J. Kenner - Wanted

My father reached out and took my hand and if I didn’t know him better I would have sworn his eyes got misty. “I love you, Angelina,” he said, and my heart twisted both because I knew it was true, and also because of what he had left unspoken: You’re all I have left.

I turned down my father’s offer to have his hired driver give me a lift home. I’d told him I wanted to do some shopping, but mostly I just wanted to be alone. To walk and to think.

I’d wanted to tell my dad that I wasn’t ready to move to Washington. That even though public relations wasn’t my thing, there were parts of my current job I found fascinating. And wasn’t that what being in your twenties was about? Exploring all those options?

But then I thought of Gracie, who’d probably known in utero that politics was her calling. I could still remember the long conversations she’d have with Daddy at the kitchen table, while I’d nod seriously and pretend to understand, trying desperately to think of one clever thing that would make my dad look at me with the same light that he’d shined on Grace.

Then she’d died, and it had broken my heart to think that the light inside my dad would die with her. Except it hadn’t faded, because I’d saved it. Maybe I couldn’t save Gracie. Maybe I couldn’t bring her back. But I’d signed up for student council. I’d joined the debate team. I’d completed a summer internship in Sacramento. I’d gone to Northwestern to major in political science.

And I’d kept that light inside my dad alive.

That was a small price to pay for not following my own dreams, right? Especially when I didn’t know what those dreams were in the first place.

I was walking fast down Michigan Avenue, my feet moving in time with my churning thoughts. I dodged tourists and buskers and forced myself to focus on the faces of passing strangers and the overpriced clothes that filled the shop windows. Anything to turn off my thoughts.

It wasn’t working, and so I walked even faster, so that all my mental energy was bound up by speed and the need to watch where I was going so I didn’t mow down another pedestrian. I needed to get out of my own head. To erase all thoughts of the way Evan bailed on me and the way my father was navigating a path through my life.

A familiar antsy feeling—edgy and raw—pressed hard against me. I told myself that I could handle this. I didn’t need a rush; I just needed to get home. Avoid the stores, keep my focus, and don’t do anything stupid.

By the time I reached the condo lobby, my hair was a frizzy mess, my muscles ached, I felt sticky with sweat, and my stomach was actually rumbling. So much for the staying power of scones and tiny sandwiches. But at least I’d sort of pulled myself together.

Peterson was in the foyer when I stepped off the elevator and into the penthouse. “Mr. Warner is waiting for you on the patio. Shall I make the two of you an early dinner?”

I shook my head, feeling at loose ends all over again. My stomach twisted in knots, and eating was the last thing on my mind. “How long has he been here?”

“About an hour. I told him I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but he asked to wait. He said he had some reading to catch up on and would enjoy sitting on the patio. I hope that isn’t a problem.”

“It’s fine,” I lied. And then, though I really just wanted to turn around and leave again, I steeled myself and headed for the spiral staircase that led up and to the outside. I pushed through the glass door, then paused. I’d just walked home, so I already knew the weather was crisp and clear. But up here, it seemed even more so. From where I stood, I could see part of the lake through the glass barrier, and the sun was making the surface sparkle and the white sailboats shine. Had it only been last night that I’d looked out upon a field of stars with Evan’s voice in my ear promising to take me there?

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to shake off the memory before I turned to the left and walked to the covered area. I found Kevin on a wrought-iron love seat near the outdoor kitchen area. He had a document in his hand, a folio open beside him, and his laptop on the coffee table. A glass of white wine sat next to the computer, and I had to frown; Kevin didn’t usually drink during working hours.

“Hey,” I said, going to the little fridge and grabbing myself a Diet Coke before sitting in the chair opposite him. He didn’t look up from the document he was reading. I crossed my legs and sat back, then popped the top on my drink. The sound of the carbonation bursting free was like a small explosion and made me jump—and that only pissed me off. I felt edgy and uncomfortable, and considering I lived here and he didn’t, my discomfort was all the more annoying.

“Kevin?” I said, working hard to keep my voice light. “What are you doing here?”

He set the paper aside, then slowly turned his attention to me. His expression resembled a disapproving parent, and I had to force myself not to fidget in my seat as I thought of my detour last night. “I came by a few hours ago. I wanted to see how you were.”

“Oh.” I took a sip of Diet Coke. “You could have just called.”

“I did. Twice, actually. Considering your state of mind last night, I was concerned when you didn’t answer.”

“Twice?” For the first time it occurred to me to look at my phone, and I fished it out of my purse. The Do Not Disturb feature I’d turned on last night only allows calls from my parents and work to ring through, and I’d forgotten to turn off the app.

I checked the screen and saw three missed calls. Two from Kevin and one from Kat.

There was nothing from Evan.

“I was at the Art Institute this morning,” I told Kevin. “With Flynn. Then I met my parents at The Drake for tea.” I shrugged as if this were no big deal. Then again, it was no big deal. We weren’t married. We weren’t engaged. We weren’t even dating exclusively. And I’d made him no promises when I’d left last night.

Not that those justifications quelled the guilty discomfort that was twisting like a serpent in my gut.

Kevin regarded me silently for a moment. “I see,” he finally said, and despite that ridiculous roiling guilt, my temper flared.

“What exactly do you see? Did I commit some horrible transgression at the Art Institute? Or maybe by dining at The Drake?”

“Is there something I should know about?” he asked, his tone of complete calm grating on my nerves like sandpaper. “Something between you and Flynn, maybe?”

“Of course not,” I said automatically, and it was only when the words were out of my mouth that it occurred to me that I should have lied. If I wanted to break up with Kevin, faking a relationship between Flynn and me would be the perfect way to do it.

Mentally, I rolled my eyes, disgusted with myself. What was I, in junior high?

“Then maybe it’s something between you and Evan Black,” he continued. The transition was smooth, but I heard the sharpness in his voice. And when I looked at his face, I saw both anger and hurt.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, but the righteous indignation I’d wanted to infuse into my voice didn’t quite make it past the guilt.

“Dammit, Angie. If you’d really wanted to go out, I would have taken you. But the Poodle Dog Lounge?”

“Wait. You followed me?” Anger had me leaping to my feet.

“If you want someone to lie to a federal agent, you need to pay them more than forty bucks.”

“You son of a bitch.” I started pacing, a blur of fury and motion. “You goddamned son of a bitch!”

My rage didn’t even faze him. “I was worried about you. Apparently I had reason to be.” He picked up his wineglass and swallowed what was left, the only sign that he wasn’t as icy calm as he looked. “Evan Black is not someone you can trust, Angie. I thought I made that clear last night. A guy like that is interested only in himself.”