Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“I know the host. He’s a regular at the boutique and pretty much threatened to take his business elsewhere if I didn’t come.” Darcy snorted. “To be honest, I think he’s dying to get into my panties. Like that will ever happen.”
“Who exactly is the host? Dad neglected to mention.”
“Jonas Quade,” Darcy answered. “He’s filthy rich, calls himself a philanthropist and spends thousands of dollars on his many mistresses. Oh, and he’s also a pompous ass, but I can’t complain because those thousands I mentioned, well, he spends them at my boutique. He likes getting his lady friends to try on lace teddies and model them for him, that sleazy bastar—Shit, here he comes.”
A gray-haired man with the build of Arnold Schwarzenegger and an orange tan made a beeline in their direction. A plump blonde woman tagged on his heels, looking annoyed by her escort’s obvious enthusiasm for Darcy.
“Darcy!” Jonas Quade boomed, grinning widely. “What a treat to see you here.”
“Nice to see you, Mr. Quade,” Darcy said politely.
Quade turned to his companion. “Margaret, this is the owner of the shop where I buy you all those intimate gifts.” He winked at the blonde. “Darcy, this is my wife, Margaret.”
Hayden could see the barely contained mirth on her friend’s face. She had to wonder if Quade’s wife was aware that her husband wasn’t buying intimate gifts only for her.
“And who is your lovely friend?” Quade asked, peering at Hayden.
Since she didn’t particularly enjoy being ogled, Hayden felt a flicker of relief when, before Darcy could introduce them, Quade’s wife suddenly latched on to his arm and said, “Marcus is trying to get your attention, darling.” She proceeded to forcibly drag him away from the two women.
“Enjoy the party,” Quade called over his shoulder.
“That poor woman,” Darcy said. “She has no idea…”
“I’m sure she knows. He might as well have adulterer tattooed on his forehead.”
She and Darcy started to giggle, and Hayden decided this party might not be so bad after all. She hadn’t spotted her father yet, but with Darcy by her side, she might not have such an awful time.
“Can I interest you in a dance?”
But she should’ve known her best friend, with that indecently short dress, wouldn’t be available for long.
The handsome, dark-haired man in a navy blue pin-striped suit eyed Darcy expectantly. After a moment she shrugged and said, “I’d love to dance.” She handed her champagne flute to Hayden, adding, “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“Sure. Have fun.”
Hayden’s shoulders sagged as her friend followed Handsome Man onto the dance floor. Great. Seeing Darcy had been a pleasant surprise, but now her enthusiasm returned to its original level: low.
Then it swiftly dropped to nonexistent.
“Hayden, honey!” Her father’s commanding voice sliced through the loud chatter and strains of music. He strode up to her, a glass of bourbon in his hand and an unlit cigar poking out of the corner of his mouth.
She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. “Hey, Dad. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am.” He squeezed her arm and beamed at her. “You look gorgeous.”
Something about his overly broad smile troubled her. She wasn’t sure why—he was just smiling. And yet, an alarm went off in her head. She examined him more closely. His face was flushed, his eyes a touch too bright.
Like an unwanted visitor, Sheila’s words filled her head. Your father’s drinking again.
“Are you okay?” she asked, unable to stop the wariness from seeping into her tone. “You look a little…tense.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m absolutely great.”
“You sure? Because I saw those reporters outside and…”
And what? And I wanted to make sure that they’re all just lying about your involvement in illegal sports betting?
Presley’s eyes darkened. “Ignore those bloodsuckers. They’re only trying to cause trouble, conjuring up their delusional stories to get clicks.” He took a slug of bourbon. “This isn’t the time to discuss this. Martin Hargrove was just asking me about you. You remember Martin. He owns a chain of restaurants—”
“Dad, you can’t just ignore this,” she cut in. “What about the announcement that one of your players came forward? I tried calling you yesterday afternoon to talk about it, but I kept getting your voicemail. I left you two messages.”
He ignored the last statement and said, “I was golfing with Judge Harrison. No cell service out on the course.”
God, why was he acting like none of this was a big deal? One of his own players was alleging that Presley fixed games, and her father was brushing it off like a fleck of lint on his sleeve. Going to parties, smoking cigars, mingling with friends. Did he honestly think this would all just blow over? Hayden refused to believe her father had done the things he was accused of, but she wasn’t naive enough to think they could just close their eyes and blink the whole mess away.