Maybe he didn’t want her to know what we are yet?
Hell,Idon’t even know what we are.
Except…that’s a lie, isn’t it?
I knowexactlywhat he is to me, even if I haven’t accepted it yet.
“I meanJean-Michel’sdaughter.” Christ, this is awkward. “I—” I struggle to find the right words for this situation.
“I’m Rory,” the blonde says.
I shake her hand, thankful for the interruption, for the distraction. “Nice to meet you.”
After which I run out of words again and an awkward silence grows.
“Um,” Chrissy says softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you to my father?”
“I—” I tuck my hair behind my ear, struggling to find the words. “I guess, I don’t know. He…well, I paid for his food the other day when he lost his wallet and phone?—”
“He lost hisphone?” she asks incredulously.
“I guess something happened at the vineyard.” I shrug. “He was just trying to buy some lunch, so I took care of it, and he didn’t like that?—”
“No, I bet not,” Rory says, her mouth curling up.
“He insisted on paying me back and…” I look around the immaculate, expensive office. “Now, somehow, I’m here.”
“He worked his fairy godfather magic is how.”
I glance back at Rory, see her mouth is tipped up.
“It’s kind of his superpower,” she adds.
I think of the food and the door and the exquisite morning in my bed, and I know she’s right.
Same as I know my cheeks are on fire.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess it is.”
That quiet falls again, and God, this is so strange, so awkward, so?—
“You want to grab something to eat?”
My head jerks up, studying Chrissy’s face. “Jean-Mi—Jean-Michel,”I correct, “said that someone was going to bring me something—we were going to go out, but there was a problem.” Both of the women nod like they’ve had plenty of experience with theproblemsthat come with Jean-Michel’s business interests, and I suppose they have, considering Chrissy’s his daughter and Rory seems to know him well. “I don’t want whatever he arranged to go to waste?—”
“Oh, we can take care of that,” Rory says, moving closer and lacing her arm through mine. “This okay?” she asks, and I barely have time to nod before she’s drawing us forward. “We’re just eating in the cafe downstairs. We’ll check with Donnie”—one of Jean-Michel’s assistants and the one who was sitting in a desk right outside the door when I came in—“if he’s already ordered, we’ll grab it when we’re down there.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, if that’s the case?—”
“Great!” she starts hauling me forward.
“I—my purse?—”
“I’ve got it,” Chrissy says, sweeping to the table. “Do you need the cards too?”
I shake my head. “I can come back for them late?—”
But I’m out the door before I finish my sentence and then Rory is calling to Donnie. “Did you already order Tiff lunch?”
