Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,86
the body?”
He froze before laughing. “You’re right, I did. See? There you go. Whatever it is, it’ll be fine. And I’ll be sure to have my shovel ready for when we talk after dinner.”
Despite the nerves bouncing in my belly, I laughed. “Okay,” I said as he tugged me in, sliding an arm around my waist and pressing a warm kiss to my temple. “But we have to talk about this tonight. You’re still going to Ice for dinner?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. Shrimp cocktail, oysters, and ceviche. I wish you were coming. It’s gonna be cool.”
I nodded, tossing him a grin. “Well, with a name like Ice, how can it not?”
Tate groaned and gave me a quick peck on the nose. “You are such a dork. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TATE
Brunch didn’t go nearly as terribly as it could have. We were only stopped twice to pose for pictures. And Shelby was amazing…of course. She dodged each of the parents’ nosy ass questions with grace while not letting their snooty order of soft poached eggs with hollandaise—seriously, Mom? It’s called eggs benedict. Just order fucking eggs benedict—throw off her poise. And though Shelby was quiet through most of the brunch, I knew my parents. Things could have gone a hell of a lot worse.
The rest of the day went smoothly, though it was boring without Shelby to make the time go faster. I mean, Reagan was cool and all, but musicals just aren’t my thing. And then, of course, there were more photo ops after that. Dad’s “people” wanted images of us around campus. By the time dinner rolled around, I was grumbling almost as loud as my stomach.
My dad pulled into a parking lot in front of a historic pink house. “What are we doing here?” I groaned. “Ice is eight blocks the other way.”
“We’re not eating at Ice,” my dad snapped. Here it comes. This was the man I knew—the man the cameras never saw. Stubborn. Pig-headed. And with no regard for what others want.
“What the hell? Mom said I could choose the restaurant.”
“I take my bourbon on the rocks, not my goddamn dinner,” he sneered through tight lips. I sighed, unbuckling my seat belt as he tossed his keys to the valet. There was no use arguing with him at this point. Not when he got into a mood like this. And hell, I was damn hungry, and we were already here.
A young girl stood at the hostess podium, scrolling through names. “Yes, Mr. Michaelson. Right this way.” We followed her through the old southern manor, which had been converted into a restaurant. Jesus, the walls were all painted pink like the outside. Every table had a bouquet of magnolias. Very original. The tables were some sort of dark wood with matching chairs—the sort of furniture you’d find in your grandmother’s house.
The girl stopped in front of a table next to the bay window. “The best seat in the house, Governor,” she said.
“And the special request I had when I called?”
“Already taken care of.” She smiled first at him, then my mom, and finally she settled on me. She was a student—I recognized her from around campus. After a second’s glance, she strode back to her station at the front of the house.
“God, I need a martini,” my mom said, squinting at the menu. No matter how much she denied it, the woman needed reading glasses. For her, age did not bring wisdom, apparently—only more vanity. “That show was dreadful. God, I hate community theater.”
“It’s not community theater—it’s college theater,” I snapped, feeling suddenly defensive for Reagan’s sake. I thought she was great—I mean, I don’t really have much to compare it to, but still. Damn, there was no way I could ever remember all those lines like she did.
“That’s even worse,” my dad cut in. “That just means those poor kids expect to make a living out of it.”
I sort of half groaned, half sighed at that. There was no winning with them. Their snobbery knew no bounds. “Well, then why go see it at all?”
“Oh, honey.” Mom made a noise that gargled in the back of her throat. “We were invited. They expect us to do all these things during our visit.”
“Silly me,” I said, mostly to myself. “Here I thought you wanted to come hang out with me.”
My mom rolled her eyes, and I was amazed she managed to show that much emotion through all her Botox. “You’re so sensitive today. Of