The one good thing I can say about having lunch with my father is that it’s at least just the two of us. No insufferable stepmother or stepsister to make things worse than they already are.

And he has to pay attention to me, for once. And why not? It’d been his idea for us to get together.

Only, I’m the one with the attention problems today. I can’t stop thinking about Lincoln long enough to hold onto the thread of our conversation. I keep getting lost.

Dad doesn’t look surprised. He’s never been much for having faith in my intellect, after all.

Which is another reason why I wonder what this is all about. What’s he getting at?

“I imagine things in the office are getting quite interesting, with the tech conference coming up like a freight train.” He chuckles, as though we’re sharing some great joke.

I can’t help but frown. “Since when do you care what my work life is like?”

He manages to mime an expression of disappointment, his mouth curving down at the corners. “That’s mean, and unfeeling. And untrue, to boot. I care very much about your work.”

“That’s not what you said on Friday night. In fact,” I murmur, leaning closer with my arms crossed on top of the table. “You made it clear that you don’t believe I could ever come up with anything worthwhile.”

“I was angry. You must try to understand my position in the family. Having to sit between you and my new family. Trying to bring everyone together, trying to create a single family unit when it’s so difficult to get the three of you to see eye-to-eye. I was deeply vexed, especially since you were so rude to your sister.”

“Stepsister,” I correct.

“Case in point,” he replies, eyes narrowing. “You refuse to meet me halfway.”

“So that’s why you were so cruel, then? Because I made your life more difficult?”

“Of course. I would never be so unsupportive, otherwise.”

What a laugh. Who does he think he’s trying to fool? Like we only met yesterday. Like I haven’t dealt with his complete lack of support throughout my entire life. “Very kind of you.” I sit back when the server arrives with my salad, which is at least an excuse to keep from talking so much. If we’re eating, there will be less of an opportunity for us to trip over our words. Why wouldn’t we be awkward? We barely know each other, after all.

“So, as I was saying,” he continues as soon as the waiters leave, “I’m sure your work has been quite stressful lately. But stress helps move the day along, doesn’t it?”

Why does he care so much? I can’t make heads or tails of the way he keeps going back to work. “Yes. It’s been very busy, but rewarding. I’m sure we’ll come out on top.” I raise an eyebrow, deciding this is the time to play my ace in the hole. To take him by surprise. “I mean, just because Arcane Technologies poached the design Lincoln created…”

I couldn’t have imagined a better reaction if I tried. His eyes go wide, his pale skin goes red. Like he’s ready to burst. I’m surprised steam isn’t pouring from his ears. “How dare you accuse me of something like that?” he huffs.

“Because it’s the truth, isn’t it? I heard it through the grapevine earlier this week, after meeting with you for dinner,” I challenge coolly.

He scowls angrily. “Do they know you are my daughter?”

“Don’t worry, nobody knows that you’re my father. If they did, I never would’ve gotten the job.”

He visibly relaxes and even manages to force a smile. “Of course, since you took your mother’s maiden name when you were sixteen.”

“Of course.” I silently thank my guardian angels or inner voice or whatever it was that told me to take her name. I’d much rather live the life of a normal woman than the life of Vince Weissman’s daughter, no matter how many surface perks came along with that. I’ve always left that privilege to my many stepmothers and their children.

His color starts to return to normal. “I find it highly offensive that you would accuse me of theft.”

“What is it, if not theft?” I ask. The fact is, I didn’t know until just now that he’d taken Lincoln’s design. It was a hunch of mine, nothing that I heard from work. I read about Arcane’s test run, the same as everyone else.

“Has it ever occurred to you that my engineers were working on the same technology months before Guardian began working on it?” he asks, cutting into his steak. “Has it ever occurred to you that your boss might have stolen the idea from me?”

Unthinkable, but he doesn’t know what I know about Lincoln. He’s a man of character, principle. He wouldn’t take the easy way out like that. If anything, he does everything the hard way. He’s the most stubborn, pig-headed man I’ve ever known, and considering my lineage, that’s saying something. “I suppose that isn’t unthinkable,” I lie around a mouthful of salad. Maybe he won’t hear the obvious contempt in my voice if I keep my mouth full.

“I only wish we could get over the hump,” he admits, shaking his head ruefully.

“The hump?”

“The temperature issues. We’ve been having them. I’m certain you have, too. The core temperature jumps up and fries everything.” He shakes his head again.

I’m so ashamed of my father I feel as if I might throw up. My father is a thief. If he was merely researching and working on technology which would make it possible for drones to travel faster and longer, why would he just so happen to come up with the same exact issue we’ve been battling all this time? It would mean following the exact same process of design, development, and everything else. What are the odds that his engineers designed an exact replica of the ill-informed design Lincoln created for the Excalibur GTX3?

Slim to none, that’s what.

And my father is fishing for answers. I know he is. God, he has so little faith in me. It’s a struggle to keep my expression neutral as I pretend to mull over his statement. “It’s a challenge,” I murmur with a shrug, staying as noncommittal as I can.

“I suppose that whoever comes up with a solution first will be the one to win over the investors at the demonstration,” he observes, sounding as though he only just came up with this revelation on the fly. He should’ve taken up acting instead of stealing other people’s work. He might have been more successful at it.

There are only three people who know about the exact problem we were having with the prototype: me, Lincoln and Ryland. I highly doubt that Lincoln would leak the details of his prize project to his biggest competitor, so that leaves only one person.

I feel sick at the thought. Ryland?

Is he really capable of something like this? It’s hard to imagine. They are best friends and Ryland plays the nice guy so effortlessly, it is impossible to think it could be a pretense. Besides, I’ve come to admire him so highly since he hired me. We get along so well and he seems to have a real, deep affection for Lincoln.

Does he, though? If he did, he wouldn’t have betrayed him. I know he did. It could only have been him. Maybe he’s tired of playing second fiddle to his best friend. Maybe he wants a bigger piece of the action. I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking my father what he promised Ryland in exchange for his treachery.

My heart sinks even more. I realize now that he only hired me because of who I am. He must’ve known somehow, that I’m my father’s daughter. Maybe that was why he’d been so dead set on getting me into the company. So he could use me and my connection to my father to further himself.

I slide my hands under the table, into my lap and clench them as hard as I can in an attempt to hide my rage. My palms sting when my nails sink into them, nearly drawing blood. The filthy, lying bastard. Cozying up to me in the lab, using me. Lying to Lincoln. Making him trust him, believe in him.

I’d been so wrong about him, about everything.

“What’s the matter?” My father peers at me, examining me.

I’m giving myself away. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” Another mouthful of food. I can barely taste it anymore, and I sure as hell don’t want to eat anything. I’m surprised my stomach even accepts what I swallow, I feel so sick and awful. For myself, for Lincoln, for everyone involved except for Ryland and the man seated across from me. I can’t even think about him as my father anymore.

“Work, eh?” He grins, taking a huge bite of his bloody steak. The juices drip down his chin. The sight is nauseating. He dabs it away with a snowy white napkin.

I force a faint smile and shrug. “Yes. Would I be your daughter if I didn’t allow work to get in the way of a good meal?” I pretend to share a good-natured chuckle with him and lean forward with an expression of interest as he starts off on a story about his company.

I stare at him and nod at all the appropriate places. I know what this lunch is about now. It is a fishing trip for him. He wants to know what I know.

I think of Lincoln. If my father gets the design, he will be destroyed. I have to figure out a way to help him.