Page 11 of Executive Decision

Indeed.

Daphne returned, setting a plate down. She took a sip of her drink, turned back to me, and said, “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. You just argue with me, Daphne. I never know what is going on.”

“Because I’m a mess. But what does it matter, Cal?” She put her hand on mine. “It wasn’t nothing, okay? I’m not a fucking robot, but if I threw myself at you, it’d only make it worse. For you, I mean.”

I couldn’t resist, freeing my hand to run it down her back—resting it too low on her ass. I leaned over, whispering, “I already told you I’m stupid, Daph. I want what I shouldn’t have—a woman who continues to put me in my place.”

She whispered back, “You like the abuse, Cal.”

I swirled my hand. “No, I suspectyoudo.”

Mouth gaping, she gazed back at me and shook her head. She said nothing, but she thought about it. She wanted to do more. I let it percolate.

4TROUBLE IN PARADISE

Daphne

“Daphne,your hair! It’s too wild!” Mum called across our hotel suite’s living room.

I ignored her.

“Daphne, I amspeakingto you.”

I spun, tossing my hair over my shoulder. My mother’s stick-straight, impossibly shiny chestnut locks were perfect. She loathed my wavy blonde strands. Sea air only made my hair more defiant.

I crossed my arms. “My hair isfine. I am not supposed to over style it. I was told it must be somewhat dirty tomorrow so the stylists can put it up.”

Mum pulled a face. “That will not do. Put it up. You are so pretty when you are composed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You are a great beauty, Daphne. I wish you would see that,” Mum softened.

Wanting out, I gave up arguing. I needed to breathe, and the longer I stayed, the more the walls closed in. I strode back to the double room I shared with my three sisters. I had my own room when this weekend began, but it was handed off to my older brother like a great big prize when it emerged my boyfriend dumped me, and I was alone.

My seventeen-year-old sister Delanie, known as “Lanie,” to us, sat in bed with her laptop while Dora, my sweet eleven-year-old sister lay on her belly reading. She was the surprise. My middle sister, Dahlia, watched TV. At not-yet-twenty-one, she wasn’t old enough to attend the drinks reception our aunt and uncle hosted for the soon-to-be-newlyweds.

I passed my sisters into the bathroom to pin up my hair.

Mum crowded into the doorway, annoyance pulling her brows into an angry line. “I think I can see a panty line in that dress.”

“Fine, I’ll change them,” I said, beyond frustrated. “I am putting my hair up. I will change my panties. Can I please, please just have space?”

“Fine,” she sighed, exasperated.

I slammed the door behind her, then braced my hands on the marble vanity. I let out a guttural groan at myself in the mirror. I didn’t see a VPL. I debated not changing my panties before I decided to throw a big middle finger at my mother. I pulled off my sensible underwear, popping them in the trash. If she didn’t like panty lines, well, she’d get no panties atall.

I continued to pile my hair on my head when there was another knock.

“I’m changing my panties and doing my hair!” I shouted.

“Daph, it’s me, sweetie.” It was my father.

“What?” I asked, mortified. “I thought you were Mum. What do you need, Daddy?”

“I just wanted to tell you we got the completed contract back and to say thank you.”