All Hail - J. Bree Page 0,89

best routes in and out for Lips, when Atticus knocks at the door and lets himself into the room. I frown at him, not at all expecting him to be dropping by for a casual chat, and he frowns right back at me.

“Are you really not going to come to dinner? I asked the chef to cook the stuffed lobster you love.”

Damn him.

I didn’t realize all that time had passed and there’s absolutely no way I can say no to an offer of that dish. It’s my favorite, which he well knows, and I haven’t eaten it in years.

“I’ve been busy, I assumed one of your poorly-tailored men would come and fetch me for you when you were ready for my presence,” I say as I tap through the images on my phone, encrypting them and saving them away for closer inspection after we’ve eaten.

The frown looks as though it’s permanently etched into Atticus’ face and when I slip my feet back into my shoes, he holds out an arm for me to take. “I wouldn’t send up someone to get you if I thought you would be happy to see me. Every time I see you these days it seems I’m waiting for you to pull a knife on me… or yourself.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics as he leads me down the stairs, his men stationed around every corner. It’s worse than smothering, like I can’t breathe with all of their eyes on my every move, but I keep my head held high and my gaze icy. I don’t want to show any sort of discomfort or weakness here.

I know they all report back to their boss and I don’t want Atticus having anything to use against me.

As we walk into the elaborate dining room, with the most exquisite artworks that my mother would have loved, I glance over at the paneling and make a note of the lines on the wood there that aren’t a feature the builder wants your eyes to follow. He’s blended them well but I’m too good for that kind of trickery.

Useful information for later.

Atticus pulls out a chair for me as though he plans for us to at dinner together as if nothing has ever come between us. I want desperately to believe it.

But I know it’s a lie.

“I told you I don’t want to argue with you, Floss. Please can we just eat dinner and talk like we used to?” he murmurs to me, his lips brushing against my ear and I have to hold in a shiver at the feeling.

I nod and take the seat, letting him fuss over me before he takes the seat next to mine at the head of the table. His manners are absolutely impeccable, the type you have to be born into because no one taught at a later age can run through them quite as smoothly, and as soon as he’s relaxed into his seat the door at the end of the room opens.

Within seconds there are dozens of dishes laid out on the table for us to choose from, not unlike the dinner I had cooked for Aodhan. The room feels different though, the intimate feel completely missing, but still there’s some part of me that craves this moment with my childhood crush.

He really has crushed me.

“Tell me about Amanda Donnelley.”

His eyes snap over to mine as he passes me a plate loaded to the brim with vegetables sautéed in garlic butter. “We’re having dinner together, isn’t there something else you’d rather talk about?”

I take a glass of wine from one of the butlers. “You told me I only have family and pawns, and you’ve chosen not to be my family so I’m not sure there is much else to speak about.”

He takes a sip of his own glass of bourbon, the same that Ash prefers, and then he reaches over to take my hand.

I hate myself for the way my stomach fills with flutters for him.

I hate it.

“I will tell you about her if you promise to stop acting like you hate me. You’re breaking my heart, Floss.”

Fuck. “You don’t have one… or maybe it’s just impossible to reach. How about you tell me about her and I’ll take your information into consideration next time I see the bitch in public?”

He scowls at me but nods anyway. “Amanda Donnelley, on paper, is the only daughter to a very old family from the West Coast. Her mother was an heiress from Europe