Page 32 of Hate On

The two of them were still so in love and made Julianna smile to see her father lean in to kiss her mother, his mouth lingering on hers.

She wanted to find a love like that.

One day, she thought.

One day.

Dropping her gaze to her glass, she forced her thoughts away from a pair of searing blue eyes.

She hadn’t heard from him all day.

She had no doubt he was furious. She’d seen it in his gaze. He knew she’d set him up to be tricked. It was his own fault, really. They hadn’t asked him to steal the prototype from her purse. Not that he’d done it personally. At least she didn’t think so. She had no idea when it had been lifted from her bag, but it most definitely had been removed. When she’d returned home, it hadn’t been in the inner pocket where she’d put it.

Whoever had taken it had been very slick about it, because she’d never noticed when it had been taken.

No doubt it had been at dinner, or possibly during the few moments they’d waited to be seated.

“Julianna?”

She glanced up at her mother and smiled. “Yes?”

“You seem very distracted.”

“Just a bit.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Neither of her parents asked, but she had no doubt they’d clued in on the fact that she’d spent the night with Roman. Her father had been aware she’d been invited to dinner with Roman that evening after the three families had met. And he knew she’d accepted.

Her father had been the one to ask Edgar if he had another prototype that might work as a decoy—Not that I don’t trust the Montrose family, Edgar…but, well…I don’t, he’d said with a charming smile.

Edgar had delivered two prototypes. The one Julianna had turned over to Roman earlier in the chrome briefcase and a second one.It’s the first generation, several years old. It should do the trick, but hopefully it won’t be needed.

Julianna had hoped it wouldn’t be needed either, but she’d seen the avarice in Michael Montrose’s eyes during the meeting and understood what she was dealing with—he was a competitor who believed in doing what was necessary to win. Julianna was a fierce competitor herself, but she did have some limits.

“How did the exchange go with Roman?” Janice asked.

Her mother’s question brought Julianna back from the memories of that night. Shrugging, she took another sip of wine as she debated on what to tell her mother. Despite the fact that she knew her parents were likely aware of her nocturnal activities, she didn’t want todiscussthem. Yet how much could she say without crossing the line?

“It was…friendly enough. Up until…” She bit her lip, wincing. “He mentioned the briefcase and I told him that was how the prototype had been delivered. He figured it out then and I told him that when it comes to business dealings, the gloves came off. He was…not happy.”

“Hmmm,” her mother said, lips pursed. She rose from the table and gestured to the swinging door at her back. “Why don’t you help me bring dinner out?”

Julianna stood up. On her way around the table, her father caught her hand. “He didn’t get ugly, did he?”

“Of course not,” Julianna replied, startled. “He was justpissed. I could see it in his eyes.” She rolled her own and added, “I don’t see what room he has to be angry about anything. He was the one playing dirty to begin with.”

Charles started to say something, then stopped, waving her toward the door. “Go help your mother, darling.”

Julianna joined her mother in the kitchen. She doubted her mother needed much help. Gourmet cooking had become a hobby of hers over the years and unless it was a large, formal event, Janice often handled the meals for the family. The staff was on hand to clean up because while shelovedto cook, she abhorred the clean-up, something that Julianna loved to tease her about.

But Julianna wasn’t much for doing dishes herself, despite the fact that the boarding school she’d attended had all the students on rotation, learning basic chores. She’d washed more dishes by the time she was ten than her mother probably had in her entire life.

“What do you need help with?” she asked, joining her mother by the oven.

“Get the bread from the oven, would you?” Janice gestured to a basket lined with a pretty, embroidered cloth. “Put it in there after you slice it.”

The kitchen was redolent with the scent of spices and fresh baked bread and her belly rumbled demandingly.

“Are you all right?”