The One For Me (Danver #8)(58)

He’d learned long ago that things would continue to escalate unless he gave his father the outlet he was seeking, which was usually an opportunity to flex his imaginary muscle. When his grandfather had turned the family company over to him, his father had nearly gone ballistic. Mark couldn’t understand how his father was the only one who didn’t see it coming. After all, Mark had taken a stagnant company and shot it straight to the top, ahead of all of their competition. His business instincts were spot-on almost without fail, and that was something that his shrewd grandfather had picked up on right away. Therefore, while his father lived the life of an overgrown playboy, Mark quietly took control and never looked back. And his parents cursed him for it even as they ran through the money he made for them like water.

His parents shared a bizarre relationship. He knew that they both had lovers and didn’t bother to hide their affairs from each other. Yet they had each other’s backs in a way that Mark would never comprehend, considering the state of their marriage. No doubt money played a part, as his mother was used to living the good life. When he was forced to spend time with them, he never ceased to be amazed by their actions, even though he should know what to expect from them by now. His mother would pretend for a few hours that she actually gave a damn about what was going on in Mark’s life, and his father would go through a rehearsed list of all of the ways that Mark had embarrassed and failed them. It was almost like some childish bid for attention.

During the time that he was with them, his father would toss back one drink after another while his mother ate a couple of bites of salad. Then she would produce a compact from her purse and carefully reapply her lipstick and touch the skin under her eyes as if checking for any new wrinkles. If was as if she didn’t hear a single word that her husband slurred out.

Looking at them tonight across the table, he’d felt something in addition to the usual anger and impatience. He’d had an epiphany of sorts. He’d avoided relationships all of his adult life because he’d been terrified of becoming what his parents were. Hell, it hadn’t been long ago that his friend Brant had accused him of having mommy and daddy issues and he’d laughed in agreement and told him that he’d even throw in some grandparent issues as well. He’d been moody that day because he’d just finished dealing with his father’s latest tantrum. He’d shown up drunk and disorderly at the DeSanto Group’s Charleston headquarters, and Hank, one of the security guards there, had been forced to call Mark and ask what to do. That had been one of the worst instances since his father had swung at Hank before being subdued. Just another fucking moment of family embarrassment.

But tonight, when he’d been at his lowest point of the evening—ready to toss his napkin on the table, have the jet fueled, and leave the country—his phone had chimed. He’d pulled it from his pocket, welcoming any excuse to block out his father’s grating voice. There had been a surprising text that instantly soothed his despair and brought a smile to his lips. Hey, DeStudo . . . I’ll never complain about being a booty call again. Could use one right about now. . . . A smiley face followed the comment.

She would never know how much he had needed that text from her tonight. He’d quickly hit the REPLY button and typed, Wish I could oblige, Angel. . . . You okay? Regardless of her words, he didn’t think she was necessarily trying to sext him. He had a feeling that like himself, she might have had a rough evening and just needed to reach out. It was already after ten, and he hoped like hell he could get out of here soon so he could call her before she went to bed. He longed to hear her sweet voice and her laughter tonight. Normally, after a hellish dinner like this, he’d be looking for someone to take the edge off for a few hours. Physical exertion followed by a release—or several of them. Right now, though, the idea of a one-night stand held no appeal for him.

He was still holding his phone when she responded, I’m fine . . . but I miss you. As he sat reading her words and wondering why the sentiment she’d expressed wasn’t freaking him out, another one chimed right behind it. Crap! I shouldn’t have said that. I mean—we barely know each other and now you’re going to think I’m some kind of clinger. He’d no sooner finished reading that comment when another popped up. He couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. She went on berating herself for at least two minutes before there was a lull in the action. God, he loved how adorably rattled she got when she was nervous. He could only imagine how flustered she was right about now.