Parker laughs. “Right. Because you’ve handled things so well up till this point.”
“Parker.” I sigh. “You’re not helping.”
“We have to go,” Nate says, glancing at his watch. It’s almost seven. “Your sister still needs to pack a bag, and we have…” He trails off, and a funny look crosses his face as his eyes meet Parker’s. “…that thing at eight.”
“I’m not packing,” I insist. “And what thing are you talking about?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Nate says. “And if you don’t pack, I’ll do it for you, and none of your shit will match. I know how you feel about your goddamned shoes.” He glances down at my Louboutins. “Can only imagine the horror if you were stranded without your perfectly coordinated outfits.”
I glare at him. “Again: you’re a jackass.”
“Boo,” he yells, ignoring my insult. “Come!”
The Pom comes running from behind Parker, skidding to a stop by Nate’s boots with a look of adoration on his doggie face.
Traitor.
An instant later, Nate’s pulled the leash from my limp hands, snapped it back on Boo’s collar, and is tugging us both toward the door. Parker’s close on our heels.
“Parker.” My father’s voice is steady as he calls after us.
We turn to look at him.
“Stay behind a moment.” Milo stares at his son. “I have something else to discuss with you.”
Parker sighs deeply. “Dad, if you want me to set you up with one of my model friends, just send me an email.”
“Must you turn everything into a joke?” Dad snaps, eyes flashing.
Parker shrugs. “I mean, it’s not a requirement, but—”
“Enough. This isn’t the time for foolishness.” My father presses a hand to his head, as though this half hour conversation with his children has shaved years off his life.
I look at Parker, mouthing silent words in his direction like we used to do at the dinner table on the rare occasions Milo was home to eat with us.
Want me to stay?
“Save yourself,” he murmurs, pushing me toward the door. “I’ll catch up with you guys. If not at your place, then later. At the thing.”
I roll my eyes and stomp out before the jackass who owns my heart can grab me again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Supposedly, an orchid will re-bloom
after a 6-12 month resting period.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Phoebe West, on her way home from the
florist with a trunk full of new plants.
The car is totally silent as Nate steers us toward Back Bay. Even Boo lies still on my lap, seeming to sense the intense atmosphere between us. My fingers move absently in his fur as I stare out the window, doing my best to ignore Nate’s existence.
He thinks he can order me around? Shove me on a plane and ship me off, out of the way, like some invalid? Like I’m an inconvenience?
My teeth mash together as anger and frustration swirl in my stomach. I’ve never been so mad at him in my life.
When we approached the SUV, I actually contemplated climbing into the back seat, just to have some space from him, but doing so would’ve shown how much he affects me and frankly, I’m a little too proud for that.
His hands are clenched tight around the wheel and every time I glance his way, I see the muscle jumping in his cheek, a telltale sign he’s pissed off. I don’t know why he’s so angry — he’s not the one being shipped off like unwanted cargo — but by the time we pull up in front of my brownstone, I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t spontaneously combusted. His rage — at me, at my father, at the entire situation — is apparent in every muscle in his body.
The engine shuts off and we sit frozen at the curb in total silence.
“This isn’t your problem,” I say finally, when I can’t bear the quiet any longer.
He cuts a look in my direction that’s so intense, I nearly pee my pants.
“Not my problem?”