Page 39 of Sweet Caroline
“And I don’t, huh?” I stuff my hands into my pockets, desperate to appear casual and hide the way my fists keep clenching. I try to remember what Caroline told me on the ride here: this event is important to her and her charity. Publicly telling her dad to shove that scotch tumbler up his ass is probably not the best way to help her out.
Pete laughs as if we’re old friends. I can smell the scotch on his breath and, for once, the scent is not the least bit tempting.
“I think we both know you’re not that kind of man, Miles.”
Fucking hell.I guess this asshole says the quiet part out loud.
“What she had with Fletcher made sense,” he adds. “But you?” He shakes his head.
“Fletcher treated her like shit.”
He makes a dismissive sound, then sips his scotch, his lips thinning as he swallows. “He made some mistakes.”
I’ve had enough. Moving to push past him, I set my sights on Caroline.
Pete grips my arm, stopping me.
I force my gaze back to her piece-of-shit father and keep my voice low, not wanting to draw attention with so many cameras around. “Get your hand off me.”
“You work construction over on Riverside. That new housing development, right?”
How the fuck does he know where I work?
“Yeah…”
“Nice little contract for Sitka Properties, that one. And for you.” When my eyes only narrow, he goes on. “Must feel good to be making a difference.”
I work my jaw. “Sure.”
“Be a shame if something got in the way of you continuing to work there, wouldn’t it?”
A roiling, seething anger takes root in my gut and I level my gaze with his. “You threatening my job?”
“Think of it more like an insurance policy.” He gives the liquid in his glass a thoughtful swirl. “So I can trust you to follow instructions.”
The nerve of this fucking guy.
I tug my arm from his grasp as discreetly as I can manage, then roll my shoulders to straighten my tux jacket, glancing once again toward Caroline.
“Now, you won’t be causing a scene here tonight—or any other time for that matter. And you won’t be upsetting my daughter.”
“She should know what kind of man you are,” I say quietly.
“But you won’t tell her, will you, son?” He picks some invisiblepiece of lint from my shoulder. “Not if you want to keep that job of yours.”
When I don’t respond, he looks satisfied—like he knows he’s got me cornered. “That’s what I thought,” he says, smug as hell. “This stays between us. You hear me?”
Fighting every instinct in my body and hating myself, I give the smallest nod.
And at that, he strolls off without a care in the world, as if he didn’t just blackmail me like a fucking goon.
Jesus, I need a drink.
My eyes snag on the bartender pouring a glass of wine. It might be halfway across a noisy, crowded room but I can almost hear the liquid spilling into the glass, sloshing up to lick the sides before settling back down. I can practically taste it.
Tearing my gaze away, I search for Caroline again, the impulse to tell her everything fighting its way up my throat. When I find her across the room, I watch her for a few tortured seconds.
Shit. I can’t tell her.
