for a chance to wallow.
And if she’d wanted to know more about who he was, what he did for a living, then that was on her. She should have asked instead of pitching a fit after the fact.
He resisted the temptation to bang on the door again, shoving his fists in his pockets instead. Grinding his teeth, he stared unseeingly while his mind regrouped.
He wasn’t finished.
He never gave up.
But, as much as it grated to admit, retreat was the only option right now.
Tomorrow, though?
Tomorrow, he’d win.
* * *
THE LAST THING Alexia wanted to do after a sleepless night spent crying over Blake was to face her father. She’d wanted to stay in bed with the covers pulled over her head and a bowl of hot fudge.
But she knew that walking out on his party was tantamount to a declaration of war. As with all conflicts the admiral oversaw, the battles would be played to win at all costs. But she’d spent her formative years learning strategy and figured she was as prepared as she could be.
She wouldn’t win. Nope, she wasn’t delusional. Going up against an admiral in the United States Navy, a SEAL trainer? She didn’t stand a chance. This was all about mitigating damages.
The timing was crucial. A waiting period of just long enough for his temper to drop but not long enough for it to chill.
The combat zone had to be chosen with an eye toward tactics. Brunch at her mother’s table didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get ugly. But it did mean he’d have to stop to take sips of his coffee between insults.
Her weapons? Maturity and logic, and a gift for communication. As long as she kept her temper and presented her case in a diplomatic, intelligent way, the admiral would listen. He might not agree, but he’d listen.
So, there ya go, she told herself. Ready to rock.
Standing on her parents’ porch, she pressed one hand to her churning stomach, said a little prayer and knocked.
She didn’t recognize the housekeeper who answered, but followed her meekly down the hall. When they passed the French doors where she’d had her confrontation with Blake, she almost tripped over her own Jimmy Choos. Why’d he have to show up last night? Her eyes filled again, both fury and hurt making her want to hit something. It was like Cinderella at the ball, watching her prince turn into a rabid toad.
No. She clenched her fist around the strap of her purse and took a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to think about Blake. All weaknesses, all worries, all distractions had to be ignored. Because eggs Benedict and mango aside, this was war.
“Mother,” she greeted. Then, her fingers only trembling a little, she smiled at the admiral. “Father. Good morning.”
“Alexia,” her mother exclaimed. The older woman was perfectly made up. Her hair was more golden, like Michael’s, than red like her daughter’s, and fell in a smooth swing around a wrinkle-free face that didn’t show a single sign of her late night. Ever the perfect hostess, she indicated to the housekeeper to bring in another plate even as she rose to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Lovely?” her father derided, snapping his newspaper shut and slapping it onto the table. He gave Alexia a dark look. “I had higher expectations of your moving back here, young lady.”
For a second, just one sparkling bright second, Alexia’s heart melted. He’d wanted her back? He’d anticipated her return?
“And this is how you behave now you’re here? By insulting me and my guest?”
Silly heart, she chided, sliding into a chair and setting her purse at her feet to give herself time to blink away the unexpected tears.
“I’m sorry you saw it as an insult,” she apologized when she looked up, her words sincere. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”
She’d promised herself when she’d moved back to San Diego that she’d handle her relationship with her parents in a mature, dignified fashion. No hiding, no avoiding, no drama.
“I’m sure Alexia had a good reason for leaving,” Margaret chimed in, irritation giving an extra snap to her words. “Let it be, Elliot. She’s only been home a week, probably hasn’t even unpacked yet. The last thing she needs right now is to worry about a relationship.”
The tension ratcheting down a notch, Alexia gave her mother a grateful smile. It’d been rare growing up that their mother sided against their father. Allies must present a united front, after all.
“We’ll have dinner next weekend,” Margaret continued, gesturing to Alexia to have some fruit. “Just a quiet little get-together. You can invite the lieutenant then, Elliot.”
Alexia’s shoulders sagged. She fisted the crisp white fabric of her skirt between her fingers to keep from banging them on the table. She specialized in communication. Why could she never get through to her parents?
“I’m sorry, Mother,” she tried again, calling on patience. “But I’m not interested in dating Lieutenant Landon. Not last night, not next week. Not ever.”
“That’s ridiculous,” her father stated. “He’s a fine young man. A great career ahead of him. You’re just being stubborn out of habit.”
“No. I’m trying to be clear. I’ve just moved to town and, as Mother said, haven’t even unpacked yet. I start a new job tomorrow, one that’s going to take all my focus and concentration. I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”
At least, not anymore. She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Yesterday, she’d been wide-open to the idea.
“Speaking of that job,” the admiral said, propping his elbows on the table and giving her a steely look. “I’d like for you to meet with the head of the Dillard Institute next week. They have an opening for an acoustical engineer. Now that you have top-level clearance, you’d qualify just fine.”
“I have a job already. One I moved across the country for.” Stress did a grinding little twist in her gut as Alexia realized that her walking out the night before was only the opening salvo to her father’s list of issues. He had a whole arsenal of complaints to shoot her way.
Her father waved away her objection. “You’ll need to change jobs. Did you see today’s paper? There’s a write-up about you and that sex-research grant in there. It’s completely unacceptable.”
Unacceptable. How often had she heard that over the years? Closing her eyes, Alexia tried to breathe past the knot in her chest. Why had she expected things to change?
“Are you paying attention, young lady?”
He never used her name. Maybe he didn’t know it. All her life, she’d been young lady. And for this, she was making herself ill? Worrying herself into misery, all while apologizing for making an adult choice in a matter that was completely her decision?
Alexia opened her eyes, lifted her napkin from her lap and set it on the table next to her plate. She gave her mother, then her father, a distant smile and got to her feet.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped.
“I’d hoped that in moving back we could heal our relationship. If not come to love and enjoy one another, at least reach a respectful camaraderie,” she informed them in the same smooth, distant cadence she’d used delivering her dissertation at the age of twenty-two. “Unfortunately, in the handful of hours we’ve spent in each other’s company I’ve come to realize that would be impossible.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Margaret said with a sigh, topping her orange juice off with more champagne.
“No, Mother, I’m being practical.” Alexia bent down to