Jordan had called him earlier and had mentioned that she’d invited Nick to join them for dinner. She’d said it hesitantly, as if worried he might be offended that she’d included him in their yearly tradition.
“You don’t have to run it by me, Jordo,” he’d said. “Nick and I are cool now.”
“Aw, you two really have bonded,” she’d said teasingly. “That’s so cute.”
“Yeah.”
There was a long silence on the phone.
“That’s it?” Jordan had asked. “No sarcastic response?” Her tone immediately turned worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just distracted with work,” he’d lied. “I’ll see you later, at the restaurant.” Then he’d hung up the phone before she could ask any more questions. He simply wanted to get through the dinner with his family as painlessly as possible, so he could get home and try to forget what a royally shitty day this had been.
As he approached the table, he put on a smile and acted casual. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic on the Drive was murder.” He sat down at the empty seat between Nick and his father and picked up the menu in front of him. “So what looks good?”
When nobody answered him, he peered over his menu and saw three pairs of eyes staring incredulously at him.
“You’re really going to make us ask?” Grey said.
Kyle shot Jordan a look of death from across the table. What did you tell Dad?
Nothing, she glared back. “Your deal with Twitter?” she prompted him.
Oh. Right. He’d forgotten that he hadn’t spoken to either his sister or father about that yet. They’d called as soon as the press release had gone out, but he’d been busy talking to prospective clients and, later, on his date with Rylann.
Hard to believe that was less than twenty-four hours ago. Last night had been incredible, and then within the blink of an eye, everything had changed.
Better to know now where you stand with her.
Yeah, well, that was what he was telling himself, anyway.
“I came up with the idea when I was in prison,” Kyle said, in response to their question. “Four months behind bars gives a man a lot of time to brainstorm.” He took a sip of water.
Grey laughed. “That’s all you’re going to say? You’re not usually so modest.”
Jordan eyed him suspiciously. “You’re never so modest.” She threw him a look. What’s going on?
He frowned. Nothing. Go away.
She cocked her head. What did you do now?
He made a face. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Sitting between Jordan and Kyle, Nick raised an eyebrow, looking ever the FBI agent right then. “What’s with the looks?”
Hearing that, Grey peered up from his menu. “Are they doing the twin thing again? Used to freak Marilyn and me out when they were younger. They’d have entire conversations like that at the dinner table.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You get used to it.”
The conversation moved on—thankfully—and Kyle distracted his family by filling them in on the details about his meeting with the CEO of Twitter. Nick then talked about his promotion to special agent in charge of the FBI’s Chicago division and how that meant he would no longer be doing undercover work. When he smiled at Jordan and squeezed her hand after saying that, Kyle got the impression this had once been an issue for them.
“That’s great to hear, Nick. So does this mean you’re going to make an honest woman out of my daughter anytime soon?” Grey asked, out of the blue.
Jordan’s eyes went wide, appalled. “Dad.”
Kyle watched with amusement as Nick squirmed in his chair. He tipped his drink to the FBI agent. “Welcome to the family.”
Grey turned to him. “Oh, I wouldn’t get too comfortable there if I were you. You’re in the hot seat next.”
“What did I do?” Kyle asked.
“Who’s this brunette bombshell you’ve been cozying up with?” Grey asked.
Damn Scene and Heard. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, Dad,” Kyle grumbled. Although that particular bit had been very true.
“Fine. How about what I see in the papers? A few weeks before the brunette bombshell, there was the pretty assistant U.S. attorney. The one whose chest you’re staring at in that photograph.” Grey looked at him pointedly. “You’re a CEO now, Kyle. Maybe it’s time you thought about treating your personal life as seriously as your professional one.”
Kyle took a deep breath, silently counting to ten. It was the same lecture he’d been hearing from his father for years. Normally, this was the part where he grinned and said, Sure, Dad, then left dinner and called whatever girl was the flavor of the week on the way home.
But not tonight.
“First of all,” he began, “I wasn’t staring at the pretty assistant U.S. attorney’s chest. I was looking at her eyes. And in hindsight, that’s probably the moment I should’ve first realized I was totally screwed. As for getting serious, well, here’s a shocker for you: I tried that. Thought I had something really great. But guess what? She doesn’t want to get serious with me. Figured that out just this morning. So if tonight, for once, we could all skip the That Kyle Sure Is a Funny Asshole routine, I would really, really appreciate it.”
Grey’s face fell, turning immediately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t realize.”