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Amanda
The Griffin house was more of a showplace than it had ever been a home. Amanda’s father lived upstairs, but the downstairs was designed to invite, impress, or intimidate, depending on the guest.
As she walked in the door, she gave the interior a detached once-over. The walls were an icy white, with thick ivory trim. They contrasted starkly with the dark wood floors. The entry boasted a high ceiling all the way to the second floor, where a curved staircase drew the eye. Much of the ground floor was an open plan, which was great for the shock and awe her dad loved so much. She could see all the heavy, expensive furniture, thick rugs, and crystal chandeliers in a single sweep of her gaze.
Terrence escorted her deeper into the house, though she knew the way. The older, soft-spoken butler had been with the family since she was a kid.
She smoothed her hands over her black pencil skirt before approaching the two men standing by the fireplace. Both Nathan and her father were sipping off glasses filled with amber liquid. Fifty-year-old Scotch, no doubt.
Her heels clicked on the oak panels as she advanced toward them. They both met her society mask with practiced, insincere smiles. Terrence disappeared silently into the background.
“You’re late, darling. I hope you didn’t encounter too much traffic on the way here.” Her father’s lie dripped off his tongue like honey. He had told her to be here at five o’clock and it was four fifty-five. Still, she knew better than to argue.
“I’m terribly sorry for keeping you waiting. You know how we women like to make ourselves look perfect. The time must have gotten away from me.” Rolling her eyes inwardly, she kissed her father’s cheek, then nodded at Nathan. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
His eyes slid appraisingly over her body, from the loose twist in her hair to her pale pink silk shirt, all the way to her counterfeit Louboutin’s. They were fakes—good fakes—but she had no doubt Nathan would know the difference. Her feet weren’t where his eyes lingered, though. “Don’t worry yourself, pet. You were worth the wait.”
She smiled tightly. “Shall I check on our meal?”
The men wouldn’t talk business while she was here, and she knew damn good and well their wheeling and dealing was the real reason for this dinner. Without waiting for an answer, she slipped away to confer with the chef. The heat of Nathan’s gaze nearly singed her skin, and she fought the urge to shudder.
Thank God, she wouldn’t have to endure him much longer.
The double doors offered no sound or resistance as she made her way into the kitchen. Quiet and compliant, like everything else her father surrounded himself with. The chef was putting the finishing touches on the tray of carved turkey. His head shot up as he sensed her approach.
“We are ready to serve, Mademoiselle.”
“Thank you, Jacques. We’ll be in the dining room.”
She’d hoped for an excuse to linger, but she should have known her father’s staff would be punctual to a fault. He would accept nothing less. Forcing her chin up, she returned to the fireplace where the men still had their heads together. She kept a respectful distance until her father nodded subtly for her to return. Even though he’d ignored her for five minutes, she had no doubt he’d been aware the instant she’d returned to the room.
Leading the men to the dining room, she took the seat left of her father’s place at the head of the massive table. Nathan sat to his right. The servers immediately poured out of the kitchen. The wine came first.
Nathan swirled the dark red liquid in his glass before taking a small sip. He prided himself a wine connoisseur. One of a hundred ways he excelled in pretension and pomposity.
“Mmm. Goldeneye. Pinot noir.” He rolled the flavor around on his tongue. “2014?”
Her father nodded sagely. “Always nice to share a meal with someone who appreciates the finer things.”
She sipped from her glass demurely, the perfect society accessory, nodding as they waxed on about wood smoke and cherries. White zinfandel would satisfy her any day of the week.
The meal rivaled any she’d tasted in a five-star restaurant. In addition to the lemon-herb turkey, Jacques prepared a sweet potato and butternut squash soup, cornbread dressing, and a cranberry-chocolate tart.
The men spoke in hushed tones as Amanda moved the food around on her plate. Her father really hadn’t needed her here. The only purpose she served was to help them pretend this meal was something other than a business meeting on a holiday. The ticking of the grandfather clock only accentuated the lack of warmth or laughter at the table.
Eventually, the staff returned to clear their plates. Nathan drew to his feet and nodded at her father. “It’s been a pleasure, Beau. I think you’ll be able to do some great things for the party. You have our full support. My secretary will reach out to yours at the beginning of next week. Amanda.” He said her name as an afterthought, but there was heat in his gaze when he nodded his farewell.
She waited until the front door closed completely behind him before she spoke. “Shall we return to the sitting room?”
Her father was rarely one to grin, but right now he clearly fought the urge. And lost. He rubbed his hands together as they moved toward the pristine white sofa.
“You look pleased.”
He schooled his features. “Yes. This evening has been a productive one.”
Allowing her shoulders to relax, she leaned back into the seat. “I’m glad.” Finally, she could breathe. “I am so ready to end this farce of a relationship with Nathan. I don’t think I could’ve forced myself to keep it up much longer.”
