A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,35
her face right up until the moment she stepped back into the Florida room, and faced a no-longer-smiling Trevor.
Apparently the reality check had begun.
13
“Lionel called,” Trevor said.
“Okay,” Emma said, cautiously, not entirely sure yet exactly what he was frowning about. But given the phone still in his hand, Emma could hazard a guess it wasn’t going to be good. “Wishing us a happy holiday, was he?” Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, but his expression did smooth a little.
“I debated on answering it, but I know I’ve put you in an awkward and potentially costly situation with him, so I thought a good offense would be your best defense.”
She appreciated that he’d thought of her. It hadn’t occurred to her what her liaison with Trevor might cost her, in terms of her new career, but she realized she didn’t much care. Some things were more important, and what Lionel Hamilton thought of her was quickly becoming unimportant. “Not so much, huh?”
“Not so much.”
Emma grabbed two towels and handed him one. Better to keep going through the motions of things being normal. Which was sort of ridiculous since nothing about being here was part of her own personal normal. She started rubbing Jack down. “What did he say about you being here?”
“I told him why I was here.”
“Which went over marvelously, apparently.”
“Actually, he was surprised I was still thinking about it. It’s been a number of years since the subject has come up.”
“But he still wouldn’t tell you. He does know the truth, right?”
“I assume so, but I’m not sure. I know he knows there are things in our family history he’s not particularly proud of, and he’s an intensely proud man. Which is mostly why he’d just as soon I forget my little hunt and pretend I’m fine with who I am and what I was born into. It flabbergasts him that I’d want to believe any different.”
“Do you?” She rocked back on her haunches when he frowned at her. “I mean, what are you hoping to find? That you really are a Hamilton, or that you’re from some other genetic pool?”
“I—I don’t know, really. I mean, I’ve asked myself that. A thousand times. But I’ve grown up a lot in the past six or seven years, and I’m looking more to my future than to my past. It’s more just an old doubt that I need to lay to rest, I guess.”
“What did Lionel say about it?”
“He told me that while he didn’t appreciate my subterfuge, he wanted me to just be done with it, once and for all, then never speak of it again.”
Emma smiled. “Not a surprise, given what you’ve said about him. So…did you tell him you’d found the hidden room in his study?”
“I didn’t mention the avalanche, but yes.”
“And?”
“And he’s rightfully pissed off that I was snooping in what wasn’t mine, but he didn’t bluster too much when I reminded him that I wouldn’t have needed to snoop if he had just treated this like the adult conversation it should have been, years ago, and told me what he knew.”
Emma patted Jack on the head and scratched at his ears, then pushed to a stand. “Why do you think he won’t? I mean, I know he’s a proud man, but…do you think that whatever you unwittingly prodded him to uncover would rock the family in some other way? And, by extension, the foundation of Hamilton Industries?”
Trevor stopped rubbing Martha and looked at her. “You know…I never really thought about that. I mean, it’s a couple generations past, so far as I know, so I wouldn’t think so, but—”
“So, legally, it could still matter. If the liaison was something that might jeopardize true ownership of the company, or something earthshaking like that. Maybe it’s not just a matter of him being embarrassed by family skeletons, but there’s something serious and specific he doesn’t want to get out. Any idea who the adulterous liaison in question might have been with? A rival of some sort, perhaps?”
Trevor tossed the damp towel on the laundry pile with the others and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Emma was momentarily distracted by the realization when his pants rode down to reveal…more skin, that he wasn’t wearing anything under his jeans.
“Like I said, it was generations ago. I’m not sure how it would still be that critical.”
“Hamilton Industries is more than a few generations old.”
“True, but aren’t there limits on certain things?”