Page 65 of Silver Fox Daddies

I blow all of tension out of my body as soon as the door slams shut. Could it be a coincidence that he’s asking me to dinner, given that just a few days ago, I was under three of his rivals?

“You look lovely, darling.”

Darling?I shudder at the memories that name brings up.

Relax,I tell myself as I settle into my seat, bringing the napkin closer so I have something to fiddle with. The waiter approaches us, pouring out a glass of house red for my father.

Daddy takes a long sip and then turns to me. “I apologize. We haven’t done this in a while. Work has just been so busy. I haven’t even had a second to breathe.”

Is that right? Didn’t look like it the other morning when he was outside waiting for all of his men to finish murdering ours.

“It’s fine,” I say, cautious of my replies tonight. I don’t want to give him any inclination that I might be associating myself with people he wants dead.

“You should have worn your mother’s red dress. You never wear it out. You should.”

I tense, remembering that the skirt got ripped when I was running away fromhispeople. Venom Vultures won the fight with a kill ratio of four to one. I feel smug knowing that we currently have the higher ground. There were less of us, and we still managed to come out on top.

Daddy must be licking his wounds.

“Is this not a special occasion enough to be wearing it?” he asks.

I clench my jaw.

Laugher bellows out of him. “I’m kidding, god.” He leans in. “What’s got you so tense?”

I keep myself composed, wrapping my fingers around my water glass. “Just exams.”

He drops his eyes to my hands. “I heard you’ve been getting up to some fun.”

The party from last week. That must be what he’s referring to. “Uh, yeah. Natasha invited me to a frat party. You know what she’s like. She knows everyone.”

“I bumped into her last week. She was telling me all about your shenanigans.”

I force a laugh. “Yeah. I threw up, but I’m fine now.”

“You have to be careful. I don’t want you getting mixed up in that crowd. All party, no study.” The waiter interrupts the conversation with two plates of?—

“Pollo alla cacciatora?”

“Yes,” my father says, readying his napkin. He turns to me. “I ordered the same for you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course,” I mumble, my head too busy figuring out what he does and doesn’t know to be focused on food.

I cut up a piece of braised chicken and pop it into my mouth, testing to see if I have an appetite, or if I’m gonna vomit the food straight back up from the anxiety that’s crunching my stomach right now.

I chew, deciding that I’ll be fine if I take it slow.

“Where was I?” Daddy searches his plate. “Ah, yes.” He returns his gaze to me. “Partying. Booze. Boys. None of that is going to get you anywhere.”

I freeze at the last word in that list, fork poised over the chicken. I look up. “You have nothing to worry about, Daddy.” I frown. “Is this why you brought me here? Because you wanted to give me an intervention?”

“No, of course not,” he says, laughing into his food. “I brought you here because it’s been months since we’ve spent quality time together.”

And whose fault is that?

I force another smile and return to my chicken. We used to go out for dinner weekly and saw one another regularly when he wasn’t working, but I wouldn’t define the time we spent together as being quality.

I’ve always sensed a divide between us. Conversations are always centered around me, never him. He says that’s because he wants to “hear what his favorite daughter is getting up to,” even though he only has one. Now, knowing that he’s the leader of a motorcycle club, I’m starting to second-guess his reasoning.

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