HellKat by Robyn Roze

part of her just wanted a man again. Strong hands on her body, muscular weight on top of her—and underneath her.
    Time to help the poor guy. Kat strode toward Grant. He broke free from Sarah’s clutches after she pressed an air-kiss to each side of his face. Then he shook hands with Henry James, who’d listened nearby, watching his daughter’s date, with a peculiar expression. As she made her approach Kat’s attention drifted to her father. He stood ramrod straight in his black tux, his eyes now fixed on hers as if searching for some answer in them.
    Grant stepped in front of her, a warm smile lighting his face, and she turned to allow his help with slipping on her coat. Maybe I’ll invite him up tonight, she mused. Maybe . The equivocation puzzled her. What the hell was wrong?
    What was stopping her?
    “Kathryn, darling, I’m delighted you were able to join us for dinner this evening. The celebration simply would not have been the same without you.” Sarah’s eyes remained firmly fastened to Grant’s.
    Right. Kat’s presence bothered her mother far more than her absence ever had. Their relationship only grew more strained with the tick of time. But when Sarah James wanted something—like the perfect son-in-law, an investment banker born into old New York money—the woman could lay on the honey-soaked lies, and thick.
    “When I accepted the Collinses’ invitation for Easter brunch, I never would’ve imagined you’d rearrange your entire holiday schedule, Mother, just for me .” Kat gave Grant a quick, knowing glance. Sarah nodded nervously, fiddling with the pearls at her throat.
    Kat’s sharp focus shifted to her father. For a second she glimpsed amusement in his eyes, then it vanished, replaced with an unsteady aloofness. For so long she’d wanted to say to him, “Tell me what you’re thinking. Talk to me … about anything ...” But Henry James was a man of few words, and even less affection.
    Grant grasped her hand in his velvety smooth palm and steered them toward the private penthouse elevator where they awaited the next ride to freedom.
    “Lunch next week at the Metropolitan Club?” Charlie, Kat’s eldest brother, asked Grant, as he and his wife joined them by the elevator.
    “I’ll have my secretary compare calendars with yours. How’s that sound?” Grant replied.
    “Perfect,” Charlie said, with a couple of pats to Grant’s shoulder.
    Kat could feel Charlie’s hypercritical eyes drilling into her, demanding her attention, insisting that she acknowledge his magnanimous efforts with Grant.
    Over her dead body.
    Charlie had had no problem over the years shoving his judgmental finger in her face time and again—at their mother’s command, no doubt; his words simply rang too familiar. When Sarah’s censures had failed to make a difference, she’d clearly used Charlie as a mouthpiece to convey her own embarrassment with Kat’s string of men and apparent lack of family values.
    One question still gnawed at Kat: why hadn’t her father ever commented?
    The couples entered the shiny gold car and Charlie pressed the down button.
    When the doors slid shut on her father’s unflinching gaze, Kat reaffirmed her reason for continuing to attend these hollow family affairs: the childish hope that one day Henry James would allow her into his world.
    Hell, she’d settle for his smile.
     
    ****
     
    No more skulking, watching, waiting until her lights went out after midnight. No more behaving like a damn stalker or a schoolboy who couldn’t muster the nerve to talk to a pretty girl. He’d wanted to make sure she didn’t have a boyfriend and wasn’t completely sure she didn’t. Oh yeah, she’d met the same guy for lunch and dinner Friday night, then saw him Saturday night and had spent the whole damn day with him today. She still hadn’t come home yet. He gritted his teeth. What did he expect? It was a holiday. One that a lot of people spent with family. Something he didn’t have. Tucker