Bitter much?
Fine, so she was bitter, but really, who could blame her? She’d come here to support her father and bridge the distance between them, and yet he seemed determined to avoid spending quality time with her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Darcy.
Her friend was clad in a white minidress that contrasted nicely with her bright red hair and vibrant blue eyes. “I know the birthday boy. He’s a regular at the boutique and pretty much threatened to take his business elsewhere if I didn’t make an appearance.” Darcy snorted. “To be honest, I think he’s dying to get into my panties. Like that will ever happen.”
“Who exactly is the birthday boy? 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 for him, that sleazy bastar—Crap, here he comes.”
A gray-haired man with the build of Arnold Schwarzenegger and a George Hamilton tan made a beeline in their direction. A plump, blond 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.”
“Happy birthday, Mr. Quade,” Darcy said politely.
Quade turned to his companion. “Margaret, this is the owner of the lingerie store 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. Hayden 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?”
Damn, 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 pinstriped 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, 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 her father more closely. His face was flushed and his eyes were a touch too bright.
Like an unwanted visit from the Avon lady, 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 sell papers.” 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—”