Cross The Line

CHAPTER NINE

"I'm an adult. Just last week, I purchased a vegetable. Not on purpose, of course."

- Phoebe West, on the meaning of adulthood.

"Phoebe?"

I blink hard and turn to Cormack, wishing it didn't take such monumental effort to turn my back on the place Nate stood only seconds before.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, meeting my date's confused eyes and shrugging lightly. "Just spaced out for a second."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." I try out a smile. It feels wobbly on my lips. "Too much champagne. All those bubbles go straight to my head."

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Thankfully, Cormack doesn't seem to notice. Or, if he does, he's too much of a gentleman to contradict me.

"What were we talking about?" I ask, in dire need of a subject change.

"I was about to ask what you do for work." His smile is all easy charm.

"I'm a graphic designer." Pushing thoughts of Nate from my mind, I instantly feel steadier. "I manage the WestTech website and design promotional marketing materials— brochures, business cards, advertisements, social media campaigns. Stuff like that."

"And you enjoy it? Working so closely with your father?"

"I love it." I smile softly. "He's away a lot, so I don't see him that often. Which is okay — otherwise, we'd probably drive each other crazy."

The lie slips from my lips as easy as breathing. I've been saying it so long, I almost believe it myself.

Truth is, there's no such thing as seeing Milo West too often or working with him too closely. I took a job at WestTech not because it was the only option open to me — I had plenty of offers, when I graduated from MIT at the top of my class — but because I knew it was the only guarantee I'd have of ever crossing paths with the man who raised me.

Well... raised is a bit of a stretch.

Parker raised me. He was my big brother, but he did all the work — making sure my homework was done, that I'd eaten dinner, that no one at school was messing with me. He gave up being a kid the day our mom died, and stepped into the void she'd left behind.

My dad certainly wasn't going to.

Milo had more of a consultant role in my rearing. Sure, he'd get involved with whatever daily drama was boiling over in his children's lives — if he happened to be around that day. As a kid, the only sure way of seeing him was when Parker and I would beg our nanny to drive us to the WestTech tower, a soaring high-rise in the South End, where we were welcomed with the grudging patience of a man who loves his children... just not as much as his empire.

We didn't ask often. Eventually we stopped asking altogether.

"I'm sure he values your work very much." Cormack's voice shatters my reverie. "He's a lucky man, to have a daughter like you."

I smile up at him thinking, even if his words aren't remotely true, it's nice to hear them.

Before I can respond, a tinkling feminine laugh accosts my ears. A second later, a body slams into mine and arms wind around my frame.

"You're here!" Gemma squeals, grabbing me by the shoulders and peering into my face. Her grin is a mile wide. Her hair — the same shade as mine but longer — is twined up in a modern French twist, and she's wearing a killer boho-chic blue dress that matches the exact shade of her eyes. She's stunning.