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In the desert house, she wasn’t a part of discussions or decisions. It seemed doubtful that Zeus was including her out of any sense of fairness or respect. Harry would want to know that she was alive. Zeus would enjoy dangling her in front of him from across the ocean. She was a tool to them, just like she’d said.
“It’s rude to keep them waiting.”
“Vegas is eight hours behind us,” Zeus said, firm in his impatience. “They’ve barely finished lunch… I told them not to expect our call before two. There’s plenty of time for you to finish your meal.”
The food she hadn’t touched. It was rude to ignore it. The soup had tasted nice, and she would need her strength. The tension in her stomach, the worry and anger, filled her so much that food wasn’t high on her priority list. Still, she did her best to eat what she could.
Hugo talked business. Byron and Zeus didn’t often interrupt or comment. They probably weren’t listening. She sure wasn’t. Still, someone had to fill the air. His prattling saved her from opening her mouth and starting a fight.
The entrée was taken away, more wine poured, and dessert served. If they were going to eat like this every day, she’d need to find a gym… What a devastating thought. That she might be in the area long enough to need a routine.
If Zeus planned to be on the call to Harry with her, did that mean someone would be on the other end with her father? Garrick would be the obvious choice, though it was doubtful the three men would be ready to make plans just because she’d switched continents.
Would it be too much to hope?
SIXTEEN
AFTER DESSERT CAME a long lingering wine session accompanied later by cheese and crackers. Byron jawed about some charity ambassadorship. Every word grated on her, which was maybe why Zeus showed so much interest. The delays were intentional. Control came in many forms.
“I can talk to my father on my own,” she said, cutting Byron off mid-sentence.
Zeus’s body language had blocked her from the conversation for a while. She didn’t mind, in fact, she was grateful. By all popular accounts, President Byron was a good man linked to a bunch of altruistic causes. Now knowing he was Zeus-whipped and tied to a covert organization, her belief of his public persona withered and died.
“No,” Zeus said, sucking in a breath as he liberated his wrist from his cuff to check his watch. “I’m sure they’ll be ready for us now.”
If Harry cared about her at all, he’d be eager to see her. Worried about her. The Vegas side weren’t the ones putting off the conversation.
The host finished his wine before standing up. As soon as he rose, Byron and Hugo did too. Tess acted with them, not because she was jumping to please Zeus, but because she wanted to see her father.
With her focus on the man in front, following him, it was difficult to subdue the urge to push him or tell him to hurry up. Hugo and Byron were behind them. All four of them went into what appeared to be a den. A couch and two armchairs were arranged to face the wall.
Zeus picked up a remote control and pressed a button. A section of the wall descended to reveal a television. As he turned it on, someone knocked at the den door.
“Come,” Zeus ordered.
A server came shuffling in with a trolley carrying a bottle of champagne on ice and four flutes. What was there to celebrate? Nothing. The prop was meant to rankle her father. Yet, Zeus expected them to be allies? The longer she stayed, the harder that was to believe.
“Sit down,” Zeus said, pointing toward the couch.
Byron and Hugo were already in the armchairs, leaving her no choice except to follow the instruction. If it would get them on the call faster, she’d play along. Various things flashed on the screen as Zeus went through the process of linking them to the desert house. She’d expected voice not video. Technology was a mystery, though she couldn’t deny being happy. Seeing was so much better than just hearing.
A series of dots crossed the center of the screen. The server handed out champagne, pushed the trolley to Hugo’s side, and then left. Alcohol was of no interest to her. Without drinking, she leaned across to put it back on the trolley.
The dots stopped, the screen flashed, and then they were looking at the Vegas house. Garrick, standing at the end of the table in the rounded boardroom near the front door.
“My old friend,” Zeus declared, walking past her to go stand at the back of the couch.
“This is some play, Ulysses.”
“It’s not a play,” Zeus said from his central position. “It’s a solution. Is it just the two of us? Times have changed if Harry has no concern for his child.”
Maybe Zeus’s ignorance that Harry was protecting her mother all these years would work in their favor. Could be that Harry didn’t care and wouldn’t rise to the bait. Maybe—
Garrick stepped back to reveal the rest of the room just as Harry came striding in with Daire not far behind. Her breath caught in her throat. Her instinct was to rise, to talk, to say something that might reassure him. At the last second, her muscles seized, gluing her in place. If she showed any hint that Daire was her primary concern, or he showed it in return, the game would change fast and not in their favor.
“You motherfucker,” Harry declared, storming past the table to close in on the screen.
Her Heart stopped at the other side of the table, further away, hanging back, protecting his superior and yet… He was looking at her too. Those eyes on her felt tangible. Her lips parted just enough to let a breath in. Imagining she could taste his breath on the prelude to a kiss, she fought to keep her eyes open. His hands, his heart, his bed… She wanted to be there again, lying against him, wrapped in him, safe, happy.
