Romance: The Boss by Lara West Page A

fills his too. “Now, will you do me another kindness?”
    “Um, that depends on what it is,” I jest. I may as well try to keep up the casual bantering. Now that I know he doesn’t mind it, I’m starting to feel a lot more comfortable around him. It’s strange; five minutes ago I’d wanted to run for the hills.
    “Will you ask me a personal question about myself?” he asks.
    The look in his eyes is the same one I saw in my bedroom that night, a touch of melancholia nestled in them.
    “Okay,” I say slowly, thinking back to his question before. “What is your mom like?”
    He sips his wine and shuffles back further onto the lounge, his gaze drifting sideways to the windows. “My mom is…beautiful, warm, caring, compassionate, somewhat vain, and just a touch overbearing.”
    I smile at his answer—it thaws me to hear him talk about his mom like that.
    That’s similar to how I felt about my mom too, even the vain part.
    I remember how I would watch her in the mirror for ages, marveling at how meticulous she was when she put on her makeup.
    She was so pretty.
    I’d always wished to grow up looking just like her.
    “And your dad?” I ask daringly, and then curse myself for asking it. Now who’s being insensitive? “I know he passed away a few years ago. So you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”
    When he shifts unnervingly, I envision him suddenly getting up and walking out again, like he did in Brooke’s apartment.
    “No, it’s all right,” he says, offering a closed smile. “But let’s just say he never won any Father of the Year awards.”
    “Why?” I ask.
    What is wrong with me? I sound like a reporter in an interview, trying to invade his personal life.
    “I’m sorry, that was out of line again,” I apologize.
    “You say sorry a lot, you know that?”
    “Yes I know, sorry.”
    Even I laugh at myself over that one.
    “My dad wasn’t around very much,” he continues. “I’m sure you’ve heard the story before…father ignores son so son ends up hating father. Yadda yadda yadda.”
    That’s awful. He hated his father, yet from what I can tell he doesn’t seem at peace with that version of it.
    “I read that your dad was a real estate tycoon, but also that he did a lot for unprivileged children, donating millions to orphanages internationally. That’s something nice,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. Plus, if I didn’t say it, there’ll just be an awkward silence and that certainly wouldn’t be helping the situation.
    “Yes. It’s about the only good thing he did do, though.”
    I decide to change the subject slightly. I don’t know why it’s piqued my interest so much, but I want to know more about Clint and his family, and how they first came to be billionaires.
    “How did your dad get into real estate?”
    “My grandfather began developing properties back in the twenties. He named his company the Veda Company, after my grandmother Veda. She died of stomach cancer before I was born.”
    He pauses to swallow the rest of his wine. Then he pours another. He offers to refill mine, but I shake my head.
    More wine would be a dangerous move at this point.
    “Then when my grandfather died about twenty years ago, my father expanded on the company’s operations. Now we own over six hundred offices, forty-five shopping centers, fifty-five thousand apartments, four hotels, five golf courses, and three marinas. Way to go, Dad.”
    If I didn’t know any better and judging by his sarcastic tone, I’d think he’s half drunk.
    “That’s very impressive,” I say honestly before delving on. “But there’s just one thing I don’t understand.”
    “Oh, what’s that?”
    “Where do you fit in with all the real estate? I haven’t come across anything about you or anything in the office files that bares any link to real estate.”
    “No, you wouldn’t. I don’t deal in real estate.”
    “Why? I also read that your brother now heads the Veda Company. But why