HIM
That's strange; he pays no attention to me other than when he's a downright douche bag. I do not understand why he would bring me to his parents. I do not feel comfortable discussing the Christiansen account or any business matters in front of themOn the terrace, you can see the entire back yard, and it's a breathtaking view. Brady is chatting with his father, who is in jeans and a blue and white polo shirt. He is a tad shorter than Brady, with white hair, and is quite tanned. He is as good looking as his son.
"This must be the infamous Allison. Aren't you a sight," he says as he looks me over.
I'm becoming quite uncomfortable. The "infamous Allison"? That remark has taken me a bit off-guard. I want to be polite and respectful to Brady's parents as they're so friendly, welcoming, and charming. Although, I am confused about one thing. What has he told his parents about me, and why am I here in the first place?
"Dad," Brady scowls lightly.
"Nice to meet you," I say and give him a firm handshake.
His eyes are darker than his sons. They are shifty, almost devious.
"You work with Brady at Facade correct and are you in Commercial design too?" his father strikes up a conversation.
"Yes, I am the lighting designer for our Commercial clients," I answer his father politely.
"She recently landed the Christiansen's account," Brady chimes.
"Congratulations, that is a huge account of land," he says with a warm smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Adams," I blush while looking over at Brady, who is staring out over the yard.
I know it was an account he tried and wanted desperately to land, but I ended up landing it. We're rivals; I guess you could say, ever since I became a designer. We are continually trying to outdo the other when we should be working together, not against each other.
"Please, call me Jerry," he says.
"Would you care for a drink?" Claire asks, handing me a glass of white wine.
Not wanting to drink but not wanting to decline either, I politely take the glass of wine from her. Jerry continues asking questions about the Christiansen project. Brady answers most of his father’s inquires for me. Their butler enters and informs us; dinner is ready. I wonder if he wanted his parents' input on the Christiansen project or his father has something to do with it and wants me to know.
Jerry and Claire head off the terrace. Brady walks behind them and stops.
"Would you please not tell my parents you received Lead Designer for this project. I don't feel like getting into it tonight with my dad over the fact that a woman was chosen over me," he says in a vulnerable tone, one that I have never witnessed before.
I nod in agreement. I feel bad for Brady that his father would treat him so harshly and judge him over the fact that I received the lead position on the project over him. I read his father wrong based on my first impression of him, but his eyes have me believing he may not be a very kind man. Maybe he is why Brady is the way he is. But it still does not answer the question of why I am or why we are here.
Chapter Fifty-Two
We walk into the room I was in earlier with the glass rectangle table and the gold-accented everything. "Everything" seems to be the best way to describe it. A young girl is already seated at the table; she is blonde and looks a bit like Jerry. She must be Brady's younger sister. Jerry sits at the head of the table. Claire sits next to the young girl, and I sit across from her next to Brady.
"Hi, I'm Abagail, Brady's little sister," she whispers joyfully across the table.
I smile and give a light wave.
"I'm Ali," I whisper back.
I look down at the plate in front of me. It's a decorative plate with a single spoon lying across it. A thick slice of mozzarella cheese and a thin slice of tomato drizzled in balsamic vinegar topped with a beautiful edible pink flower and basil leaf, lie on the spoon.
"Our first course this evening is Caprese, and is taken in a single bite," the butler announces.
I dislike tomatoes, so I hope the cheese, vinegar, and basil drown out the taste and texture. It would be impolite not to eat it, considering the company at hand. I do not care for Brady, and I think he is an obnoxious prick, but I don't want to embarrass and insult him in front of his parents. I place my napkin on my lap and choke the bite down, which is rather delicious.
The butler announces that we will be enjoying a nine-course meal this evening. Nine courses, where the hell am I going to fit nine courses? I look over at Brady, who is chewing his Caprese.
My plate is removed, and another one is set down before me. It's a cup of soup, a very fancy looking cup of soup.
"Our second course this evening is Duck Wild Rice soup," the butler announces.
Duck, I like ducks, I can certainly handle this one. I scoop up a spoonful of the soup and take a bite. Oh my God, it's divine, the best cup of soup I have ever had. The duck is so tender and compliments the wild rice perfectly. I may like this even more than chicken wild rice soup.
While we eat, Brady's parents engage in conversation about his life outside of work. They begin distastefully degrading his promiscuous lifestyle and the fact he never has a steady girlfriend. His mother practically tells him he is an embarrassment to the family and that he disgusts her. I honestly cannot believe they choose to have this conversation with him right now, at the dinner table in front of a perfect stranger. I've never before seen Brady cower like a puppy about to get beat and look so helpless. A part of