Risky Play by Rachel Van Dyken

Author:Rachel Van Dyken [Dyken, Rachel Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542043724
Publisher: Skyscape
Published: 2019-03-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

MACKENZIE

“Hey, Dad.” I kissed his soft cheek and made my way past him into the enormous home he and my mom shared on Lake Washington. The marble floor seemed to swirl and come alive beneath my feet as I flipped on a light in the hall and walked into the kitchen to grab my favorite wine and my favorite wineglass to go with it.

Dad followed me, as was tradition when I stopped by late at night.

Wordlessly, he grabbed his glass and sat on the barstool opposite where I was standing. “What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath, then took a drink of the dry red before speaking. It tingled against my lips and breathed life into my parched soul. “Alton was at the restaurant with you tonight.”

“Are you asking me?”

“No, I know he was.”

“Potential buyer, but I left early to make it home for Mom’s and my show . . .” My parents were obsessed with The Voice, as in, they refused to be distracted and would save it until they could watch it together, full volume, one bottle of wine, a cheese board. It was basically a weekly holiday and excuse to drink. “Why? What happened? Did he talk to you?”

“Yeah.” I cringed. “One sec.” Two more small sips. “He sort of insulted me, in a very inappropriate way in front of my . . . er . . . date? And in front of the man I currently work for.”

Dad sucked in a breath. “What did he say?”

I felt my face flush. “Let’s just agree it was horrible and I almost cried.”

“Honey . . .” He reached out. I took his hand and squeezed.

“So,” I continued, using him for support, “my employer punched him in the face, and when he wouldn’t stop saying cruel things, my date punched him in the side of the head. The police came . . .”

Dad released my hand. “What sort of punks handle things with a fistfight?”

“Ones trying to defend my honor and stand up for me. Something Alton wouldn’t do in a million years.”

Dad’s face softened. “He’s just not the fighting type, honey. He uses his words—”

“Oh, trust me.” I scowled. “I know he uses his words, he needs someone to staple his mouth shut. The point is, he deserved it, and I don’t want him to press charges.” I licked my dry lips. “Dad, you didn’t fire him after the wedding even though I begged you to. I don’t want to work with him, I don’t even want to see his face.” My chest felt heavy with each confession. “Since you’re his boss, you have pull. Can you please just tell him not to press charges?”

Dad frowned. “Do you know if he did?”

“No. But I do know he was angry.”

“Honey, he was punched in the face by two men. Of course he was angry—your date was a man, right?”

I narrowed my eyes. “As opposed to a turtle?”

“No.” He laughed awkwardly. “I just meant, after Alton, if it were a .

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