Like a Boss - Annabelle Costa Page 0,51

sounds like whatever he told her was flattering. I expect her to shake my hand or something equally formal, but instead, she throws her arms around me. “It’s so good to meet you. So wonderful!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Thayer,” I say awkwardly.

“Please, call me Sophie,” she says. Am I imagining it or are her eyes a little teary? Well, at least she didn’t tell me to call her Mom.

Luke looks really uncomfortable by now. He’s shifting in his wheelchair, looking around the house. “Where’s Dad?” he asks.

“He’s resting in the bedroom,” Sophie says. She lowers her voice. “I should tell you, Luke, he’s not doing too well. He’s been needing the oxygen almost all the time. He has to hang onto the furniture when he walks.”

Luke nods. I knew his father had a heart attack and that was why he gave up the company to his son, but I didn’t realize he was that sick. It’s not something Luke ever talked about.

Sophie leads us down a hallway, and at the end, she opens the door to a dimly lit room. Before I can see anything, I hear the blowing of oxygen from the tank. Then my eyes adjust and I can make out the gray-haired man lying in bed with oxygen prongs in his nose. When I see his sunken cheeks, pale face, and closed eyes, for a second I think he might be dead. But then his eyes fly open and he yanks the prongs out of his nose. “Sophie,” he snaps as he sits up, “why didn’t you tell me Luke was here?”

“I wanted to let you rest,” Sophie replies gently.

“How are you doing, Dad?” Luke asks.

“Great,” Mr. Thayer huffs. “Never been better! I think I’ll be ready to come back to work within the month.”

Luke doesn’t say anything.

“And how about you?” Mr. Thayer says. “Look at you in that goddamn wheelchair all the time. Lazy—that’s what you are.”

“Dad,” Luke chokes out.

“I’m embarrassed to tell people,” he goes on. “I don’t want everyone to know my only son is a cripple.”

If this was anyone besides my new boyfriend’s father, I would be telling them where they could stick it. But I can’t say that to Luke’s dad. I have to be on good behavior, even though I can see how badly his words are hurting Luke. It almost kills me, but I keep my mouth shut.

“If you try hard enough, you’ll walk again,” his father presses him. “Thayers never give up. We always succeed.”

Luke seems at a loss for words, so instead, he says, “Dad, this is Ellie.”

Mr. Thayer, noticing me for the first time, gives me the usual look up and down. But in contrast to the immediate approval I received from Sophie, his face reflects the reaction I’ve been afraid of every time I go somewhere with Luke. That I’m clearly lower class, not terribly pretty, and nowhere near good enough with someone with the money and the name of Thayer.

“Ellie what?” he says.

“Jensen,” I reply weakly.

“Are you from Massachusetts?” he asks.

“New Jersey,” I admit.

Mr. Thayer doesn’t even bother to hide his contempt. He shakes his head at his son. “Oh, Luke… this is embarrassing… how could you bring this girl into our house?”

When Mr. Thayer was insulting Luke, he just took it. But now his face reddens. “Dad, I don’t want to hear you talk about Ellie that way. Ever.”

His father snorts.

“I mean it. I’ll leave here and never come back.” His jaw twitches. “Ellie is wonderful. And… I love her.”

My heart skips a beat. It’s the first time Luke’s said that and I can’t believe he’s announcing it in front of his parents. And as he says it, I realize that I love him too.

“Whatever,” Mr. Thayer says, waving his hand as if he’s too important to be concerned by any of this.

“I came to discuss the company’s finances with you,” Luke says tonelessly. “If you’re well enough.”

“Of course I’m well enough!” Mr. Thayer snaps.

“Fine,” Luke says.

Sophie takes me by the arm and leads me toward the door. “This will be dull for us females,” she says. “Why don’t you and I go have a cup of coffee?”

I thought Sophie was going to make a pot of coffee herself, but instead, she delegates the responsibility to her maid and the two of us retire to the “sitting room,” as Sophie calls it. It’s like their living room, only slightly smaller. I can’t imagine living this way. I feel so bourgeois.

“So how