Playing Dirty (Risky Business, #2)(15)

“Why does Amy not like her, but Ryker speaks of her as if she were a saint?” Maybe I could get more information out of Parker than Ryker.

Parker’s lips twisted. “Ryker was always blinded to some darker spots in Natalie’s nature. We both were, at first, but then I began to see her for who she really was. I tried to talk to Ryker, but he wouldn’t listen. He just insisted that I’d stolen her from him, the love of his life.” The last bit was said with more than a little contempt.

I hesitated, then decided since he was in a talkative mood, I’d take advantage as much as possible. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to tell me what I wanted to know.

“I saw a photo,” I said. “Of the three of you. It looked like you were all friends.”

“That’s how it began,” Parker said. “Natalie was very … manipulative. Very charismatic and charming. She knew how to get what she wanted.”

“What did she want?”

“Both of us.”





CHAPTER THREE


I was waiting outside when my parents pulled up. Shultz was driving them, as he’d driven them for the past twenty-some-odd years, and I didn’t wait for him to get out and open the door to the car for me. I always felt guilty making him get out and come around, especially when I could just open the door myself.

“Hey, Mom. Dad,” I said, giving them each a hug before taking the seat opposite them. The familiar cloud of my mother’s perfume filled my nostrils.

“Where’s Dean, dear?” Mom asked, glancing out at the sidewalk.

“He had to work so he’s going to meet us at the restaurant,” I said. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, your father wanted to go to Everest, since we don’t get into the city very often anymore,” she said. “He’s been reading about it in those magazines he gets.”

My father thought himself a foodie, though he was from Chicago’s South Side and the fanciest thing he ate growing up was hot dogs on an actual bun instead of a rolled-up slice of white bread. A few years ago, he’d taken up cooking as a hobby.

Then I remembered.

“Everest?” I blurted. “Uh, isn’t there someplace else you want to go? I hear it’s hard to get in there, like you have to make reservations weeks in advance.” I really didn’t want to watch Parker with Monique tonight. Seeing them together on the boat had been quite enough.

Dad just looked at me strangely. “Since when has your old man ever had a problem getting a table at a restaurant?”

“How’s work going for you?” Mom interjected.

“Fine, it’s fine,” I said with a sigh, knowing it was futile. With any luck, though, we wouldn’t see them. After all, Parker’s reservation wasn’t for another—I glanced at my watch—half hour. Pulling out my phone, I sent a quick text to Ryker.

“You always say ‘fine,’ ” my mother complained. “You know your father can talk to some people, see about getting you on at the museum. You don’t have to be a secretary, Sage.”

“Executive Administrative Assistant,” I corrected her. “And we’ve discussed this. I don’t want Daddy to pull strings to get me a job. I keep applying whenever there’s a position open. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

“Sometimes things that are meant to be need a little help,” she replied.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” My parents meant well, I just wanted to get a job at the museum on my own merit, not because of how much money my father agreed to donate.

“Here we are,” my father announced as the car slowed and pulled up to a curb outside the Chicago Stock Exchange.

I followed my mother out of the car and waited as she slipped her hand through Dad’s arm. My father may have grown up dirt poor, but he’d fallen in love with a woman who brought out the best in him, including treating her like a princess. He offered me his other arm.

“Shall we, my lovely ladies?”

I grinned up at him and he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, then the three of us went inside and took the elevator up to the fortieth floor. As he’d predicted, once the maitre d’ saw my father, he had no trouble finding a table for us. It wasn’t just his imposing presence at over six feet combined with a formidable girth that made him recognizable, but also his name. Joe Muccino was a name anyone familiar with the liquor business in Chicago knew, and even those who weren’t still knew of him.

It had been so bad in school that I’d taken my mother’s maiden name as my last name when I’d gone to college. Not that it wasn’t nice to have people know your father was a wealthy and powerful man, but I’d just wanted to make my own way without the special favors.

The sommelier brought a bottle of wine, opening and pouring it for us as I checked my phone. Ryker had just texted that he was on his way and should be there any moment. I settled my hands back into my lap, gazing at the pretty candle and flowers on the table. The flickering light reflected off the silverware and crystal glasses. While the restaurant was full, it wasn’t loud, so you could have a conversation without any problem.

I looked over the menu as Mom leaned over toward Dad to read him the entrees. Although he needed reading glasses, he absolutely refused to get them. But Mom didn’t seem to mind translating.