“Yes, sir,” Cher says, still grappling with her composure. She blinks several times when she looks down, as though she’s stared too long at the sun and is trying to rid her vision of the residual bright spots. “I, uh, we can certainly take care of whatever needs you might have. We are full service and offer twenty-four-hour coverage if you’d have a need of—”
“I don’t think we’re in that bad a shape. I think day and evening coverage should suffice, don’t you, Weatherly?”
Is that laughter I see in his eyes? Does he find my discombobulation amusing?
“I agree. I think we can make do with someone in the mornings and again in the late afternoon to prepare dinner and such.”
Cher nods. “We’re happy to provide that. I just have a few details I’ll need and then I have some paperwork for you to look over.”
“Of course, I—”
The bang of a car door out front has me stiffening all over again. That has to be my father.
Tag, ever observant, notices immediately. “Go,” he says, tipping his head toward the foyer. “I’ll take care of this. You can make a list of what you want for tomorrow. Cher and I can take care of today.”
I’m torn. I need to go greet my father, but I want to stay and work out the details with Cher. The last thing I need is for the household to appear to be falling apart because of Tag’s sick mother. My father is already going to be very unhappy about this situation. The last thing I need to do is give him a reason to toss them all out the door.
I have to admit to wanting to hang around in here because of Cher’s overly bright smile, too. As Tag explains what he’d like prepared for lunch and dinner (which actually sounds quite delicious), Cher watches him with stars in her eyes. She keeps taking deep breaths, which only draws attention to the ample chest straining against the linen of her shirt.
I curse the stab of jealousy as I make my way out of the kitchen and into the foyer to greet my father. I stop just before I step out into his line of sight and take a cleansing, calming breath, reminding myself that I’m a grown woman and this is my fate we’re dealing with, too.
I feel more prepared to face William O’Neal after my ten-second pep talk. My smile is perfectly polite and unruffled when I step out into the foyer. “Hi, Dad,” I say, catching my father just as he steps through the door.
“Weatherly, Weatherly,” he says, shaking his head, his tone rife with disappointment.
He has no idea just how disappointed he’s going to be on this trip, I think to myself as I give him my cheek.
Let the games begin.
TWELVE
Tag
Cher is interested. Very interested. I can see it in the way she licks her pouty lips so often. I can see it in the way she sat up a little straighter, just enough to emphasize her plump tits, when Weatherly left the room. I can see it in the way she smiles at almost everything I say. She’s being professional for the most part, but if we were meeting under different circumstances, I seriously doubt she’d be this discreet. I’ve known a hell of a lot of women like her. At this point, I can pick them out of a crowd. And while on any other day I’d probably make some arrangements to meet up with her later—or, hell, even take a little detour to the broom closet as I show her around the house—the only thing on my mind right now is Weatherly. With her in my head, I find it hard to really notice anyone else.
She’s out there by herself trying to deal with her father. I’ve thrown a twist into the already-complicated relationship they obviously have. When he finds out about me, she’s going to have an even bigger mess to clean up with him. He’ll think I’m all wrong for her. She probably thinks so, too. Deep down, anyway. The problem is they’re wrong about the things that make me inadequate for her in their eyes. They have no idea about the real reasons I’m wrong for her.
THIRTEEN
Weatherly
I haven’t had a chance to speak to Dad privately since he got here. Our ten-second run-in standing in the foyer was quickly interrupted by Tag touring Cher through the house. He winked at me as he passed, and nodded to my father, but otherwise, he didn’t pause in his chatter with the redhead.
“Who is that?” my father asked.
“Tag. You’ve met him before.”
“Not Tag. I know Tag, for chrissake. The redhead. Who is that?”
“We are hiring a service to take care of the cooking and the housekeeping while you and Michael are here. Stella isn’t well. She doesn’t need to be tending to us right now.”
At least my father had the good grace to appear worried and to express some concern. “Isn’t well? What’s the matter? It’s nothing serious, I hope.”