking over a family business?” She tilts her head, studying me.
“Who said that?”
She lifts one shoulder into a shrug. Her cheeks are pink—it’s warm in here and she places her drink down so she can slip out of her leather jacket. I try not to stare as she peels it from her body, exposing rounded shoulders and fair skin, starkly contrasted with the black-lace trim of the silky top she wears. Its straps are so delicate, I could snap them with the gentlest of tugs. A slim gold chain sits nestled against her collarbone, the links so fine they look more like a sprinkling of fairy dust.
“Mike was feeling insecure about taking over the company—and he’s not a man who feels insecure as often as he should.” She makes a soft snorting noise. “There had to be a reason for that. His father doesn’t strike me as the type to bring an outsider in, which means Mike was feeling threatened by someone closer to home. And that would be you.”
“Prodigal son...of sorts.”
“Exactly.” She smooths her palm over the velvet couch, back and forth as though enjoying the way the pile shifts.
“Maybe I’m home because I’m ready to admit I’ve made a mess of things with my dad,” I say. “He’s not getting any younger. He’s retiring at sixty for a reason.”
Her guarded expression drops, eyebrows knitting above her fine, pert nose. “What reason?”
Mike hadn’t told her? Figures. He probably kept her out of the loop on a lot of things—easier for him to keep his power that way. But Presley’s worried expression tells me she holds some affection for my father, despite everything that’s happened.
“He had a heart attack a couple months ago. It’s his second.” I’d wanted to fly down to see him, but tensions were still high and my stepmother had asked me not to come because it might put further strain on his heart. “The stress of his job has been slowly killing him.”
Presley pressed a palm to her chest, her mouth hanging open. “I had no idea.”
“He’ll be fine, but he needs to step back from work. The CEO role is a big load. He’s planning to serve as a board member only and leave the day-to-day running of the company to someone else,” I explain. “The doctor warned him lots of men in his position don’t take action early enough and sometimes...it’s too late.”
