Not caring about my father or Steve or Greg or even damn Mr. Everett, I straightened my shoulders and stormed from the restaurant.

Chapter Thirteen

MY COMPUTER EARNED the brunt of my anger.

The poor keyboard was bruised in places no technology should be bruised.

Ever since the Weeping Willow, I’d been strung so tight, my insides had transformed into something snarling and wild with big teeth. I felt like something lived inside me, ready to leap free.

Probably been reading too many shapeshifter romances again.

But still, all night I couldn’t relax, and all day I revved with disbelief at Mr. Everett’s gall.

Then again, was there anything to be truly upset about? He was an opportunist, and my father had been his victim. No harm done. I’d seen past the ruse and kept my father safe and far away from a scam artist.

So why can’t I dampen the temper raging in my blood?

Because he’s the only man to get a rise out of me?

The only one to show me a little of the truth hidden beneath the prim dresses and eloquent politeness of a workaholic?

That I had passion.

Depth.

Needs?

No, that can’t be true.

Men were part of the population I didn’t need. Even Belle Elle could survive without the male counterparts. The sales figures for women’s fashion were two-hundred times that of the men’s department. In fact, I should propose at the next business meeting to cancel all male lines and just pretend the world had done itself a favor and deleted anyone with a penis.

You’re talking gibberish.

Thank God that can’t happen as you’d miss your father.

Thinking about my father and the word penis in the same context was disgusting.

But thinking of Mr. Everett in the same context...

Still disgusting.

My hands curled around my pen. This was Dad’s fault—the same father dead set on marrying me off before my next birthday.

The clock on my desk said it was almost 5 p.m. I’d lasted the day and used my anger to wipe my to-do list clean. I’d never finished so early before, and I wished I had more tasks to do as there was no way I wanted to go home yet.

Poor Sage fed off my nervous energy, pacing around my office rather than napping in the twilight sunshine. And I was hungry again for the fifth time today—burning through calories faster than I could replace them.

Someone knocked on my door.

I looked up. “Yes?”

“Elle?” Fleur stuck her head in. “Your father wants a word before he retires for the night.”

I froze. “Why?”

Another disastrous date set up?

Fleur frowned. “Um, not sure. He’s family...I guess he just wanted to say goodbye?”

I dropped my pen, dragging a hand through my hair. “Of course, stupid of me. You’re right. Send him in.”

She gave me a sweet smile, sidestepping enough for my father to enter. His gaze, as always, went to the Chinese wallpaper to my left with cranes and rice paddies. The decoration line had been a trial we’d done in the houseware department four seasons ago, and it’d been a huge hit. I’d used some of the product myself to make sure it had longevity and style.

“How was your day?” he asked, coming around my desk to kiss the top of my head.

“Good.” I sighed. “I got everything I needed to done.”

“That’s great.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His apology hovered in the space between us, big and marshmallow-like, and entirely obvious to both of us.

“Spit it out, Dad.” I closed my laptop and shut my diary. “What’s up?”

He blurted. “I’m so sorry about last night, Bell Button. I was wrong. You were right. He was a stuck-up jackass.”

I smothered a laugh. “Jackass, I agree with.”

His shoulders fell, his slim figure bowing while resting his hip against my glass desk. “I won’t do it again, and I promise Steve and I will back down about forcing you and Greg together. I know you’re not a fan, and it’s wrong of me to interfere.” He picked up my fountain pen with turquoise ink—the only frivolous thing I used when everything else was black and white with Belle Elle regulation. “I should let nature take its course and let you find your own true love.”

I groaned under my breath. “Don’t you start with what nature intends.”

Splashing alcohol onto Mr. Everett’s head filled my mind—payment for using that same line.

Had he thought about me in the shower while rinsing off? Had he cursed me when dropping his suit in for dry cleaning?

Serves him right.

Dad’s eyebrow rose, but he wisely didn’t comment. The soft lamp on my desk highlighted the threads of silver in his hair like Christmas fairy-lights. “Is there anyone? Anyone at all?”

I stood, grabbing my handbag and swooping down to pluck Sage from her basket. She crawled up my arm and settled like a furry sausage around the back of my neck. “No. No one. And you have to come to terms that there might never be.” I patted his shoulder. “I’m happy. I don’t need a man to validate my existence.”

Besides, I’m so young still.

He acted as if I were already slipping down the side of the age-hill of no return.

His eyes grew sad. “If you knew what love felt like, you wouldn’t be so sure about that statement, Elle.”

“I do know what love feels like. From you and Mom and Sage.” I moved toward the door, turning off floor lamps that I found gave a homely glow as I went. “Promise me you’ll stop meddling, and I’ll take you to dinner to make up for last night.”