“It’s a good thing I have a library card. Because I am totally checking you out.”
Still can’t believe he said that to me once upon a time. Now we’ve been married for seven years.
I can also confirm: he did not have a library card.
—NAOMI B.
I gave Chris some lame excuse about needing to use the restroom but, instead, followed my father’s head through the crowd. Hastily, I checked for Iris or Mama, hoping they hadn’t seen him.
Good ole Dad managed to avoid stopping to talk to anyone. He wandered away from the crowd and I followed. When he looked back once, I realized that was what he’d intended all along.
I caught up to him at the next corner. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned his stupid charming grin. “I came to see you, of course.”
“You saw me. Now leave.”
He wrapped a hand around my upper arm. “Now don’t be like that. I just want to talk a little.”
“I saw you last week. You didn’t want to talk much then.”
“Look”—his voice hardened—“you and me need to talk about your fiancé.”
The way he said fiancé made my stomach drop. I didn’t like the way he was watching me like I was the prey, and he was about to attack.
“Unless you’d like me to go talk to him myself? Because I could do that.” He turned on his heels and began to walk back the way we came.
“Get back here,” I whisper-yelled and marched toward the library, expecting him to follow.
I unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. He followed me inside. I anticipated he’d start talking right away but, instead, he took his time walking around and glancing at the auction items and bid sheets.
“Huh. Made some good money.”
“Getting ideas for your next scam?”
He walked past me, his expression thoughtful. “That’s a great idea, actually.”
I drew in a deep breath through my nose. “What do you want?”
“Oh, right.” He unzipped the jacket he was wearing and pulled a stack of papers from an inside pocket. “I happened to come across these.”
He tossed them on the counter and moseyed over to look at more auction items like he had all the time in the world, like he knew he had the upper hand.
Swallowing the urge to scream, I stalked over and glanced at the packet. I recognized it immediately. It was the contract, the one I’d been asked to sign, the same one that outlined in specific details how my engagement to Chris was to be handled.
“How did you get this?” Only five people knew of this arrangement—Chris, me, Piper, Doug, and Chris’s attorney.
My father made a little sound in the back of his throat. “Didn’t even deny it. Very telling.”
“What do you want?”
“Me?” He pressed a hand to his chest, trying—and failing—to look innocent. “I don’t want anything. I just thought you should know this was out there.”
“When did you start doing things out of the kindness of your heart? For that matter, when did you get a heart?”
My hands opened and closed at my sides. The urge to hit him was overwhelming. But an even stronger urge to get him out of Two Harts and away from Chris and Iris and Mama was stronger.
“It would seem a lot of people would love to get ahold of this information.” He pulled out the chair behind the reference desk and took a seat, propping up his feet and knocking over my Jane Austen bobblehead. “Funny thing. There’s a couple of gossip rags that would love to get their hands on this.”
“You can’t.”
“Get this. One of them is offering me fifty thousand dollars. That’s an awful lot of money, you know.”
I could not let this happen. It would ruin Chris. After he’d already had months of someone trying to ruin him. He didn’t deserve this.
“You wouldn’t do that, would you? I know we don’t have a great relationship but I’m still your daughter.”
He shrugged and removed his feet from the desk. “I could be persuaded to forget about those offers, but…”
“But what?” I asked warily.
He propped his elbows on the desk and cradled his chin in his hands. “A man’s gotta eat. So, if I had a better offer then I might consider it.”
A chill ran through my body. I stared at this man I was related to and wished with all my heart I wasn’t. “You are trying to blackmail me? Where in the world am I supposed to get money like that? Do you think I can run down to the bank in the morning and withdraw sixty thousand dollars?”
He sucked in air through his teeth. “A little higher, honey.”
I leaned my arms on the desk. “I can’t pay that kind of money.”
The door to the library opened. Because of course I’d failed to lock it.
“I knew you were freaking out, Sprinkles. I shouldn’t have let you go.”
Because of course it was Chris.
“I know you can’t pay that kind of money.” My father’s smile was evil personified. “But he sure can.”
Chris paused by the door, his eyes flicking from me to my father and back. “Who’s this?”
My father stood and slowly adjusted his jacket before casually strolling by me. “You can keep that copy. Don’t worry. I have others. I’ll be in touch.”
“Please don’t do this,” I whispered, even though a little part of me died saying it.
When he got to Chris, my father held out a hand. “Chris Sterns, congratulations on your engagement.”
Even puzzled, Chris was still a gentleman. He shook his hand. “Thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, I didn’t give it to you.” With a wink, he patted Chris on the shoulder. “You have my condolences. My daughter has the personality of a bridge troll, so good luck with that.”
Then my father left the building. As usual, he came, he destroyed, and he left.
“What the hell is going on?” Chris asked, frowning at the door. “That was your father?”
I nodded and scooped up the stack of papers, but I was shaking so badly, I dropped them. They scattered everywhere. With a groan, I sank to the floor and scrambled to pick them all up. Maybe I could keep this from Chris somehow.
A pair of enormous tennis shoe-clad feet appeared in my field of vision. “What is all this?” He crouched beside me, tucked a piece of my hair behind an ear. The concern on his face made my heart squeeze.
I leaned into his hand and closed my eyes. Because I knew what I was about to tell him would change everything. This had been a fantasy, a living, breathing romance novel with a living, breathing hero but it had to come to an end. Happy endings didn’t happen in real life, at least not for me.
“We need to talk,” I said.
