“I wasn’t going to let her make me look like a fool.”
Sebastian
King walked into my father’s office, holding up a stack of papers. “Wilder just sent these,” he announced and glanced at me. “Seems you’re off the hook.”
Frowning, I waited for an explanation. What did he mean, I’m off the hook?
“Perfect timing,” he added. “Since you got a date with the makeup princess coming up.”
I should have never said a word about Hattie. They were all going to stay in my fucking business about it now. Mom was bad enough. I didn’t need them doing it too.
My father took the papers, then sat behind his desk, going over them.
King went over to pour himself a glass of whiskey, then glanced over at me. “Want one?”
I shook my head. “What am I off the hook for?” I asked him.
“Canadian whiskey,” he replied, then took a seat in one of the high-back leather chairs across from me.
That got Wells’s attention, and he looked up from his phone. “Are we good then? Meeting over?”
King’s gaze swung to him, making it clear he’d said the wrong thing.
“What?” Wells asked, then shifted his eyes to my father, who was looking in his direction with disdain.
Wells never did know when to shut the fuck up and wait.
“Am I taking up too much of your time?” Dad’s voice was so cold that it could have cracked steel.
Wells shook his head. “No … sir,” he replied.
“Merce Dancastle ended things with the girl a few weeks ago and has been seen with Governor Dalton’s daughter several times. However, this photo shows him within several feet of Royal two days ago, and his complete attention is on her. Then, this one from yesterday, the same thing. And these, he is following her out of a frat house, clearly trying to get her attention as she’s walking away.” He dropped the pictures onto his desk. “He might be dating Dalton’s daughter like he was told to do, but he’s not done with the Crown girl. She’s our in. This isn’t over.”
When my father’s eyes met mine, I realized what King had been saying.
Merce had broken up with her? Was he the one whose father had told him to? That would make sense and prove she hadn’t lied to me about it.
“She told me a guy had broken up with her because his father had told him to,” I informed my father. “She didn’t tell me who, and I hadn’t realized she and Merce were no longer an item.”
“How did you leave things with the girl?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “Good. I mean, we had just started to talk. She’s guarded as fuck and sharp. Doesn’t let much get by her.”
My father leaned back in his chair. “Meaning what exactly?”
It felt wrong, telling him—any of them—the things I’d learned about her. Like I was sharing her private life. Yet that was normal for us. We invaded the privacy of everyone around us. She wasn’t who I was protecting. I had to keep that straight in my head.
“She’s a hustler, which you knew already. She not only hustles men at pool, but she is also involved in some underground poker ring at the college. She goes to classes there, even though she isn’t enrolled, and does assignments for others for money.
“And”—I really fucking hated to admit this, but it was important that he realized she was savvy as well as smart—“the day I followed her, she noticed me. Walked right up to my car down her street and confronted me about it.”
King covered up a laugh, and I ignored him. I’d known that was going to amuse them. The guys, not my dad. He was not amused. To him, I had fucked up.
Dad took a deep breath. “Well, that can only mean if Merce knows anything about what his father is doing, then she does too. Especially since Wilder also found this,” he said, picking up a piece of the paper and shoving it in my direction.
I reached over and picked it up. There was an older man, balding, looked like he needed a shower, a shave, and to lay off the beer. He was with Merce, standing outside Royal’s house.
Dad then tossed another picture on top of it. In that one, another man was putting a box into the Volkswagen Beetle that was sitting out front in Royal’s driveway while Merce had a hand on the balding man’s shoulder, talking.
“Who’s the man he’s with?” I asked, looking up from the photo to my father.
“Vinson Shelton,” he replied, then cocked an eyebrow.
I’d seen that name on Royal’s background check. It was Royal’s father. Fucking hell.
“The plot just got real damn thick,” King muttered.
She was too smart for this to have been going on under her nose. She had to know about it. There was always the chance that box was something like dime bags, but there was only one way to find out. I was going to get deep into her life. Yes, I wanted to fuck her, and that would be a part of it, but I was going to have to get her trust. Doing so meant I’d be around her a lot.
“I have a few favors to call in. Go back to Athens in the morning and be outside her Modern Literature class at eleven fifteen. The class will end, and the students will begin to leave, but the professor will hold her inside the room to speak to her. He’s going to call her out on not being a student and mention the papers she has written for other students. You go inside, introduce yourself as George Blaine’s son, and save her ass. That’s step one. You will have almost made it to her next class when she gets a call from her father. He will have been picked up for driving with a revoked license. Her grandmother will also be home alone, and the red scooter she drives will have two flat tires.”
He was making her need me.
“Talk about a shitty day,” Wells mumbled.
“She will be desperate, and you will be there,” my father replied, then turned to King. “Where is Thatcher? I have something the two of you need to handle in Atlanta.”
That was it. In twenty-four hours’ time, he was going to make Royal think I was her hero.
Keeping my head on straight was a priority. I’d watched her work a room. She was good at it. That was what I had to remember. She was a job for me, and I wasn’t going to let her make me look like a fool. I had no doubt she could one-up me if I didn’t stay focused.