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I make a face, sourness swirling in my stomach. I already told him I would let him know as soon as I decided. He doesn’t need to remind me like I’m a child. I’m not going toforgetabout needing a divorce.
And what bothers me even more is the detached tone. He didn’t even bother with aHi. I stare at the message, debating how to respond.
“Everything okay?”
I shut off my phone. “Great.”
“Ex?”
“Husband,” I mutter, glaring at the glass of water.
“You’re married?”
I glance up, almost wanting to smile at the guy’s crestfallen expression. It’s flattering. And also the perfect out.
“Yes.”
“Dammit.”
I do smile this time. “On the bright side, you didn’t break your rule.”
“Miss? Your table is ready.”
I glance over at the uniformed waitress and nod, grabbing my clutch and water. “Have a good night,” I tell him before following the waitress toward the back of the restaurant.
The table is empty, and I experience a trickle of worry. It’s not like my dad to be late. He’s lived in LA for four decades; he knows what a realistic driving time is. And for this meeting in particular, I would have expected him to plan ahead.
I butter a piece of bread while looking over the menu, hoping it’ll appease my growling stomach. I only picked at my sandwich at lunchtime, still processing my conversations with both Kensington men.
Five minutes later, I’m still sitting alone. A few of the other diners are casting me pitying looks. At least this isn’t a table for two. It looks like I was stood up by a group, not on a date. Which is slightly better. I think.
Finally, I spot my father. Hastily, I swallow the last bite of the bread. Take a sip of water and wipe my mouth, careful not to smudge my lipstick.
“Sorry, Hannah,” he says, straightening his tie. “There was an accident on the 405. And I was on the phone with Tracy, talking through a contract issue, so I couldn’t call.”
“It’s fine, Dad.”
“David, this is my daughter, Hannah. Hannah, this is David McKenna, who coaches the Bobcats.”
I shake the hand David offers. He’s about a decade younger than my father, gray creeping from his temples and wrinkles webbing from his eyes, probably from squinting at a field. “Nice to meet you, David.”
“Likewise.” He’s no-nonsense and respectful. I like him immediately.
“And this is Logan Cassidy.”
I turn toward the other man with my father, surprise and dread warring for space.
Logan looks just as shocked. He didn’t know who I was at the bar. He’s probably worried hitting on me might affect his chances of representation.
And I…I’ve told exactly one person about my marriage since I woke up in Vegas. One stupid, offhand comment to a man I thought I’d never see again.
Logan looks away from me, at my father. “I just want to clear the air, sir.”
My stomach sinks as blood whooshes in my ears. It feels like everything is sped up and slowing down at the same time. Like I’m watching a vase fall from across the room, knowing I’ll never be able to reach it in time and that it’s going to break.
I know exactly what is about to happen and have no clue how to stop it.
“I had no idea who Hannah was when I approached her at the bar, and I just want to make it clear that I would never flirt with a married woman. I know your company is known for valuing character, and I just—”
