She shook her head, grateful he was so easygoing—at least outside of the bedroom. And she was glad they could spend time together in her world too. She felt safe taking Decklan out here. She’d only recently moved to this apartment complex, and nobody knew her well enough to question whom she went to dinner with. It was only within the D.C. political world where Brad’s father’s people paid attention.
TWELVE
The restaurant Amanda had chosen was a quiet one on the corner near her apartment complex. The walls were painted a pale blue, the lighting low, most of the patrons their age, people who looked like they’d just come from work and others who were dressed even more casually. Decklan felt comfortable here, with her.
They ate in easy silence. He tried the chicken piccata special; she chose the Marsala. The food was great, the company better.
“I love this place,” Decklan said, glancing around while they waited for the check.
“It’s relaxing. I come here a lot when I don’t want to cook. Sometimes I’ll bring my iPad and just read while I’m eating.”
He stared at her a moment, taking in her now-makeup-free face and serious eyes and saw someone who was, at heart, a loner. Much like him. “I’m glad you let me come this weekend.”
She smiled. “You were pretty insistent. But I have to admit I’m glad too.”
After a shared dessert, they walked back to her apartment. As they reached the entrance to the building, a female voice called out from the parking lot. “Amanda?”
“Mother?” Amanda stiffened, then turned.
A well-dressed and very unhappy-looking woman strode up to her. “Of course it’s your mother. You know, the woman whose calls you’ve been ignoring. The woman you kept waiting in her car?”
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s not like I was expecting you. And as for not returning your calls, I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, working as a secretary.” The older woman wrinkled her nose in disdain.
“Personal assistant,” Amanda corrected her.
“Same thing.”
Amanda shook her head. “Mother, please. Not again.”
Since the other woman didn’t seem to want to notice him, Decklan took the time to evaluate her with a lingering look. She came up lacking. Although it was obvious she and Amanda were related, blonde hair—though clearly her mother’s had been touched up with a bottle—similar bone structure, and brown eye color, the similarities ended there. Where her mother was tall and too thin, Amanda was lush and curvy. Where Amanda was warm and real, her mother was full of grandeur and illusion. Or was it delusion? Decklan wondered.
“Mother, please what?” the older woman mimicked. “How about you show some manners and invite me inside?”
Good Lord, she was cold. How had Amanda grown up with this woman?
Amanda straightened her shoulders. But Decklan could sense how hard even that small act of defiance had been.
“Now’s not a good time,” Amanda said. “I have company. We just returned from dinner.”
Her mother glanced at Decklan, noticing him for the first time, and her frown indicated she didn’t like what she saw. Since that made two of them, he didn’t much care.
“Marilyn Collins, this is Decklan Dare,” Amanda said, gesturing between them.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he gritted out. He couldn’t say it was a pleasure, but for Amanda’s sake, he’d be pleasant.
Her mother glanced away from him, her eyes widening as she really looked at Amanda. “You went out to a restaurant dressed like that?”
She glanced down at her light pink dress that hung gently but clung to every curve and a pair of basic flip-flops that showed off her pink polished toes. “I like this dress,” she said softly.
“It looks like you put on a few pounds too. Good thing I have a wonderful new diet. We can talk when we’re alone.” She pointedly stared at Decklan.
As if he would leave her alone with this evil woman.
If this was how her mother had always treated her, no wonder she had deeply ingrained self-esteem issues. There was nothing wrong with how she looked or her dress. Not a damned thing.
“For what it’s worth, I think you look beautiful,” Decklan said, resting his hand on the small of her back.