Risky Play (Red Card #1)(38)

“Is that your answer? Ignore the question?”

“You need to ask!” he called back.

“Are you dating her?” I hated the way that sentence tasted. Full of bitterness and longing.

“That was a question.” He laughed and just got into his car. While I stood on the street and watched him take off. While I wondered if I’d lost her the minute I accused her of stalking me and forcing me into marriage.

I cringed.

A fucking van full of flowers.

Ten vans.

Shit, at this rate I was going to need to plant an entire garden for her and buy a flower shop just to stay on her good side or at least, possibly, get another chance to taste her mouth.

I sighed and made the slow trek back to my car, feeling more depressed with each step.

How was I supposed to win her if I wasn’t even allowed to play the game?





Chapter Thirty MACKENZIE

“Hey, Dad.” I kissed his soft cheek and made my way past him into the enormous home he and my mom shared on Lake Washington. The marble floor seemed to swirl and come alive beneath my feet as I flipped on a light in the hall and walked into the kitchen to grab my favorite wine and my favorite wineglass to go with it.

Dad followed me, as was tradition when I stopped by late at night.

Wordlessly, he grabbed his glass and sat on the barstool opposite where I was standing. “What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath, then took a drink of the dry red before speaking. It tingled against my lips and breathed life into my parched soul. “Alton was at the restaurant with you tonight.”

“Are you asking me?”

“No, I know he was.”

“Potential buyer, but I left early to make it home for Mom’s and my show . . .” My parents were obsessed with The Voice, as in, they refused to be distracted and would save it until they could watch it together, full volume, one bottle of wine, a cheese board. It was basically a weekly holiday and excuse to drink. “Why? What happened? Did he talk to you?”

“Yeah.” I cringed. “One sec.” Two more small sips. “He sort of insulted me, in a very inappropriate way in front of my . . . er . . . date? And in front of the man I currently work for.”

Dad sucked in a breath. “What did he say?”

I felt my face flush. “Let’s just agree it was horrible and I almost cried.”

“Honey . . .” He reached out. I took his hand and squeezed.

“So,” I continued, using him for support, “my employer punched him in the face, and when he wouldn’t stop saying cruel things, my date punched him in the side of the head. The police came . . .”

Dad released my hand. “What sort of punks handle things with a fistfight?”

“Ones trying to defend my honor and stand up for me. Something Alton wouldn’t do in a million years.”

Dad’s face softened. “He’s just not the fighting type, honey. He uses his words—”

“Oh, trust me.” I scowled. “I know he uses his words, he needs someone to staple his mouth shut. The point is, he deserved it, and I don’t want him to press charges.” I licked my dry lips. “Dad, you didn’t fire him after the wedding even though I begged you to. I don’t want to work with him, I don’t even want to see his face.” My chest felt heavy with each confession. “Since you’re his boss, you have pull. Can you please just tell him not to press charges?”

Dad frowned. “Do you know if he did?”

“No. But I do know he was angry.”

“Honey, he was punched in the face by two men. Of course he was angry—your date was a man, right?”

I narrowed my eyes. “As opposed to a turtle?”

“No.” He laughed awkwardly. “I just meant, after Alton, if it were a . . . woman.” His face turned serious. “That would be okay.”

“Thanks? I think?” I gave my head a shake. “But it was a man, an attractive man—we’re getting off topic. I just need you to talk with Alton, let him know it would reflect badly, or could reflect badly, on us.” It wouldn’t, but I was hoping that would at least help sway him.

Dad stood. “Honey, I understand your concern, but if Alton wants to press charges, I’m not going to stop him just because you want to protect some punks who don’t know how to fight like men.”

“But—”

“Topic closed.” He smiled like it wasn’t a big deal that he was basically choosing Alton over my needs or wants—again. Playing favorites . . . or at least that’s what it felt like. Why was I suddenly remembering all the times I had to compete with Alton for my dad’s attention? For the accolades that made me think I needed to do whatever it took to be part of the boys’ club.

I’d begged my dad to fire him or at the very least put him in a different department after Alton left me at the altar, but my dad said keeping Alton was business, not personal. I was making it personal.

Of course it was personal! He. Left. Me.

And while I appreciated my dad’s strong business sense, sometimes a girl just needs a hug, she needs to be told it’s okay to make it personal! I loved my dad but he wasn’t acting like my father, he was acting like a shrewd business owner, which was a side of him I rarely saw or maybe just refused to acknowledge.