I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,347

somehow, his life outside work made him all the more attractive. And I knew I had to fight it.

“And thank you for coming today. I assumed you weren’t going to join me,” he said.

I’d kind of admired the fact he hadn’t asked me to come to lunch again, hadn’t tried to pressure me. But he didn’t need to. I wanted to be here. “I told you. I want this as much as you. Just for different reasons.”

“Have you never gotten along with your father—sorry, Charles Jayne?”

I took a breath. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever.

I shrugged, and he didn’t push me to say anything more. We just sat, the windows rolled down, the hoots and hollers of New York sucking away the silence between us. It should have been awkward. I was sure if we hadn’t fucked, I would have tried to make polite conversation, maybe even tried to impress the boss. Somehow all that seemed redundant now. Ridiculous even.

The restaurant was busy with chatter and I slid into the red velvet seat. We were the first to arrive at the booth, which was a relief. I had some time to compose myself. I’d not been to La Grenouille in years, not since the last time I’d seen my father. This place hadn’t changed at all.

“This is very . . .” Max looked around the restaurant, his forehead crumpled and his lips tight. I was pretty sure Max was a Four Seasons guy, the type to appreciate and prefer cool and modern. The décor at La Grenouille was old-fashioned. The wallpaper was gold and cream and the crystal chandeliers gave out a yellow light that descended like a heavy blanket. The rest of New York was celebrating twenty-first century America while we were here, pretending we were in nineteenth century France.

I had to stifle a giggle. “Have you never been here before?” I asked.

“No.” He frowned. “And now I know why.” He shook out his napkin and put it in his lap. “Everyone is so old. And everything is so very—” Before Max could finish his thought, the host approached with my father, who had arrived right on time.

Max stood up but my father greeted me first. “Harper, how are you?” he asked as I leaned forward, accepting his kiss on my cheek. No doubt the order of greeting was more about him trying to make sure Max felt as unimportant as possible, though I couldn’t imagine Max giving a shit. In fact, having seen him with his daughter, he probably thought it would be odd any other way.

“And you must be Max King,” my father said, stepping back and holding out his hand, which Max took.

He’d aged since I’d last seen him. He was still handsome, but his hair had more salt mixed with the pepper, and the dark shadows beneath his eyes were new. He was still handsome though, and I wondered whether it had been his looks that had seduced my mother and all those other women, or the money, or the power?

“So, Harper,” my father said, taking a menu from the waiter. “You’re working at King & Associates.”

I glanced across at Max, then back to my father. “Yes. For about three months now.”

He nodded and set his menu down but he didn’t reply. The silence felt awkward, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to know anything about him, so what was the point in asking a question? I was pretty sure if I said anything it would come out pointed and a little bitchy because that’s how I felt.

“We’re delighted to have her on board.” Max filled the silence.

My father raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

What, had he forgotten we didn’t speak? He occasionally tried to give me money through his lawyers, and I routinely refused. That was the extent of our relationship.

“She’s produced some of the best work I’ve ever seen from a junior researcher,” Max said, leaning back. It was clearly an exaggeration, given all the red pen he’d splashed across my Bangladesh report, but I suppose he thought it would soften up my father.

My father didn’t respond. I tried not to turn my head because I didn’t want it to be obvious I was looking at Max but wanted to see the expression on his face. Was he as awkward as I was?

“You’ve been after my work for years, Mr. King,” my father said, straightening his tie. “Is that why you hired