The Angels' Share by J.R. Ward

Author:J.R. Ward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-06-30T09:46:17+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

“Now, this is more like it.”

As Richard Pford lanked into Easterly’s family sitting room at around nine that evening, Gin wanted to roll her eyes and tell him the nineteen fifties wanted its mores back. But the truth was, yes, she had stayed in to speak with him, and yes, as she watched him proceed to the bar as if he were lord of the manor, she was reminded of how much she despised him.

After pouring himself a bourbon, he went over and sat in the oxblood leather chair beside the sofa she had tucked herself into. The room was not a large one, and the oil paintings of prized Bradford thoroughbreds hanging on the paneled walls made things seem even smaller. Adding Pford’s physical proximity to the mix? Well, that shrunk things down to the point that the wide-screen TV showing a rerun of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills felt like it was pressed against her face.

“Why are you watching this drivel?” he said.

“Because I like it.”

“It’s a waste of time.” He took the remote and changed the channel to some financial pundit in a red tie and a pale blue shirt. “You should be looking at things of value.”

Then allow me to cast my stare away from you, she thought.

“We need to talk about the reception.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I must introduce you to Amelia.”

“Who?” he said without looking away from the NASDAQ crawl.

“My daughter.”

That got his attention and he glanced over, one thin eyebrow lifting. “Where is she? Is she home from school?”

“Yes.”

Gin extended a hand to the house phone that was discreetly hidden behind a lamp made from a sterling-silver fillies trophy from the nineteen hundreds. Picking up the receiver, she called the butler’s extension.

“Mr. Harris? Do get Amelia and bring her here? Thank you.”

When she hung up, she looked at Richard. “I need you to pay for the wedding reception we’re having here on Saturday. You can write me the check. It will be about fifty thousand. If it’s more, I’ll come back to you.”

Richard lowered his glass and refocused on her. “Why am I paying for anything?”

“Because we’re getting married. The two of us.”

“At your home.”

“So you’re going to make no contribution at all?”

“I already have.”

She looked at her ring. “Richard, you’re living under this roof, eating our food—”

He laughed and swirled his bourbon around. “You’re not actually making that argument, are you?”

“You’re going to write that check and that’s that.”

“I suggest you hold your breath for the ink to be dry, darling.” Richard toasted her. “Now, that would be a show worth watching.”

“If you don’t pay, I’ll cancel the party. And don’t lie. You are looking forward to the attention.”

Trophies, after all, needed a presentation ceremony.

Richard sat forward, the movement of his butt causing the leather to creak in a muffled way. “I know you aren’t aware of this, but there are problems at your family’s company.”

“Oh, really.” She played dumb. “Someone lose the key to an office supply closet? Oh, the tragedy.

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