Dating the Dead • lrh

28. dinner

"Luke, this is Dad, Dad this is-"

"We've met, darling." Shelby's father said. He held out a hand to me, "Sebastian Lawler, pleasure to properly  meet you Mr Hemmings."

I shook his hand. "Pleasure's all mine, sir."

"Just call me Ian," he smiled. Now I know why his smile reminded me of Shelby's. "Well, let's start this dinner, shall we?" He clapped his hand together and proceeded to sit at the head of the table.

As we were all served dinner, friendly chatter erupted from the ten or so high profile people, mostly about business. Shelby and I were talking in hushed tones.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday," I said before chewing.

She took a sip of her iced tea. "It's not that important," she said, not looking at me.

"You didn't tell me your full name either."

"Again, it's not that important." She pushed a piece of vegetable in her mouth, still not giving me a glance.

"Iowan mentioned something about your memory. What's wrong with it?"

She set her utensils on the table, a stern expression on her face as she glared at Iowan who sat across from her. "Nothing that concerns you," she said quietly then cleared her throat. "Hey Iowan, how's your business going?"

Iowan wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking. "Exceptional, why do you ask?" He cocked his head to the side, and if he wasn't grinning, I'd wager he got uncomfortable in his seat.

Shelby's lips tugged into a knowing grin, like she's about to disclose a secret, and her eyes were deadpan. "Oh really?" she raised an eyebrow and her voice. Everyone's attention turned to her. "From what I heard, the stocks aren't in your favour. Not that they ever were."

Iowan adjusted his seating, "I don't know where you heard such rumours, my dear, but I suggest you mind your own business."

Shelby smiled. "Ditto."

"Touché." Iowan laughed rather awkwardly as he loosened his black tie.

When I thought they were done with their intense exchange, Shelby spoke once again. "You think so?" She scoffed, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I am minding my own business and I, for one, do not approve of your proposal. Excuse us."

Us? Does that mean I'm excused, too?

Before I properly processed what she said, Shelby stood up and grabbed me by the arm. I said 'excuse' quietly and then followed her out.

"What happened back there?" I asked, pulling her to a stop.

Her face had no expression as she turned to me. "I'll have Faller take you back to your house."

"No!" I raised my voice and Shelby took a step back. "I mean, I'm not leaving you until you explain things to me."

She regained her composure from shocked to deadpan, an expression she's been showing lately. "No."

I took a tentative step towards her but she backed away. "I just wanted to understand you."

She spun, her back on me, and went to the front desk, "Please page Faller for me, thank you." Shelby, then, turned to me with a stern face, "What for? What good will it do to you? Why must I explain myself?"

"Because," I searched for any plausible reason but my tongue was out of words. Before I even know it, she was already making her way to the lift.

A blonde woman dressed in a black suit caught up to us. "Miss Beatrice," she spoke, making Shelby turn.

"Please make sure Mr Hemmings gets home safely," her voice was calm, almost sad. The woman nodded and Shelby faced the elevator door, pressing the button.

The woman tapped me on the shoulder, "If you could please follow me-" she started but I cut her off.

"Let me say goodbye?" I looked at her with pleading eyes, hoping she'd understand. Thankfully, she did and backed away. "Shelby," I said as the lift opened.

She got on without any qualms and I stood rooted to the ground, looking at her face and an idea in mind. My breath hitched, my palms grew sweaty, my heartbeat raced and as the elevator doors started to close,

I bolted.

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