My Life From Hell (The Blooming Goddess #3)

Family Dinner (Part 1)

I peered into the dimly lit interior of the limo, eyes narrowed. "Lovely to see you too, Jack, but I'm busy."

Media mogul Jack Wing, Hermes' public persona, regarded me with his shrewd dark eyes. "I don't like playing messenger tonight any better than you like having me, kid. Now get in already so I can get home to bed." He tugged sharply on a cuff of his perfectly tailored pinstripe suit, the image of wealth and power.

"What's the deal?"

"An official summons," he said steadily.

Great. "Tell Pops he can go screw himself. He gets his chance to kill me next week."

I moved to slam the door, but Jack was surprisingly fast for a middle aged guy. Okay, middle aged looking guy. He caught the door and leaned out toward me, his gaze intense. "A meeting. Not an attempt. Safe passage guaranteed."

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm waiting."

Jack gave an exasperated huff. "I swear on the Styx."

I considered my options. Really, I didn't have any. If Zeus wanted to see me, he'd see me with or without my say in the matter. Besides, Kai was gone. And my birthday high was dead now. Might as well pick a fight with my father in time-honored teen tradition.

I scrambled into the limo and shut the door.

"Isn't the outfit a bit much?" Jack asked.

"It's my birthday. I was celebrating."

"Without shoes?"

I glanced down at my bare feet. "You try wearing heels."

Jack laughed.

"What does Pops want with me?"

He shrugged. "Not just your father. Hades too."

"Come on!" I glared at him.

He smiled. "Happy birthday."

I turned my head and stared out the tinted window. I could tell we were moving by the sights passing by, but I sure couldn't feel the road beneath us. This puppy was smooth. And the seats were plush. Might as well enjoy the ride.

We drove for several hours. The long ride must have been the gods' way of amping up my anxiety, by building my tension around the meet. We could have blinked directly to the location.

Eventually, we came to a small strip mall on the outskirts of some cookie-cutter suburb. It consisted of a discount shoe store, a dry cleaner, and Marina's Taverna, a Greek restaurant. The limo came to a stop in front of Marina's and the door on my side opened.

Jack saluted me. "Have fun, kid."

I got out of the limo. "Give my regards to Aphrodite." The ditzy bat.

Jack smiled, as if he knew what I was thinking. Then the door swung closed and the limo departed.

I really wished I was wearing shoes. If nothing else, I could grind a heel into my father's foot if he pissed me off. Well, there was no helping that now. I straightened my shoulders, held my head high, and strode inside.

I expected the worst Greek tackiness with plaster statues of gods, but the place was surprisingly tasteful. Airy with high ceilings. Rectangular blue panels were inset into white walls. The chairs were made of simple varnished wood, while white cloths covered each square table. A fully stocked bar, curved and gleaming took up one side of the interior, with the kitchen visible to the right.

The restaurant was empty except for a kind-looking woman in chef's whites who smiled at me as I entered. Marina, I presumed.

"Come. This way," she said, with more than a hint of a Greek accent.

My heart stuttered. She sounded exactly like Demeter had when Jack had created an illusion of her to trick me. I'd been royally suckered and heartbroken.

"Thank you," I said quietly, and followed her through the space.

She led me out the back doors onto a large patio, covered by a gazebo of white beams. Flowing white cloth had been woven to make the roof. The fabric also formed curtains, tied back to create half-walls.

A seating area with white leather sofas and tall cacti filled one corner. Large glass lanterns encircled the patio, fat pillar candles blazing brightly in each one. A tall patio heater kept the space toasty.

In the center of the patio, a dark wood table had been laid out, laden with yumtastic Greek tapas like pita wedges, pink creamy taramasalata, triangles of spanakopita, and a heart attack heaven of saganaki—fried cheese.

Zeus and Hades sat there munching in silence. Not even the tense "One wrong move and there's gonna be a hurting" silence you would have expected from two powerful foes who despised each other. Nah. More like "Eh, it's family and family is gonna push your buttons, but we're here now, so let's eat."

Most gods on Earth tended not to appear much taller than six feet. To blend in. But not these two. From the way they both dwarfed their chairs, I could tell they hit seven feet easy. Guess neither could stand to appear too human.

They looked ridiculous. Not just because of their height either. Hades had decided to wear pleated khakis, a plaid button-down shirt and a cardigan. Which sounded very golf dad but came off as bad-touch relative wrong when combined with his bloated alcoholic looks, and all around messed up energy. He wasn't giving off his usual charming, yet evil, vibes.

Pops, on the other hand, was his regular metrosexual self, all baby smooth skin and buffed mani. While I'd only seen him in linen suits and a fedora, his current outfit could have been taken off one of the club goers I'd just been with.

No girl should ever see her father in a suit that skinny, shiny, or tight. Scouring that image from my memory banks might require therapy.