Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(81)

“And you live in the Phoenix area?” the don’t-foist-June-on-me woman asked.

“Yes, in Scottsdale.”

Pleased looks all around.

At least my address passed their approval.

But old-sour-puss-pearl-wearer #2 wasn’t done grilling me. “You own? Or rent?”

“I’ve owned my home there for two years.”

“But you’re so young.”

I leaned forward as if I intended to dish the dirt. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I’ve been told that I could pass for a twenty-year-old.”

“But Ellen told us you were twenty.”

I laughed. “Honey, please. I’ll be thirty-one next month.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The ladies exchanged a smug look and tongues would be wagging later.

That’s what you get for putting me in the B section, Mom.

But my glee quickly vanished. I didn’t know why she’d invited me if she didn’t want me here.

That’s when I missed my Dad. He liked me. He wanted me around. In fact he’d texted me yesterday just to tell me that he loved me and missed me. I was such a crappy daughter for not responding right away, with a million kissy face emojis and sparkly pink hearts.

No time like the present to rectify that.

I didn’t even pretend to be discreet; I pulled out my phone and sent him the emoji-filled text I should’ve sent yesterday.

Dad: That’s a lot of hearts. You okay?

Me: I’m at Mom’s sucky bridal luncheon and I miss you.

Dad: Sorry. Is she being…?

Me: The same old Ellen? Yes. Except she wears pearls when she ignores me now.

Dad: I love that you have a sense of humor about this, sweetheart.

Me: Only because I know I have you in my corner no matter what.

Dad: That’s sweet. I appreciate it. So how much have you been drinking? LOL

Me: Eyeing drinky-poo #5. This lousy country club doesn’t even have Crown.

Dad: The horror. Get out of there right now. Clearly it’s totally sketch.

I laughed out loud. Literally. My dad was such a dork sometimes. I glanced up to see if anyone had noticed.

The entire table was watching me. And hooray, my mother chose that moment to look over. She glared at me, then she glared at my phone. Defiantly I held it up higher and sent another text.

Me: Uh-oh. Busted texting at the table by the bride-to-be. Gotta go. Love you.

Dad: Love you too. You have a DD Miss Drinky-poo #5 at 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon?

Shit. No I didn’t. But I would.

Me: I’ll figure something out. Seriously, I’ve gotta go. Her deadly glare is heating up the plastic on my phone and it’s melting to my hand.

Dad: HAH! Text me later so I know you got home safely. XO

I looked up and yep, Mom’s eyes fired daggers at me. I made a show of pocketing my phone and excusing myself before I headed to the bar.

Drink number five went down smoothly. Probably not good to drink on an empty stomach. I wandered over to the cake table. If I put four mini-squares together it might actually make a normal-sized piece of cake. I did that and carried my spoils back to the table.

Damn. No fork. Well, they called it finger food for a reason, right?

My tablemates appeared uncomfortable with the fact I was, oh, eating. Their discomfort turned to judgy silence when Char dropped off drink number six.

I was feeling pretty mellow and wanted to leave on a high note, but driving was a no-go. Boone hated texting but I couldn’t exactly call him and say, “Hey, babe, I’ve knocked back six drinks just to make it through this stupid party and now I’m tipsy, so can you please haul that hot ass of yours over here and pick me up?”

I snickered. That’s exactly what I texted him.

B-Dub: OMW

Me: Cool. Oh, and can you pick up a bucket of fried chicken on the way? The food here SUCKS

B-Dub: No

Me: Dammit, I can’t find the emoji sticking its tongue out, so imagine that, k?

B-Dub: Stop dirnkign

I squinted at his text. Stupid autocorrect.

But that’s when I realized autocorrect hadn’t fixed it. I was seeing what Boone struggled with every day. That configuration of letters probably looked right to him.

No wonder he didn’t like to text.

No wonder I was falling in love with him, the man who trusted me enough to share his vulnerability.

Great. Now the “I love you, man” phase had kicked in.

Another text popped up from my assistant Nikki:

NZ: The quarterly reports for the Prestwood expansion are not where they’re supposed to be.

Me: There’s nothing on the checkout sheet about who might have them?

NZ: No. I didn’t misplace or misfile them.

Damn you, Greg, for not owning up to your f*ck-ups and putting every assistant in the company on edge.

Me: I’d never accuse you. If you can’t find them they’re gone.

NZ: I hate to bring this up, but I think someone in the office is trying to sabotage you. You need that data to compile your report. No data, no report and you look incompetent.

I briefly closed my eyes. Dammit, the words were blurring.

Me: Whoever took it is an idiot to think I wouldn’t make backup copies. I scanned everything and sent a copy to the secure server as well as my personal cloud for this type of situation.