Page 16 of Just Trouble

I like making a difference.

I like a challenge.

And I think I’m going to like being in league with a self-appointed agent of change just fine.

All I have to do is get Patrick’s agreement.

That’s not going to be easy.

In fact, that, and the need to actually present this plan to him, is the only con—but it’s a big enough one that someone fainter of heart than me might take a pass.

Not me.

I only knowPatrick Cavendish by sight. (He’d probably say the same about me.) That’s an amazing thing when you consider it. Abbie and I were best friends from kindergarten on. We were in and out of each other’s houses all the time, having sleepovers, going to dance class together, all of it. You’d think I’d know her dad pretty well, but Patrick was never there. At the time,we were told that he was working, but my mom’s lips always got tight when my dad made Patrick’s excuses. Maybe he was working some of the time, but a lot of the time, he was spending energy and money elsewhere. Dianne, wife #1, was concurrent for a while with Luke’s mom but blissfully ignorant of her competitor’s existence. When Dianne died, Patrick married again, but to Candace Knowles, not Luke’s mom.

I’ve resented Patrick on Abbie’s behalf for years. The summer I spent picking tomatoes in the Cavendish greenhouses gave me an appreciation for his…frugality. The company was much smaller then and so were the greenhouses, but they were driven to get the fruit harvested according to schedule. It was hard work and long hours, and the pay wasn’t particularly great. (My father used to like telling me that I was lucky I never had to pick tobacco, as his father compelled him to do one summer. No doubt he also walked barefoot in the snow to school, uphill both ways.) Patrick occasionally appears at my dad’s offices, but usually my dad goes to his client. Minions travel to the king, of course, not the other way around.

And they play golf, every Tuesday, weather permitting.

Today’s weather permits, so I know where to find them both. I check the time and guess that they’ll be finishing up the front nine by the time I get there.

The Empire Golf Course is fancier than you might expect. Patrick is on the board, naturally, and one of the endowing partners. The membership is tightly controlled and consists primarily of professional men, mostly from Havelock and beyond. The course was designed by a PGA champion and is scrupulously maintained. The restaurant is predictably mediocre. I have to like that even Patrick hasn’t been able to change that.

I check in at the front desk, my dad is located, and I head out the back of the clubhouse to the tenth tee, glad that I changed to my flats.

They’re waiting together and laughing, my handsome father and his client. Or the king of Empire and his crown vizier, who knows it’s smarter to laugh at the regent’s jokes. Neither of them look their age: both are trim and tall, perhaps not as slender as they once must have been. You’d probably guess my dad was the older of them.

In fact, Patrick has a few years on my dad, but his hair is still mostly dark and he has a restless energy that I realize reminds me of Luke. He watches me all the way across the lawn, eyes narrowed against the sun, his scrutiny as sure as the weight of a hand on my shoulder. Pushing me down, of course. Some would call him handsome, but he reminds me too much of a hawk for me to think he’s attractive. All the right features are there, the chiseled profile and the firm lips, but he looks like as ruthless he is.

I wonder for the first time whether my amiable gentleman of a father loses deliberately to Patrick when they play each week, just to keep the business. I wouldn’t put it past him. As I’ve been told multiple times, there’s precious little opportunity in Empire for legal work and my dad does love his Benz.

“This is a surprise, Daphne,” my father says, his tone cheerful. I hear a wariness in it all the same, and know that he’s suspicious of my appearance.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your game, but there’s something I think you should see, Mr. Cavendish.”

My dad lifts a brow, a question in his gaze. I ignore it. Heart in throat, I give the document to his companion.

Patrick hands off his club to my dad, as if my dad is his caddy, and takes the proposal from me. He reads it, all of it, his dour expression speaking volumes. He shakes his head whenhe’s done and hands it to my dad, whose eyes widen as he reads. Then he shakes his head and gives the document back to Patrick.

“What do you think, Richard?” Patrick asks, his gaze fixed upon me. “What’s your little girl trying to stir up here?”

I bristle at the diminutive. My dad shoots me a warning glance. “It looks to me as if Daphne has been retained to act on behalf of an anonymous client to present an offer to purchase,” he says mildly. “She is fulfilling her obligation to her client by presenting this proposal to you, as requested.”

Relief floods through me that my dad is defending me and I’m ashamed that I wasn’t sure he would.

Patrick snorts. “Anonymous, my ass.”

My father glances at me.

“Is your client Luke Jones or not?”

“Client privilege…” I begin but Patrick scoffs.

“Bull. This is Luke’s doing, and I know it.” He shoves the proposal toward my father, not waiting for my reply. “What do you really think of it?”

My dad flicks through the agreement. “I don’t think these properties are key to your business, or that their ownership is particularly material. You could be agreeable, at very little cost to yourself, and, in fact, add to your capital assets.”

“Agreeable?” Patrick laughs. “I thought you knew me better than that, Richard.”

---