He extends his hand toward me, and without thinking, I take it.
“And who are you?” He asks when I don’t offer my name. He’s smirking at me like he thinks I’m funny.
“She’s no one.” Cammie comes up beside us and yanks our hands apart.
“Cammie!” he chides. He looks at her fondly, and then back at me. Her boyfriend? No. Cammie is not this guy’s type.
Cammie screams Sam’s name. He comes trotting around the corner, eating a bag of chips. “Take her home!” she says, giving me a dirty look.
The man cocks his head. He points to Sam and seems to be trying to make some kind of mental connection. When his eyes return to my face, he appears to have put the pieces together. His whole face lights up.
“You’re Leah,” he says in amazement. He’s wearing eyeglasses. I want him to take them off so I can see his eyes better.
“And you are?”
He’s re-extending his hand. Before I can re-take it, Cammie smacks it away.
“Dude,” she says, pointing at him. “Let’s not play this game.”
He ignores her. “I’m Noah,” he says.
I’m overtaken by his kindness. I’m overtaken by his — Oh, God! Olivia’s husband!
I compose myself before I audibly groan. This is a party for Olivia. I am at her best friend’s house, staring her husband in the face. Oh. My. God.
“I better go,” I mumble to Noah’s delighted face. Cammie is vigorously nodding her head. Noah is shaking his.
“You don’t look half as crazy as I thought you’d look.”
Did he really just say that?
“Olivia said something about a redheaded gargoyle with fangs.”
I blink at him. So, she’d told him about me. I wonder if she mentioned the little apartment-trashing stunt … or the driving her out of town stunt … or the trial? For some strange reason, I don’t want him to think I’m a bad person.
“Noah,” Cammie says, shaking his arm. “Can you not engage with the enemy? We have things to do.”
“She’s not the enemy,” he says, never taking his eyes from mine. “She’s a dirty fighter.” Yup, he knows. I feel like I’m in a trance. If this guy told me to drink the Kool-Aid, I would probably do it. Fuck it. I would absolutely drink the Kool-Aid.
Olivia married sexy Ghandi. No wonder she loves her husband. I clear my throat and look around the yard. “So, is this party for her?”
Cammie squeals somewhere in the background, Noah nods. “Yes, her birthday. It’s a surprise.”
How nice. No one throws me birthday parties. I swallow hard and step away from the table.
“It was nice meeting you,” I say. “Sam?”
He’s at my elbow in a second, steering me toward the gate. I glance over my shoulder at Olivia’s husband. He’s messing with the speaker. Cammie’s hands are flailing about, no doubt expressing her sentiments about me as he ignores her.
Hot damn. What does this woman have that I don’t? Why do men like Noah and my husband fall in love with her?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Past
The pressure at work changed after I found out about the doctored Prenavene results. It was like he knew I had unfurled his secret, and he was out to make me pay. The attention I had always desired from him was suddenly there. Except it wasn’t the warm, fatherly love I’d hoped for. He became hostile and demanding, often insulting me in front of people. There were a few times I’d look up to see him staring at me; the look on his face so acutely angry I’d feel lightheaded. I longed for the furrow I’d hidden myself in when he hadn’t known I existed. It was safer out of his eyesight. The most important question was: how had he found out?
It was Cash. It had to be. I'd asked her detailed questions about the trial run. She must have squealed to my father. And what made it worse was the way my father was treating her — like a long lost f**king daughter.
The caka hit the fan a week before my birthday. My father called an emergency family meeting at the house. Caleb thought it was weird, but I knew what was coming. I thought about prepping him in the car on the ride over, but thought it would be better coming from Charles Austin, the pharmaceutical fraud. That way I could play innocent and pretend I knew nothing about the shenanigans.
When we arrived at the house, everyone was waiting for us in the family room. I slid into a loveseat with Caleb, who was surveying the gathering with mounting suspicion. He looked at me to see if I knew anything and I shrugged. My sister, who was sitting next to my mother, looked at me with sudden realization on her face.
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you? That’s what this is about.”
I shook my head, shocked at her lack of emotional thermostat. Nothing bad ever touched my sister. I felt a moment of jealousy that reached twenty shades of green.
“Johanna’s not having a baby,” my father said. “This is something more serious, I’m afraid.”
For a minute, I wondered what could be more serious than a baby. Would he even let my baby call him Grandpa? Caleb was tense beside me. When Daddy said the bit about the baby, Caleb grabbed my hand and squeezed.
My father looked at Caleb when he spoke. That’s the way it was with him. If there was a man in the room, that’s who he’d look at — even if he was about to inform his wife and daughter about his imminent demise.
I listened to the whole thing, clutching my husband’s hand as if it were the only thing tethering me to my sanity. Despite the anger I felt for my father, I hoped he wouldn’t be in too much trouble. Was that possible when you did something like that?