16. Damage Control
SIXTEEN
DAMAGE CONTROL
Ian
“Where’s Trish?” I ask my father, taking my seat at the table.
He doesn’t answer, his head swiveling and nodding at the people around us.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Gale says, sitting on my father’s right, eyes on her clipboard.
I take a breath, my nostrils flaring. “That isn’t what I asked.”
She jerks her gaze to mine, probably surprised at my tone.
My father’s sidepiece raises a finely arched eyebrow as one would when coming across something unpleasant.
“I told Jonathan to bring her to the table when she was ready.” She looks pointedly around the room.
“As she is not here, I can only guess that she found the man’s company more stimulating.
Or maybe she’s at the bar.” She sniffs before jotting down a note.
“Probably feels more comfortable there, given her background.”
Ignoring the not so veiled insults, I hone in on the last. “You did a background check on her?”
Gale’s pen pauses over her clipboard, but she doesn’t look up. “No, but I probably should.” Her head tilts, and she makes a note. Finally, she looks up, her features pinched as ever. “I just meant I’m sure a bar is a more familiar setting than with people like us.”
“So you lied.”
Brenda and her parents look curiously at Gale, who is starting to understand that I’m not letting this go.
“You lied about Trish being treated well and had your bodyguard ditch her so you could do what you wanted.”
Gale titters. “Really now, Ian.”
Mother smooths down the tablecloth on either side of her plate with her hands. The woman is forever trying to smooth out wrinkles. She’d continue to do it even if she rubbed her palms raw. It’s what she’s been trained to do.
It’s fucking annoying.
And I realize I’m doing the same thing.
I stand.
“What are you doing?” My father’s hurried voice is as much of a whisper as his annoyance will allow. “ Sit down .”
When I answer, I don’t feel anger or frustration. I just feel done. “No.” The word frees a lifetime of baggage off my shoulders. “I’m going to find my girlfriend.”
Before my now wide-eyed father can retort, Brenda pipes up. “And just so you know, I’m a lesbian.”
Brenda’s father chokes on a sip of whiskey, and her mother drops her chin to her chest with a sigh.
Gale crosses something out on her clipboard. Probably Brenda’s name.
A mottled red flush that matches the hue of Trish’s shoes creeps up my father’s neck. Mother presses harder on the tablecloth.
Laughing, I lean down and kiss Bren’s cheek. “We’ll have to get together sometime and introduce each other to our girlfriends.” I pause. “Somewhere private. Just us.”
She smiles, patting my hand resting on her shoulder. “I’d love that.”
The rest of the table is unnaturally quiet when I leave, though I can feel my father’s eyes boring into my back as I walk away.
I couldn’t give one fuck.
I can’t find her.
I did go to the bar, despite the condemnation of Gale’s suggestion, because anyone normal would need a drink to deal with this shit show. She wasn’t there. Or in the bathrooms either.
I’ve called and texted her what seems like a million times, but no answer.
I’m about to interrupt my father mid-speech and ask him where the fuck my girlfriend is when I see the bodyguard standing by the ballroom doors.
“Where’s Trish?”
Besides one eyebrow arching up, the man doesn’t answer.
I’d be impressed with his poise if not for the feeling of foreboding building inside me. “Where. Is. Trish?”
A few people turn to look. We’re far enough from the stage that my father’s speech hasn’t been interrupted, but the nearest tables to the door are distracted.
The bodyguard sighs. “I walked the lady in question into the ballroom and dropped her by the bathrooms at the back as ordered.” He tips his chin back where I just came from.
Dropped. Ordered. These words dig at me like knives. “And then you just left ?”
Another sigh. “Yes. My orders didn’t include babysitting her for the night.”
I clench and unclench my fists a few times, trying to push back the fury rising up inside. I can’t tell who I’m madder at, my father or myself.
I’m about to yell just for the hell of it. Just to piss off the people pissing me off, when my phone rings. Slipping it out of my breast pocket, I’m relieved to see Trish’s name.
I step around the taciturn bodyguard, exiting the room and sliding my thumb across my phone screen. “Trish?”
“Hey there.” Her voice sounds softer, more a whisper than her usual light, southern lilt.
“Where are you?” I pace in front of the ballroom doors, blocking a few people from entering, but not caring.
“Rose and I are waiting for valet.”
I stop in my tracks, forcing a couple behind me to pivot last minute so they don’t run into me. “Rose?”
“Yes.” A small laugh. “Can you believe it? She surprised me. Found me waiting in the back and kept me company while I waited for—well, Rose kept me company.”
The knives dig in deeper. I spin around, nearly taking out yet another couple, and walk fast through the lobby. “Why are you at valet?”
“Well, you seemed so busy, and there are so many people…” She clears her throat. “There really doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to stay.”
She didn’t see any reason to stay? Am I not a reason? No, the problem is because I didn’t give her a reason.
Because I’m an idiot.
“I’m going to sleep at Rose’s tonight, so don’t worry about me. You can, um, do whatever you need to there. Or want to, I guess.”
Brushing past the sloth-like doorman, I push open the heavy glass doors.
The first thing I see is Rose, larger than life and hands on hips, sparkling under the lights of the Ritz’s porte- cochère.
It isn’t until she flips her hair to the right that I notice Trish, standing off to the side, shoulders curled in, the arm not holding the phone to her ear wrapped around her waist.
“Is that Captain Asshole?” I hear Rose both in person and through the phone. “You should tell him?—”
“Rose, hush,” Trish admonishes with a wave of her hand.
I take a few quick steps and she’s within touching distance. “Trish.”
“Ian!” Startled, Trish drops her phone, fumbling with it like a hot potato until she finally grabs it tightly, bringing it to her chest. “You scared me.”
I place my hands on her shoulders, hating the way they’re still hunched. “I’m so sorry.” I don’t know if there are enough sorries to go around tonight.
“Where’s your date?” Rose’s sarcastic comment makes Trish flinch, so I know Rose didn’t mean her. Rose is tapping her foot awaiting my answer, setting everything else about her to jiggling.
Out of politeness, I keep my eyes on the top of her closer-to-God hairdo. “Brenda?”
“Brenda.” Rose snorts. “Of course her name is Brenda . That’s so…” She huffs, not finding the word she was searching for. “Whatever. Brenda’s a stupid name.”
“She’s not my date, she’s just a family friend. I’ve known her since high school.”
“I see.” But Rose’s tone implies she doesn’t see at all. “And did you escort this friend into the event and seat her next to you by accident, or did you deliberately replace your real date because your daddy said so?”
“No,” I grind out before turning back to Trish.
“It wasn’t like that. Really. I didn’t mean…
” I run a hand through my hair. “Her family was invited upstairs to the suite after the picture was taken. We just happened to all go downstairs at the same time.” I know that isn’t precisely true, but I don’t think telling Trish that my family purposefully stashed her in a corner because they thought I could do better is going to help my cause.
I search for anger or a hint of forgiveness in Trish’s expression, but there’s nothing. It’s as if her features have been carefully schooled to blanket her true feelings.
I squeeze her shoulders tighter. “I looked for you before we went in. I was told you’d be by the door but?—”
“Car’s here!” Rose calls out triumphantly.
Trish takes a step forward, but I shift my weight. “Please don’t go. I am sorry.”
The blank facade breaks, and Trish gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Her voice is unnaturally bright.
“You can have yourself a swell time at your father’s fancy shindig, and I’ll spend the night with Rose.
” She smiles brighter. “We can see each other later.”
“Not necessary.” I let go of Trish and dig in my pocket for the valet tag, walk over, and hand it to the kid holding Rose’s door open. Along with a c-note to get him moving. The young man looks at his palm and takes off. “I’m leaving too.”
She frowns after the sprinting valet. “But I thought you wanted?—”
“Coming here was a mistake. I’m sorry.” I can’t help but laugh. “Jesus, I’m sorry for this whole fucking night.”
“Are we leaving or what?” Rose breaks in, stepping up to her car.
I want to beg Trish to come with me, say sorry a few more times, but I bury the urge. If Trish wants to go with Rose, I won’t blame her. I have no one to blame but myself for how tonight turned out.
Trish searches my eyes for something, though I’m not sure what. Thankfully, after a moment she looks at Rose and shakes her head.
Rose rolls her eyes. “Figured.” They hug, and Rose whispers loud enough for me to hear, “Remember, I own a lot of private land and a bunch of shovels.” She narrows her eyes at me over Trish’s shoulder. “All you need to do is say the word.”
Trish’s tinkling laugh calms my thumping heart. “Thanks, sugar.” She squeezes Rose tight once more before letting go. “For everything.”
Rose pouts dramatically. “Now I really am going home alone.” Trish laughs again while Rose points a deadly-looking red talon at me. “You owe me.”
I have no idea what I’m supposed to pay her back for or how, but I nod all the same.
“Okay then.” Rose slides into her car, a slick, gold-flecked Aston Martin that on any other day I’d drool over and wiggles her fingers out the driver side window. “Toodles, bitches.”