face a frozen mask of corporate pleasantness like all the good CEOs had.
“I came over here to see Belle,” he continued.
“Belle?”
Jonathan and Owen claimed that our parents had decided that Belle was a disappointment and wanted nothing more to do with her. When we talked to Belle, the feeling was mutual.
“I thought you had disowned her,” I said tentatively.
“No one said anything about that,” my father huffed. “We were at a holiday party with the Richmonds. They had mentioned that Belle was dating one of the Svenssons.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t believe that is the case anymore.”
“Too bad,” my father said. “For a minute there, I thought she might have redeemed herself. Of course she managed to ruin it. Like your mother said, someone that tall needs a tall man. And they don’t grow on trees.”
“Or she could find someone that makes her happy,” I replied tersely.
My father barked out a laugh. “Don’t be naïve. Belle needs to settle for what she can get.” He scowled. “Too bad your brothers settled.” Then his features rearranged back into their handsome mask. “But if they supply grandchildren, then I suppose that’s all that matters.”
Jack and Owen would kill me for real if I blabbed their business to Dad. But he had come to see me! Even if it was only for information about my siblings. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to tell him just a few tidbits?
“Chloe and Holly run their own restaurants. They’re very successful,” I reminded him. “Chloe’s bistro has a number of franchise locations. I’m hoping I can talk her or Holly into branching out here in my development.”
“A development, you say?” my father asked, intrigued.
“Yes,” I said. I launched into my spiel, describing the hotels, condos, and restaurants, all in an impeccably renovated industrial complex with historic brick buildings.
My father regarded me with interest for the first time in my life. “Maybe you’ll make something of yourself after all. Of course, first, you’ll need to get rid of that goth girl.”
It took me a second to realize who he was talking about. “Morticia?”
“Surely the internet is incorrect and there isn’t something going on between you two,” he said, lip curling slightly. “I have high standards for my children.”
“Of course not,” I said in a rush. “There’s nothing; it’s just for TV.”
43
Morticia
“You slept with him again?” Emma demanded the next day.
I had not actually slept with Jonathan the night before, though I had spent the evening in his condo. I had been too busy editing that horror show footage of Dorothy and fielding questions from Jonathan on how best to make the Hamilton Yards development palatable to her.
“Shh! Keep your voice down!” I whispered to her as I sketched out my dessert idea. It was for the holiday-card baking challenge. I had only half listened when Anastasia had explained the rules. Keeley had seemed mad when I was in the bottom three but wasn’t let go.
“I can’t believe Keeley did better than you,” Lilith said, glaring across the studio at our cousin.
“I think she’s buying votes,” I replied.
“Wish I had that kind of disposable income,” she remarked as she took pictures of bottles of alcohol arranged at my station for Instagram teasers, though really the photo session was just an excuse to gossip.
“So you did sleep with him,” Emma said giddily.
“Not exactly. He just got a bit…handsy in his office.”
“In his office!” Emma said, shaking her head.
“Dirty, dirty girl.” Lilith smirked.
“Sounds like Jonathan knows what he’s doing!” Emma said.
I carefully separated eggs for the eggnog crème brûlée soufflés I was making.
“You don’t want a guy who’s got a pretty package, but you open it up and it’s all coal,” Lilith said.
“I cannot with the Christmas metaphors right now.”
“I don’t think he’s got a fake Christmas tree in his living room,” Emma said with a giggle.
“I think his Yule log is nice and thick and ready to be shoved in your mouth,” Lilith piled on.
“Yum, all that cream filling!”
I shoved Lilith and Emma away from my baking station. “I’m trying to cook here!”
“Make me proud!” Lilith said, blowing me a kiss. “Also, you have to bake these for the rest of us later!”
There was no way I was making my dessert twice. I loved my sister and my friend, but soufflés were deceptively hard. The eggs had to be the proper age, the cream had to be the thickest and richest, and the oven had to be the perfect temperature.
Would be nice to get a picture of Jonathan’s thick cream