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At least now I have an opportunity to tell Methew the truth - that he has a daughter.
Back when I found out I was pregnant, I hadn't had the opportunity to tell him, and he had gotten married not long after. I didn't want to complicate his marriage by telling him, but I probably should have. It's an issue that's kept me torn and going back and forth between should I tell him or shouldn’t I for years.
After lasting what feels like decades, the song finally comes to an end, and I pull away from Methew.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, but I shake my head and make my escape. I don't want to stay with him or even be around him any more than just to tell him that he has a daughter.
I make my way back over to Charles and notice that he's very tense and guarded as he hands me my drink.
“Thank you,” I say with exasperation, before downing almost half of the liquid in the cup in one deep drink. I hate the discomfort of the situation. I want to tell him that I'm not interested in Methew, but I also know that I can't explain why I agreed to dinner on Saturday with Methew without telling Charles more than I’m willing to say. Charles still doesn't know I have a daughter, and I worry that’ll put my job in jeopardy. I didn't tell him the truth from the start and now too much time has passed.
“Is everything okay?”
I meet his gaze over the rim of my glass and give my head a quick nod. “It will be.”
I'm not at all convinced by my own words, and something tells me he's not either.
Chapter Twelve
Charles
There are so many questions I want to ask her, but now doesn't seem to be the time or the place.
I have to keep reminding myself that I'm here to congratulate my friends on their upcoming child, not interrogate my cook and the woman I've been catching feelings for about her relationship with the man that has been trying to sabotage my life.
Although Alisha doesn't seem to have any qualms as she turns to me. “Tell me how you're part of Club Red.” There's a slight slur to her words, as if the half glass of Long Island iced tea she's already drunk is affecting her.
I take the glass out of her hand with a smile. “Arson owns the club and I'm friends with Arson.”
Her eyes narrow, as if she knows that's not quite the extent of my participation here. “So you're not part of the other activities that go on here?”
I could push back and ask her how she knows about the activities that go on in this club, but I know the place has quite the extensive reputation, so there's no certainty that I’d get an answer beyond her pointing that detail out to me.
“I have been a part of the activities that go on here, yes.” There's no reason to lie to her. If this is something that's going to turn her off from my company, then that's better put out in the open before we get any deeper. Because if I'm being completely honest, I am starting to develop feelings for Alisha. I don't want to start what could wind up being a relationship if she feels the same spark with a lie.
I can tell by the way her expression falls that that’s not the answer she was hoping for. “Laurel and Arson recommended me to you as a chef. You all know one another and everybody at this club are friends.” And she says the words, some kind of realization seems to set in, and she shifts her weight, her expression troubled.
Though she doesn't say anything else, she refuses to meet my gaze, and I sense her becoming more and more agitated; her breathing quickens, the pulse of the base of her throat kicks up, and she seems uncomfortable in her skin.
She reaches out and takes her glass back from my hand and downs the rest of the drink before gripping the glass like a lifeline to her chest, similar to how Laurel is clutching her wine.
“Is everything okay?” I've been asking that question a lot tonight, but it's important to me to know that she's comfortable, and I can tell right now that she's not.
She shakes her head. “Not at all, but it will be, thank you for asking.”
I don't like how her expression has suddenly gone pale and how the hollow at the base of her throat has bottomed out. All of her body language speaks to her stress, and I don't feel good forcing her to stay here when she’s obviously distressed.
“Would you like to leave?”
Her gaze finally meets mine, and I see the surprise there. “I'm not going to make you miss the party because I'm uncomfortable.”
I shake my head. “It's not like that at all; your comfort is important to me, and Arson and Laurel will both understand if we need to leave.” I know my friends. I don't even have to give them a reason - if I say we need to go, they're going to trust that I’m serious.
She winds her arms around herself. “I don't want us to leave because of me. I swear, I'm fine.”
I reach out and drag my index finger knuckle down her forearm. “If you want anyone to believe that you’re fine, you should probably try to relax.”
She smiles, as if sensing I have her back and releases her death grip on herself. I pull her into a hug slowly, giving her plenty of time to refuse and push me away, but she doesn't. “Breathe with me.” A second after I say the words, I inhale a deep breath and feel her mirroring my movement. Holding the air in my lungs for a count of five, I slowly release it, feeling her do the same.
