“Evie? Did you hear me?”
I cleared my throat and stumbled over my words. “Y-yeah. I … that’s … great. I’m happy for you.” That was on me. Graham asked me about my dad and Katie, and I casually mentioned how they were saving up for IVF. It just slipped …
“I need you to visit Graham and give him a big hug from me. Promise me you’ll do that?”
“Sure.” I cringed. “How’s Dad? I haven’t talked with him since last week.”
“He’s good. Grandpa and Grandma have been going through a bunch of stuff in their attic, and I think it’s been tough to see so many photos and memories of Mom.”
“We need to go through her stuff.”
“I know.” Katie sighed. “Just not now. I’m not ready and neither is Dad.”
I didn’t argue. My plate had reached capacity. The last thing I needed was a stroll down memory lane at a time when I so desperately needed my mom.
“Keep me up to date. Love you, Katie.”
“Will do. Kiss Franz and Anya for me.”
I hummed a mm-hmm before pressing End.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You can’t just close down a whole restaurant for me.” I frowned at Graham as he stood from the table in the far corner of the posh downtown Denver sushi bar. I called him the day before, requesting lunch in the next few weeks. He made it happen the very next day.
Private jet transportation.
Car waiting for me at the airport.
And a closed down restaurant.
“I can and I did.” He pulled me in for a hug.
A little too tight.
A little too long.
His hands a little too low on my back.
Lips that lingered too long next to my ear when he whispered, “Anything for you, Evelyn.”
Graham Porter, the boy in college, befriended me. Governor Porter, the man with more money and power than one person deserved, manipulated my feelings, my family, my job, my whole damn world. Hence the reason for requesting lunch.
After I wiggled for him to release me, he let me go and slipped off his black suit jacket. My friend was unquestionably a very handsome man in a three-piece suit—very David Gandy.
“A soup and sandwich lunch, Graham. This is all very unnecessary.” I sat down as a waiter rushed to lay a crisp white napkin on my lap and scoot my chair in a fraction.
“If you want soup and a sandwich, I’ll have it brought here.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure the owners of a sushi restaurant would love for you to have food from another restaurant delivered here.”
“Fuck them. If they don’t like it, I’ll buy the restaurant and turn it into a soup and sandwich joint.”
“You’re insane.” I brushed off his comment, even though I knew he would do something that crazy without thinking twice. “Katie called me.”
“Oh, yeah.” He took a sip of his water. “How’s she doing?”
“Well, she could be pregnant. But you know this because you gave her money for IVF.”
He shrugged that same stupid I-do-whatever-I-want shrug. “And?”
“You have to stop buying my family.”
“Buying?” He chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, eyes dancing with mischief. “I’m pretty sure everything that I’ve done for you and your family is considered helping, not buying. I’ve never asked for anything in return. Not so much as your vote when I’ve ran for office. But I’m dying to know … did you vote for me, Evelyn?”
“Why pay for Katie’s IVF? You’ve been in the same room as her maybe five times, counting Mom’s funeral. It doesn’t make sense.”
The waiter filled the table with plates of food that Graham must have ordered before I arrived.
When he left us alone, Graham shifted his gaze to me. “I did it for you.”
“I don’t think friends pay for things like this. Maybe if Katie were your friend, but she’s not your friend.”
“You’re my friend.” He placed several pieces of sushi onto my plate.
“That’s not enough.”
“It’s everything.” He paused, dark eyes lifting to me again. “Lila can be your best friend, but you are mine.”
My gaze averted to the chopsticks by my hand. I picked them up and rolled them between my thumb and index finger as I weighed my words. “You make me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t look at him, but I felt every ounce of his gaze on me. “Because the things you say, the looks, the way you touch me … it feels inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate or wrong?”
Risking a glance, I narrowed my eyes. “Is there a difference?”
He took a bite and chewed slowly, studying me with a cocked head. “Wrong is when it feels wrong because it is wrong. Inappropriate is when something is wrong, but a need or desire whispers to our conscience that it doesn’t completely feel wrong. An affair is inappropriate.”
“An affair is wrong.” I bit out the words so quickly it made his head jerk backward.
“Rape is wrong. An affair is inappropriate. Robbing a bank is wrong. Fingering your wife under the table during the annual Governors’ Dinner at the White House is inappropriate.”