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The accusation stung, but she forced a smile to cover the insult. “Of course. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”
As discreetly as she could, she locked the computer before rising to her feet and following him out of the office. Mr. Elliott pulled the door shut behind her, and she couldn’t help but feel like it was deliberate, to remind her she didn’t belong there.
And just as deliberately, he put his hand at the small of her back and nudged her toward the main living area. Electricity shot through her at that simple touch, and she sucked in a sharp breath before she thought to hide her reaction.
Where the hell had that come from? Years of parental touches and embraces, and she’d never once felt that zing from Mr. Elliott before now.
“Are you all right?” he asked, snapping her attention away from her odd reaction.
“I’m fine.” If her tone was a little sharp, it was just because she was so off- balance from everything that had happened today. And not at all because she’d just realized she was feeling something very similar to what she’d felt during Frankie’s story about getting spanked by her ‘Daddy’. “We should check the den. He might be having a whiskey.”
“A whiskey?” Beside her, Mr. Elliott frowned. “It’s not even one in the afternoon.”
“You’ll have to take that up with him. I’m not my?—”
“Father’s keeper. Yes, you said as much.”
The disapproval in his tone told her he didn’t approve of her stance. But she didn’t have the luxury of caring what he thought about her just then.
Her very sudden and very confusing feelings for Mr. Elliott aside, Lottie had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that her father had dug himself into a hole the size of the Grand Canyon. And it was up to her to figure out how to drag him back out.
2
EVERY PROBLEM HAS A SOLUTION
BRADEN
He should move his hand. But the way Lottie had reacted, that too-sharp little intake of breath had apparently frozen him in place, unable to remove his hand from her back. If anything, he was tempted to dip lower and cup the full, generous curves of her?—
Jesus Christ, Braden. That is your best friend’s daughter. A little girl who used to play with your daughter, for fuck’s sake. Get a goddamn grip.
With what felt like a Herculean effort, he pulled his hand away and deliberately stuck it in his pocket just as she swung open the doors to the opulent room her father favored when he was in the need of solitude.
Braden had spent a lot of time in this den since Natasha’s passing, making sure his friend didn’t descend too deep into those pits of loneliness and despair.
And sure enough, Emmett Duvall was exactly where his daughter had said he would be. Slouched in one of the overstuffed leather armchairs, an almost-empty glass of whiskey in his hand and a despondent expression on his face that made Braden’s chest ache. Ever since they’d gotten the news of Nat’s illness, Braden had watched Emmett become more and more a shell of his former self. Once she’d passed, Emmett had pretty much stopped existing all together.
Plastering a smile on his face and praying it didn’t look as brittle and fake as it felt, he stepped around Lottie and strode into the room. “I see you started without me.”
Emmett looked up, the bleariness in his eyes telling Braden that it wasn’t his first glass of whiskey. And, unless he was able to coax his friend out of the den for a bit, Braden doubted it would be his last.
“Braden! I didn’t know you were coming over.” His words were slurred slightly, but not as much as they should have been under the circumstances. In fact, they were almost too well-enunciated, as if he were trying to hide how drunk he actually was.
Nice try, old friend.
“Well, we were supposed to meet for lunch. But I’m nothing if not adaptable.” Settling into the chair beside Emmett’s, Braden plucked the glass from his hand and drained the rest of it without bothering to return it to its rightful owner. If he didn’t actually see the glass, odds were Emmett would completely forget he’d been drinking in the first place.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lottie still in the doorway, her expression drawn and worried. Poor girl. She’d really been through more than her fair share of pain and heartache.
Turning his head, he sent her a reassuring smile. “It was nice seeing you again, Charlotte.”
She jumped, just enough for him to notice because he’d been watching her. The worry on her face smoothed away, replaced by the polite-bordering-on-bored smile so many socialites were trained to use in uncomfortable situations. “You too, Mr. Elliott. I’ll just be… around.”
“Charlotte,” Braden called when she went to close the door behind her. He waited for her to poke her head back in before cocking an eyebrow and pinning her with what his employees called his ‘Daddy Glare’. “No snooping.”
Red colored her cheeks, but instead of nodding or dropping her head like the subs at his club would have, she raised one of her own eyebrows in return. “Goodbye, Mr. Elliott.”
He physically had to dig his fingers into the arm of his chair to keep himself seated. It had been ages since his palm had actually itched to connect with a bratty little girl’s bottom the way it did just then.
