By the time dessert is served, I’m so stuffed I feel like my dress could spontaneously burst. I only sampled everything, but Mr. Griffin ordered so much food that merely tasting all the dishes became equivalent to taking down an entire Thanksgiving dinner. The food was so rich. Delicious, but heavy. Once a year is plenty for this restaurant.
I want to offer to pay for dinner to be polite, but I’m a little worried I can’t afford it. Thanks to my dad’s constant nagging, I tuck most of my money away in high-risk, high-reward mutual bonds. Apparently, I can be daring right now with my money.
But not this daring.
The average cost of an entrée at this restaurant is ninety dollars. Mr. Griffin ordered about eight different dishes, four rounds of drinks, dessert, and a bottle of French champagne—a brand I’ve never heard of before but apparently, it makes Dom Pérignon look like a case of Pabst. This is Finn’s other side. The side he works very hard to keep quiet.
I squeeze Finn’s thigh under the table and he looks my way. The hazy fog in his eyes tells me he’s a touch past tipsy. I tap my clutch. “Should I offer to—”
“What? Pay?” Mr. Harvey interrupts. “Don’t be ridiculous, honey.”
I really thought I was whispering, but apparently not. Our waitress, Penny, approaches the table with perfect timing and Mr. Harvey pulls out a matte black card. “Honey, would you have the kitchen box this up? Son, you guys should take it. It’s rude to the chef to waste it and I wouldn’t dare offend my friend.”
Penny nods and says, “Speaking of which, Chef Roren says your meal is on the house—”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Harvey interrupts and holds up his hands. “No chance. This meal was superb and I am more than happy to support my friend.” He wiggles the card between his fingertips. “Ring this up, tell the Chef the meal was superb, and can you messenger the leftovers to my son’s hotel? Champ, you said you got a room on the Strip somewhere, right?”
Finn blows out an exasperated breath. “It was a surprise, Dad—” He pivots his attention to me. “It was a surprise. I booked a penthouse suite at the Bellagio with a nice view of the fountains. You said you’d never actually stayed on the Strip before, right?”
Finn tells Penny our room number and she retreats from the table with Mr. Harvey’s credit card in hand.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, feeling my cheeks ache from my enormous smile.
“I wanted to. I figured it was a good opportunity. The Bellagio is only a block to our right.”
“Thank you.” I trill my fingers against his hand sweetly as the rest of the restaurant melts away. It’s just me, Finn, and the heavy-eyed, sultry look he’s giving me that says we should just probably fall asleep in each other’s arms tonight.
It’d be the first time.
Of all the things Finn and I have done together, we haven’t crossed that line. I’ve never felt his muscular arms around me when I woke up in the morning. And I’m ready to.
“Adorable,” Mr. Harvey says.
I flinch right before my fist tightens. That stupid word.
“Avery, honey, I am terribly sorry to be rude, but may I have a private word with my son? Just some family affairs I don’t want to bore you with.”
“Dad,” Finn intones, “I’ll just join you at the bar.”
Except it’s crowded with patrons waiting for their seats and most certainly not private. “Don’t be silly,” I say, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I have to run to the ladies’ room anyway.”
Finn lets me out of the booth and I scour the restaurant for the bathroom. Far back right. I strut gracefully in my sensible heels right into the luxurious bathroom. I don’t understand the bathrooms in these elegant restaurants. They are cleaner and better kept than the dining room itself.
I’m in a stall with my thong around my ankles when I hear a voice I recognize and one I don’t. Our waitress and another woman.
I’m convinced there’s a sixth sense women have when they know someone’s talking shit behind their backs. It’s a feeling. Your muscles go wobbly. Your skin constricts. Your face flushes, the blood filling it at least a few degrees hotter. Every instinct in my body tells me not to pull up my underwear, flush, and present myself.
So I stay quiet.
And I listen.
“…if I get the shit Monday brunch shift again, I swear I’m quitting,” says the unfamiliar woman’s voice.
“You’ve been saying that for months. Who would pay better?” Penny asks.
“Emeril’s new restaurant has openings.”
“Then apply,” Penny snaps, her tone full of irritation.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry, I’ve worked six nights in a row. I’m exhausted. I’m about to cash out, clock out, and head home. I just rang out the VIP booth.”
“Speaking of which…” the other woman’s voice drops to a seductive purr. “Can you deliver a note for me?”
“What?”
“Your VIP table. You know who that is, right?”
“According to the credit card, his name is Griffin Harvey.”
She lets out a shrill chuckle. “You have no idea who the Harveys are, do you?”
Penny sighs, clearly trying to express her disinterest. “Outside of being the road block between me and my pillow—no. No, I do not.”
“Old money. The Harveys own like half the Strip. Worth billions.”
Penny grunts. For the first time in this conversation, she seemed amused. “Well, that explains the fifty percent tip—”
“Fifty percent?”
“And the old guy slipped me his room number. Can you believe that? My wedding is in six weeks, for Christ’s sake.”
“Ha. He’s worth the trade. You take the old man. I want his son.”
“Emma, you’re somethin’ else. And anyway, sorry to bust your bubble, but the woman he’s with is his girlfriend.”
The woman whose name is apparently Emma, snorts heavily. An obnoxious, condescending cackle that makes my skin crawl. “Who? Ms. Piggy? Yeah, I’m not so worried.”
My intestines twist. I draw in a deep, silent breath through my nose to hold back my tears. My bank account could swallow up this waitress whole. I am vying for a multimillion-dollar contract with one of the biggest luxury resort companies in the world. I am one of the most sought-after brand strategists on the West Coast. I know I’m better than this. But I allow myself a single tear, because nothing stings worse when a snarky bitch calls you fat.
“Wow, mean girl,” Penny says. I can’t see her face, but her tone is incredulous.
Thank you, Penny.
“Not cool. I bet his girlfriend and I could share a closet. If she’s fat, what am I?”
“You,” Emma coos, “are curvy and voluptuous and a total showstopper. She…is in my way.”
“You’re ruthless. And I can promise you, he’s not interested. His eyes were locked on his date all night.”
Emma’s laugh is villainous, causing my hurt to morph into red-hot, putrid anger. “Look, just slip him my number and tell him it’s from the waitress with the great ass, and I’m willing to let him play in it.”
“You mean with it,” Penny replies.
“Nope,” she says, popping the P.
And with that, I’ve heard enough. I yank up my thong and smooth my dress before I flush. I all but kick open my door, enjoying the look of the shocked faces in the bathroom mirror as they see me emerge. Penny flushes scarlet red and I finally get a good look at Emma.
Maybe she’s pretty. I’m not sure. I think her light blond hair and dark eyes would be considered striking to some. Yes, she’s probably at least three dress sizes smaller than I am. But it’s hard to process beauty when it’s sheathed in such an ugly personality.
They are completely still, frozen in place as I wash my hands with my head held high. I glance at myself in the mirror, ensuring there’s no evidence of the single tear I set free and my makeup is still perfectly set.
After I’ve dried my hands with the cloth towel and dropped it into the laundry bin, I turn to face the two women. I nod at Penny reassuringly. My fight is not with you.
I look at Emma, but she avoids my gaze. If Palmer were here, she’d take a swing. She’s defended me my entire life from mean girl energy. But Palmer’s not here, and it’s time to stand my own ground.
“Emma,” I say with my voice unwavering and smooth as silk, “I’ll make sure to let Finn know you’re interested, but if he contacts you, I sincerely hope you have more to offer him than your asshole.” I flash her a smart smile. “Good evening, ladies.”
Twice. Twice now, I’ve had to make a green-eyed bitch look silly in a restaurant. It seems every time I’m out in public with Finn, there’s a fight brewing. A fight for my pride. A fight to prove I’m worthy. If I don’t have the looks, I sure as hell have the wits. But how long can I do this? I never asked for this battle.
I ride the high of adrenaline as I float back to my table. I was hoping by now, Finn and Mr. Harvey have had plenty of time to discuss their family affairs. But as I near the booth, I see Mr. Harvey huddled into the table, the look in his eyes aggravated. He’s so invested in their conversation he doesn’t see me approach and his words ring loudly over the sea of murmurs and clanking silverware hitting porcelain plates.
“Champ, what are you doing? You can pull a much hotter woman than Avery.”
My knees go weak and I immediately slump into the empty booth behind Finn and his dad. I bury my head in my hand. This part I wasn’t ready for.
Emma was a small battle won.
I have a feeling I’m about to lose the war.
Avery
“What did you just say?” I snarl at my dad across the table, feeling my blood pressure rise.
“Avery,” Dad repeats. “I mean, she’s sweet and very smart. That’s kind of sexy. And she’s got a great set of tits. But come on…compared to your last girlfriend? Nora was a fucking ten. Avery’s a steep fall from grace, Champ.”
“Well, have at it. Nora’s available now.” Sort of. Maybe she’s cheating on Morgan, maybe she’s not. “Go ahead and give her a call. You have my blessing,” I practically spit at him.
“And take your sloppy seconds? I don’t think so.” He bellows in laughter, misreading my tone. There’s nothing funny about this conversation or about disrespecting Avery. We don’t see the world the same way. All I see with Nora is pain. All I see in Avery is hope. Hope is beautiful and sexy and seductive. Dad hasn’t had hope for a day in his life.
My eyes narrow before I throw back the last sip of my whiskey. Dad finally notices my scowl.
“Oh, come on, kid, I’m just saying. If you’re with this woman to appease Senior, I can tell you right now, there’s a way to sidestep that mess.”
“What mess?”
“Senior’s bullshit about the inheritance.”
Gramps’s rules make sense to me. Twenty percent of my inheritance is in the ballpark of eight million dollars. If I don’t have a family to support, I’ll only get half. Gramps also has the stipulation of vetting our significant others first. It’s his way of protecting us from gold diggers. We’d have to pry his money from his cold, lifeless hands before he handed over half of his empire to a shallow, money-hungry woman with no morals. His words, not mine. It’s why I never told Nora what I stood to gain. I wanted to know she loved me, not my worth. At least that part was true. I don’t think Nora loved me for my wallet. In fact, I don’t know if she really knew how to love me at all.
“I don’t see the point in complaining about gifted money.”
“It’s your birthright, Son.”
I roll my eyes at his melodramatic statement. “You know what? I’m not worried about it. And I’m not with Avery to prove a point to Senior. I’m with Avery. Period.” Okay, a little preemptive, but I know where this night is headed. The penthouse suite I booked is covered with rose petals. The room has a jetted tub where we can play naked footsie under the bubbles all night. The champagne is already in an ice bath on the balcony table that overlooks the Bellagio fountains. There’s no better way to say I’m whipped for Avery than the most cheesy, over-the-top declaration of my feelings.
“I’ll make up the difference,” Dad breathes out.
“What?”
“Don’t let Senior dictate your life. Getting married was the worst decision I ever made. The only good thing that came out of that relationship was you. But you don’t have to settle for a woman like Avery just for the extra money. What Senior won’t give you, I will. Have fun. Enjoy your life. Travel. Visit Ibiza, Brazil, and Croatia. Take pictures abroad and fuck all the beautiful women there.” He pinches his fingers together and kisses them. “Nagging and bitching from a frumpy, killjoy of a woman is not what I want for you and your life. Especially when she leaves you and tries to take you for all you’re worth.”
I had one too many drinks. That must be why I can feel my temples pounding. “Frumpy killjoy, huh? Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it, my father’s words to describe the woman who gave me life.” Fuck you, Junior. Fuck whatever got twisted up inside your brain as a baby and turned your heart wretched and your dick insatiable.
Dad smiles at me like this conversation is chummy. “Oh, Champ. Still such a mama’s boy.”
I raise my brows warningly. “Should I be ashamed of that?” I love my mother. I’m protective of her. Where’s the crime in that? “I thought you two were finally at peace. I just saw Mom last week. She said you guys are done in court. You’re giving her alimony and back pay, right?”
Dad’s eyes turn down and his lip curls, like a perturbed villain. “Senior,” he mumbles. “I didn’t give that bitch a dime. Senior paid her out.”
Something snaps in me. Maybe it’s my patience finally breaking in half. “What did you just say?”
“She went to Senior with some sob story about how she barely broke even after selling the Vegas house. She needed a cosigner for her place in Scottsdale, so she aired out all our dirty laundry like the rat she is and he just caved for the little bitch. Fuck did I get an earful from him. The man is in his seventies and still yells like—”
“Take it back,” I seethe. “Do not call her that, especially not to my face.”
Mom told me none of this. All she said was that she was finally at peace. It dawns on me that Mom was doing what she did my entire life—she protected me from seeing Dad’s true colors so I could enjoy the good parts, and be blind to the worst of him. She didn’t want me to know…
What a fucking monster I came from.
“Champ, relax. It’s just the fallout of a lover’s—”
“Stop,” I bark. “You did a lot of things to my mother. Loving her is not one of them. I’m so sick of this. You know something, Dad? I wake up every day and I don’t try to be a good person. That’s not the standard I live by. Every day I wake up and I just try to be less like you. That’s how I know my life is moving in the right direction. I can’t…do this anymore. I can’t excuse all the disgusting parts of you anymore. I’m done.” I release the breath I’ve been holding for ten years. “I’m fucking done.”
Dad’s startled by my outburst. Never once in the past decade have I been honest with him about how I feel. Maybe I should’ve said all this sooner, because he finally looks ashamed of himself.
“Champ, I don’t—”
“I don’t want to see you anymore. I want you off my mortgage. I’m selling the truck. I don’t want a damn thing tying you to me anymore. Not until you grow the fuck up, Dad.” I slam back into the back of the booth in frustration. The entire seat shifts an inch and I rise to peek over the back of the booth and apologize to the diner behind me.
My heart drops when I see the top of Avery’s head. Goddamn it. How long has she been sitting there? She must’ve heard everything. I scramble out of the booth and around to her side. She does her best to turn her head, but it’s too late. I see her wet eyes.
And it’s the straw that falls on the already broken camel’s back. It should’ve been enough that Dad took the best parts of my mother and made her into a depressed, anxiety-ridden shell of herself. But now he just made Avery cry, and that’s a line no one gets to cross.
Never again. Not while she’s with me.
I hook my finger under her chin and turn her gaze toward me. She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders in defeat as I survey her glistening cheeks.
“I’m caught,” she mutters under her breath. I wipe away her tears with my thumbs.
“Ready to go?” I ask softly.
She nods. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Queen. I hate seeing you cry.” I kiss the top of her forehead. I take her hand in mine. “Let me make it up to you.”
