Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(55)

“You want to manage a restaurant together?” Crap, that’s my biggest sticking point. Working directly with my father is a nightmare of epic proportions. I’d moved on years ago so I could get away with not working directly for him as much as possible. That’s always hard, though, when the money starts talking. Because that’s when I usually start listening.

“Well, at the start. You know how I am.” He’d always had wanderlust and could never stick in one spot for too long. “I won’t get in your hair. This’ll be your project, completely. I’ll hang around, help supervise, take care of the stuff you don’t want to deal with, and then when the business is in full swing, I’m outta there. Ready to sell our franchise in all the big West Coast cities at first. Los Angeles, Portland, Seattle. Then we’ll sweep out farther east. Las Vegas, Phoenix . . .”

Sounds too good to be true, so I know one thing: there has to be a catch.

“Just got the loan approved for the location and we’ve moved quickly into escrow,” the old man keeps going. “I’m land rich. Rich as a motherf*cker, really, but also cash poor. That means I’ll probably need some cash loans to take care of expenses and stuff.”

There’s the catch. I hadn’t even really risen to the bait. Shit. “You need a loan?” The idea shocks me. My father has never, ever come to me for money. He never needed to. My long dead grandfather had left him a ton of money and though he’s at his very soul a con man, Dad is also a very comfortably wealthy con man. He can afford to take risks. He’s always the one flashing the big cash stacks, exaggerating about his success, though most of those exaggerations were always based in truth.

The last thing I want to do is let my dad borrow money from me. But what can I do?

He’s my father. He might not have been there for me emotionally and he definitely made me work for it, but he always eventually came through when I needed financial help.

I owe him. He’s one of the reasons I’m where I am today.

Jen

I’d forgotten how uncomfortable Colin’s dad makes me feel, so what just happened was a fresh reminder of the man’s ways. He’s too slick, too charming, too . . . everything. I don’t trust him. He doesn’t feel genuine.

I take a hot shower to wash away the awful thoughts that still linger from last night. And the way Conrad Wilder talked, how he looked at me. How he strode into Colin’s house as if he owned it, invading our space. Ruining everything.

Thank God I know Colin is not like his father. Yeah, he has a reputation as a player and when I first came to live with him, he flirted with plenty of girls. Even went out with a few. At The District, he’s always the charmer, talking to women, making them laugh and smile and vie for his attention. But he never comes across as a total phony.

And lately he hasn’t even gone out with any of them. For the last few months he’s flirted a little bit at work with customers, but that’s it. I’m the only one he’s paid any real attention to.

Closing my eyes, I press my forehead against the cool tile, letting the water cascade over me. He’s so confusing. Everything he does, how he acts, I can’t figure him out. One minute I think he might really want me, then the next he’s treating me like a friend or worse, a temporary fling.

You’re the one who asked for the temporary fling.

Yeah. I’m such a fool for saying that. No wonder he readily agreed. A man like Colin is always up for a no-strings affair.

I finally shut off the water and step out of the shower, toweling off quickly, preparing for the day. My body still aches, but the pain is probably nothing that a few ibuprofen can’t take care of. Colin may have said I’m not going into work, but I so am. No way will I sit around here and do nothing. I’ll be climbing the walls in no time. And after having last night’s tips stolen, I need the money.

Besides, if Colin’s dad is hanging around here tonight when Colin is at work, there is no way in hell I’m staying here with him alone.

Exiting the bathroom that connects to my bedroom, I go to the dresser and open a drawer, slipping on a bra and panties, then a pair of yoga pants and a pale blue tank top. I attempt to grab for my phone, ready to check my text messages, and realize it’s gone.

The jackass who stole my purse also took my phone. He’s probably not even doing anything with it. My cheap purse has probably been tossed in a garbage bin, full of everything I consider important. He most likely took my cash and left everything else in the trash. Things that matter to me. Stuff that I need.

I sniff, pressing my lips together to hold back the tears as I collapse on my bed. I’m tired. Irritated. Frustrated. A huge ball of confusing emotion swirls within me, and I glance at the bedside table and the landline telephone that sits there.

Yep, Colin’s one of the rare few who actually still has a real phone. I grab it and dial the 800 number of my phone company, which turns into a twenty-minute conversation as I cancel my stolen phone and order a new one.

Colin would be proud of me. I actually feel like an adult, taking care of what I need to do.

The moment I hang up, the phone starts to ring. I answer it quickly, something I rarely do since hardly anyone calls the house phone and if they do, it’s usually for Colin.

“Oh my God, I took a chance by calling this number,” Fable says right after I say hello. She sounds relieved. “Are you all right? I figured your cell was stolen, yeah?”