Even if it had taken multiple paternity tests for him to believe that.
His eyes—gray like mine, but with fewer lines thanks to his standing filler appointments—barely flitted to me before landing on the woman on my arm. Rather than wait for us, his demeanor changed as he approached. Any trace of annoyance at the surprise guest was gone as he gave her an appraising scan, his smile warm and inviting. As was his voice when he greeted me without even looking my way. “My boy!”
According to the tabloids, I’d inherited my father’s natural charisma, like an old Hollywood playboy. His welcome carried that same innocent charm, but I knew him.
After all, I was a narcissistic chip off the egomaniacal block.
This was a bad idea.
“Dad,” I said, knowing full well he hated the name, “this is Greer.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carter,” she said with a grace and elegance that shouldn’t have surprised me.
Like how she could forget I was Tripp Carter, famed actor, I forgot she was more than my siren—a college student who organized my life between letting me dominate hers.
I didn’t release my hold on her hand as my father pulled her into a hug. “No need for formalities. Call me Clark.”
“You have a lovely home, Clark,” she complimented as he slowly released her. I didn’t have to use my grip to tug her back where I wanted. She moved on her own, not stopping until she was plastered to my side.
Right where she belonged.
My father played up his usual humble brags about the art and decor he’d acquired from around the world before shifting us deeper into the room that smelled like an unnecessary roaring fire, expensive booze, and pretentiousness.
He gestured to where Percy already waited near the stocked bar. “What can I get you to drink, dear? Wine, champagne, a cocktail?”
“Just a water, please,” Greer said, addressing her answer to the man who would be fixing it and not my father.
“Same,” I added with a tight smile.
“I’ve got a Macallan 1977,” my dad tried. “Not even opened yet.”
I was tempted to steal the twenty-five-thousand-dollar bottle on the way out, but not to drink it right then.
“I’m driving,” I said.
He waved that off. “Then you’ll just have to stay. It’s not like I don’t have the room.”
Not even if the rest of the world was on fire.
I didn’t bother with a refusal since Percy was already fixing the ice waters.
“Fruit slices in Greer’s if you have it, Perce,” I called out, ignoring the way she pinched my hand for making a fuss.
If dinner went the way I assumed it would, fruit was the least of what I owed her.
“Sit,” my father said with a gesture to the leather couch across from him.
I steered Greer to it, sitting before tugging her down so she sat with her side pressed tight to mine. That already good became that much better when she kept hold of my handandreached her free one over to rest it on my leg.
My father moved toward his favored armchair, and I suddenly realized we weren’t alone.
A woman—Ireallyfucking hoped she was old enough to be called a woman—sat in the matching armchair with her legs pulled up. Her platinum blonde hair was gathered in a mess at the top of her head, and she wore a pair of shorts and a tiny tank top in a Christmas pattern.
It reminded me of the cute bow set I’d peeled off Greer that morning before eating her.
The woman’s face was buried in her phone, not looking up even when my dad said, “Tripp and Greer, this is Skylar.”
Greer’s greeting came out a lot friendlier than mine did, smooth and effortlessly chipper.
