Dark Intentions - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,36

whether he even enjoys what he does for a living or whether he even has that right.

"Look, you act like you're above all of this but you're not.” Lincoln points his finger in my face.

The glasses of wine and the Jack Daniel’s are going to his head.

“I'm tired of it, you know? I'm tired of you being this I'm this guy above everything kind of persona,” he says, rounding his words but not slurring them quite yet.

"I'm not like that at all.”

“Yes, you are. I mean, that's why you have no relationship, that's why you have no apartment."

"I have an apartment."

"Okay, an apartment that you actually use, one you actually live in."

"Okay, so? I work and fly a lot for work,” I say, slouching in my chair.

"What does that matter?” Lincoln continues to ramble. “Obviously, you're running away. You have always been running away. And don't pretend that the work that you do, meeting with all of these CEOs and analyzing risk and deciding whether you're going to give them money that they desperately need, that's not some major power trip? What makes you think that you even know what is and what isn't going to work? Yeah, you have some experience but you'd never invest in my company."

"What was that?" I ask and suddenly, the expression on his face changes.

"Nothing."

"You have a company?” I ask.

"I don't want to talk about it."

I press some more but he just clams up. He was like this as a kid as well. He'll tell me in his own time and his own time might take a while.

After our appetizers of Ahi tuna and macadamia nut cream cheese arrive, he grabs his tumbler of Jack Daniel’s and I lift up my glass.

"Sorry that this started off on some kind of a tepid note," Lincoln says, "but I actually have some news to share."

"Okay.” I nod.

"Marguerite is having a baby."

"Oh my God," I say, after a long pause.

"Wow, I'm so excited for you," I force the words out of my mouth even though I'm stuck more in disbelief than excitement. Luckily, he doesn't seem to notice.

We clink our glasses and he finishes his and asks the waiter for another. He's celebrating, right? Of course he is, I say to myself.

"I'm so happy for you. How far along is she?"

“Fifteen weeks. She's been kind of sick so that's why she didn't want to meet up with Mom the few times that she invited us over."

I nod. He doesn’t have to say it out loud since we both know perfectly well what Mom thinks about Marguerite.

"Look, she's going to come around. You're going to give her her first grandchild," I say.

"Yeah, not so sure about that but it will be her first grandchild, maybe her only one."

I laugh, knowing exactly what he’s referring to.

“Marguerite is over the moon. She's always wanted kids,” Lincoln says.

"And what about you?"

"I'm happy, of course." And yet I hear a little bit of disappointment in his voice.

"You know, it's okay if you're scared or unsure. I mean, this is a major life change."

"I'm fine. You know me, just got to put in those hours and ..."

"Well, what's going to happen when the baby comes?” I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, aren't you going to help take care of it?"

"Uh, of course, I'm the father.” Lincoln rolls his eyes.

"Okay, good." I nod.

Lincoln bites the inside of his mouth, looking up at me in that way that makes me convinced of the fact that he's lying. "Marguerite will need your help, you know?"

"Look, she and I, we have a certain way of doing things. We have a division of labor."

"Okay, now," I say, "but you haven't had a child before. You can't expect her to do everything."

"Of course not, that's why we're going to get a nanny."

I shake my head.

"What? You don't approve of nannies now?"

"No, I'm not saying that. But you’ll need to connect with this baby, otherwise, you're just going to be like ..."

"Like who?" Lincoln leans over the table trying to intimidate me. I shouldn’t finish the sentence, but suddenly, I can't make myself stop.

"You know who,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

"You mean like our dad?"

"Of course, like our dad."

"I'm not going to be anything like him," Lincoln snaps.

He rushes to his feet, slamming his knee into the table. The glasses rattle, making a loud clinking sound that makes everyone in our vicinity turn to look at us.

I ask him to sit down, but he just throws his napkin on his