A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis - Robyn Peterman Page 0,48

to leave at all. I’d just like to chat with you alone… with Gideon on the other side of the door.”

“As you wish,” Gideon said, standing up and moving to the door with great reluctance. He turned as he was about to leave and smiled once again at the Archangel. “If one hair on her body is harmed, I will destroy you. Heaven and Hell be damned.”

“I’d expect no less,” he answered, sounding unsurprised by the threat.

With a curt nod, Gideon left the office and closed the door behind him.

John Travolta and I stared at each other warily. He seemed as intimidated by me as I was of him. It was ludicrous since he could most likely turn me to ash with a flick of his hand.

“I will answer two questions, Daisy,” he said, still seated behind his big desk. “Choose them carefully.”

“Your cryptic games are getting boring,” I said, approaching his desk. It felt good to be looking down at him. The man was much taller than I was, but from this vantage point I felt more in control.

He shrugged. “Not games. Parameters.”

“Safe limits so you don’t reveal yourself,” I said with an eye roll. “Nice.”

“Call it what you wish. It is what it is. What do you want to know?”

“I’ve been here before,” I said flatly. “A very long time ago.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly. It was barely noticeable, but my eyesight was killer now.

“That wasn’t a question,” he said mildly.

“Correct,” I agreed. “It wasn’t. Say her name. Say my mother’s name.”

“Not a question,” John Travolta snapped as a brief flash of sadness passed his handsome features.

“It was a demand,” I said. “You owe me a few things.”

He sat silently and stared at me. I held his gaze. The length of the stare-down went far past what was considered socially polite, but it was an unusual situation. Under normal circumstances, I would have dropped my gaze.

Not today.

“You look so much like her,” he whispered.

“Her name. Say it.”

Michael the Archangel closed his golden eyes and said the name of the woman he’d impregnated to the child they’d created together—the child he hadn’t wanted. “Alana. Her name is Alana.”

“Was,” I corrected him. “Her name was Alana. She’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“Did you love her?” I asked, and then shook my head in disgust.

It wasn’t one of the questions I wanted to ask. I’d just wasted a request on a child’s need to know her daddy loved her mommy.

“I did. With everything I am,” he replied. “Second question?”

If I could have kicked my own ass, I would have. I was an idiot and he was a liar. If he loved my mother, he had a shitty way of showing it. Taking back control was necessary. Statements and demands were in order.

“Clarissa is after me and I don’t know why,” I began, then held up my hand as he started to speak. “That wasn’t a question. It was backstory so you’ll be able to answer to my satisfaction.”

John Travolta sat back in his chair with an expression I thought might be pride. I had to be mistaken. Wishful thinking would screw me up. The man didn’t give a crap about me.

“Please continue,” he said.

“I will,” I shot back. “I thought it had to do with my relationship with Gideon, but Clarissa was the cause of Steve’s death long before I knew Gideon. There has to be another reason behind her actions.”

“Are you sure it’s you she’s after?” my father asked.

The question was absurd, but he’d left himself open. Today I would miss no openings.

“If you ask a question, I get an extra one,” I informed him.

He sighed then chuckled. “As you wish.”

I had two questions again now. “Yes, I’m sure it’s me she’s after. She killed my husband and tried to send him wrongly into the darkness. Pretty heavy evidence that she’s trying to destroy me.”

“There are shades of gray around every corner,” he replied, as cryptic as ever.

I was tempted to ask him to be more specific, but that was a question. His idea of specificity could be more cryptic than the statement I wanted clarified.

“Ambiguity is such an unfortunate personality trait,” I said. “Doesn’t really look good on you.”

It didn’t look good on me either, but at least I was working on it. Maybe I’d inherited it…

“Be that as it may, facts change when you live as long as I have,” he pointed out. “Vague statements tend to hold true far longer.”

I called him Darth Vader, but I should switch to Yoda