Page 100 of Just Trouble

“I’m allowed to want a partner who suits me, and I’m allowed to have a list of expectations. Whether they’ll ever be met or not is another thing entirely.” He raises his glass.“And there’s nothing saying that the woman in question will be dumb, whenever I find her. She might just be smart enough to recognize a winning situation when she sees one.”

I suppose everyone has their price, but I don’t say it. I join his toast, raising my glass to clink it against his. “I wish you luck,” I say and he chuckles.

“You and my mother. I am informed regularly that time is wasting.” He grins, looking almost diabolical, and I have to think that any guy who listens to his mom has to be okay.

And that’s when Patrick appears beside our table.

The angel of death is making a social call.

I missed his approach because I was listening so intently to Rafe, and that feels like a failure. Hell, everything I do feels like a failure when Patrick is in the room.

“May I?” he murmurs, then slides into Daph’s seat without waiting for a reply. He eyes the wine, then Rafe—who looks both startled and affronted at the interruption—then turns his eagle eye on me.

There will be no introductions. Rafe will have to deal with that.

I’m staring straight back at Patrick, feeling my old defiance rise. He’s looking at me the way he always did, like I’m something he’d like to scrape off the bottom of his shoe, something he despises, something that just keeps coming back despite his efforts to the contrary.

That look is what keeps me coming back, to be honest. I developed an affection for being a thorn in his side at a very young and impressionable age.

“Very nice,” he says, sweeping his gaze over the restaurant. “And delicious, too.”

I nod, waiting for the kill shot. There will be one.

“It’s never going to work, though,” he says with complete confidence. His gaze swivels to meet mine again, as cold andcalculating as that of a wolf on the hunt. “Sure, this will be a good opening night. And the week ahead might be good, too. People like novelty. In the summer, the place might do well on weekends, at least, when visitors come into town.” His gaze lingers on Rafe, who is obviously not local. “What happens in November, Luke?” he asks, his voice low and silky. Beelzebub sounded like this when he taunted Faust, I’m sure of it. “What happens in January? How exactly is this fine establishment going to survive our cruel winters in Empire?”

Another man might step up and offer to help. Another man, particularly one as wealthy as Patrick, might invest in the venture himself. But not Patrick. He exists to create lessons out of his own choices for everyone around him. I’ve failed in his view, and he’s going to rub my face in it.

“Perhaps you don’t know that Richard Bradshaw and I made a little wager the day I agreed to sell this place to you” he says, giving me a little nudge.

“I know.”

He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “A year. I gave you a year, but that was far too long. It won’t even take six months for you to admit defeat, because the snow comes early to Empire.” He smiles and I brace myself for whatever he intends to say next. “So, here’s my offer. I’ll buy back this place for half the price you paid me, any time before that year is out.” He taps a fingertip on the table. “But you have to come to me, and you have to ask nicely.”

“Half?”

“Market value. It’s a sad truth that properties lose value in Empire at a steady rate.”

“There’s no chance in hell of that,” I say softly.

“Isn’t there?” Our gazes lock and hold, neither of us giving an inch. Then he clears his throat, nodding toward Daph who is returning. “We’ll see.”

With that, he’s gone, striding back to the table where Candace, Madison and Ethan are waiting. They’re both looking at me as if I’m a Martian come to visit, at least until Patrick reaches the table. He must say something because they become fascinated with their plates. Candace ignores me, which is par for the course. She makes fifty look good but I wonder whether Patrick is messing around on her yet.

“Who the hell was that?” Rafe demands.

“Patrick Cavendish,” I say, then wait a beat. “My father.”

I have the satisfaction of seeing Rafe’s eyes widen so much that they might pop out of his head, then Daph slides into the seat beside me. Her hand is immediately on my thigh and I cover it with mine, giving her fingers a little squeeze.

“What was that about?” she asks quietly, her tone making it clear that she knows it was nothing good.

“He thinks he presented the proverbial offer I can’t refuse,” I say.

“And?” she asks.

I smile, having no doubt that I look a little wolfish myself, and meet Rafe’s gaze. “He’s wrong.” There’s steel in my tone because I may have finally outmanoeuvered Patrick.

The best part is that I actually don’t care what he thinks or what he wants. My plan has exactly zero to do with him, or getting even, or even proving myself. It’s about me and Daph, and finding purpose and charting a future. I can’t wait to tell her all about it.

---