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EIGHTEEN
Kayla
“Give Narek your phone, sirts,” Armen said.
We were seated in a private dining room that would have been intimate, but in Armen’s presence, it felt nearly suffocating.
Even Narek’s presence didn’t help.
I’d been somewhat relieved when I saw him behind the wheel of the SUV, but when he hadn’t met my eyes, that relief had died on the vine.
I handed Narek the phone, and he took it without looking at me. He touched the screen and then showed it to Armen.
The man looked at the screen, frowned, then shrugged.
“I’ll never understand these devices. But thank you for keeping this meeting between us like I requested,” he said.
He waved at Narek, who turned off the phone and then handed it back to me.
I tried to catch his eye again, but again, he wouldn’t meet my gaze.
Something that didn’t make me feel any better, but didn’t make me feel worse either. No matter what, I didn’t want Narek to suffer and wouldn’t put him in a bad position if I could help it.
So getting out of this was up to me.
“Why did you want to keep this meeting between us?” I asked.
Elias’s father didn’t respond, not immediately.
Instead, he looked at the menu, taking his sweet time to peruse it as though it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever read.
I looked around the well-appointed room and had my initial impressions reaffirmed. This place was really quite nice.
At least it would have been in different company. I could easily see Amy and I, or even my mother and I, grabbing brunch here.
But sitting at a table so small that Armen’s knee was touching mine while he was doing everything in his power to intimidate me—and succeeding—made it hard for me to appreciate the atmosphere.
After what felt like forever, he put the menu down, then he looked at Narek.
“Soorj,” he said before he turned his attention back to me.
“I doubt what they have here will be as good as you’re used to,” I said.
I regretted making that statement when he arched a brow and looked at me, his eyes alight with interest.
“Hayeren khosum ek?” he asked.
I waited a moment before I responded. “I only speak a little. A word or two here and there, but I know how much Elias enjoys his coffee.”
He looked both impressed and annoyed.
I had realized my mistake before, but the weight of it hit me even harder now. Armen was starting to look at me as more than an employee who was sleeping with his son.
That couldn’t be good for me.
He was staring at me even more intently now, and I sent up a silent prayer that Elias would call.
When I’d gotten his text, his order tempered by “please” for the first time I could recall, I’d sent an emoji instead of typing a response.
