Page 114 of The Risk Taker
“What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
He narrows his eyes. “How do you know my daughter?”
“We met in South Africa. I worked at the hotel where she was staying.”
His eyes drop over my dark sweatpants and hoodie and up to my cap. “Dare I ask as what?”
I fight to keep my expression open and friendly. I know where this is headed.
“An activities coordinator.”
“Activities?” he mutters the word like it’s insignificant and a waste of time.
“Assistant activities coordinator technically. I sorted out the equipment. Got the firewood. That type of thing.”
“And you’re here in New York, visiting my daughter. Did she know you were coming?”
“I wanted to surprise her.”
The two of us stare at one another in silent challenge. I’ve met plenty of men like him before. All too ready to judge based on appearances. I wait. Any second now. One, two, three?—
“I expect you’ll be leaving soon. Back to South Africa.”
His predictability almost makes me smile.
“Thought I’d stick around, actually. Spend more time with Jude.”
His eyes widen and he gives me another once-over, not even trying to be subtle as he scowls.
“Jude’s a smart girl. You’ll find she’ll be too busy for you to be hanging around for long. Plus, she has her wedding to reschedule. She’s marrying a surgeon.”
“I met Callum.” I hold her father’s gaze and I’ll give it to him, he doesn’t flinch, just stares back, equally unimpressed by what I’m saying as I am about what he is.
“She still has her wedding dress hanging in her closet,” he adds, studying my reaction. “Whatever thissituationis that you two have going on will be over soon. If it’s not Callum, then it’ll be someone else suitable for her. People go where they belong.”
His lips quirk like he’s got the upper hand when I don’t reply, and after a moment, he turns to walk out of the door.
“That what you did? Stayed in your lane where you belonged?” I say to his back. He stiffens, and I add, “Do you want me to give Jude a message?”
He snorts, glancing at me, his phone already in his hand. “I’ll call and speak to my daughter myself.”
My family is onto me.
The way my father scoured the sidewalk yesterday after his new wife spoke to him made it clear.
She recognized me.
She might never have met me, but she knew who I was. It means they must have told her about me, must have spoken about me, at least once. The knowledge doesn’t bring any joy to me like I thought it would. They probably told her I’m a killer, and a problem they dealt with. Nothing to worry herself over. What else would they say?
My coffee cup is empty, finished almost an hour ago. I need to stop standing here, on the opposite side of the street, like a crazed stalker. The world is going on around me—nonstop traffic passing along, cabs veering to the sidewalk to pick up fares, people on the street, shopping, talking, going about their lives.
The city buzzes around me, but all I can focus on is giant gold-handled doors beneath a deep blue canopy.
None of them have come or gone today yet. I likely missed my brother and his daughter this morning because I was in bed with Jude, waking her up with my head between her thighs.
She’s a dream.
