AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Trick tried not to visibly react to the phrase “tagged along.” It was clear from the way Louis looked down his nose that he’d already labeled Trick as an underling.
“Trick?” Her father’s face scrunched.
“Short for Patrick,” Rylee said. “Trick, this is my father, Meyer, and his coworker, Louis. We grew up together.”
“We did more than that,” Louis grumbled, earning a look of disapproval from Meyer Meadows and a matching one from his daughter. What a dick. “How long have you been a videographer, Patrick?”
“He’s a filmmaker, actually,” Rylee interjected. “He has one of the largest channels on social media in the world.”
“Oh?” Louis asked, his tone flat. “What’s your niche?”
“Weddings!” Rylee said. “If you’ll excuse us, we are on a time-crunch. Is Mom in her office?”
“Or in the kitchen, fussing over hors d’oeuvres,” Meyer answered before he stepped onto the green front lawn and took a swing with the club in his hand. “You’ll have to give me the number of your pro shop,” he was saying to Louis. “If new grips shave three strokes off my game, I’ll finally make par.”
Whatever the fuck that meant. Trick offered a tight nod as he passed by Louis, refusing to make small talk. He already didn’t like the guy for what he’d put Rylee through, before dumping her, no less. That her father still employed him was infuriating. No wonder Rylee moved to LA.
“Do you play golf?” Trick asked her as they entered the house.
“I used to. I rarely find the time now.” She angled through the foyer, past a sitting room and through a corridor leading to the kitchen. The house was palatial, their footsteps echoing off the marble flooring as they made their way through it. Evidence of the Meadows’ wealth showed in every tapestry, fussy vase and haughty design choice. Opulence had its place, but this house, for all of its space, was stuffy.
They approached an older woman who was cleaning off a countertop in the kitchen.
“Hi, Abigayle. Have you seen my mother?”
“In her office. I sent Anya up with a tray of macarons and a pitcher of lemonade.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” Rylee left the kitchen and led Trick up a set of stairs. They passed Anya on the way, a woman around their age who Rylee hugged mid-staircase. In a long hallway upstairs, Rylee and Trick entered the third room on the left.
The office was every bit as large as the kitchen, and had not one but two balconies complete with French doors. Rylee’s mother was standing at a side table, pouring lemonade into glasses. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw Trick. “I assumed when Anya brought three glasses that Louis would be joining us. That doesn’t make sense now that I think about it, since he never cared for your hobbies.”
Rylee’s smile stayed plastered on, but Trick could tell she hadn’t enjoyed hearing the career she’d built from scratch being referred to as a “hobby.”
“Hello. I’m Regina.”
“Trick MacArthur.” Shifting his handheld tripod and camera into his left hand, he shook Rylee’s mother’s hand with his right.
“Patrick,” Rylee inserted, and for some reason that bugged him. “He’s filming behind the scenes for Ariana and Xavier’s wedding and you are about to have a starring role.”
“Oh, dear. I should have had my makeup done.” Regina fluffed her hair, light blond like her daughter’s, but longer. She was wearing a pantsuit with large rhinestones on the sleeves and a pair of shoes that added a few inches to her smaller stature. It was no secret where Rylee had inherited her height. Meyer was a good foot taller than his wife. Trick wondered if it’d been Regina who had insisted Rylee wear high heels with everything.
“Let’s go over what I need, and you can practice mimicking the calligrapher’s style. Once you’re comfortable, if you wouldn’t mind Trick, erm, Patrick filming you while you write, that would be great. Of course, he doesn’t have to show your face if you want to remain anonymous.”
“Don’t be silly.” Regina had already pulled out a compact and was generously applying lipstick. “Patrick, you’ll only film me in the best light, correct?”
“You have my word,” he assured her.
After her mother and Trick were comfortable in each other’s presence, Rylee excused herself to take a phone call. This one was from Colin, who asked if there were any additional guests expected at tonight’s rehearsal dinner. He and his team were doing the cooking for the event. He’d assured her he had plenty of food, but preferred to quadruple-check the headcount.
“I appreciate that quality in you, Colin,” she told him as she stepped outside.
“Tell Corynna that.” His Irish accent was dreamy, but took on a sensual quality whenever he mentioned the woman who’d once been his enemy and was now the love of his life.
Rylee thanked him for checking in and promised to see him tonight. Her father, looking like a gender-swap of her with his own cellphone pressed to his ear, nodded as he bypassed her and went inside. Work took precedence with him. Not for the first time, she recognized that quality in herself. One that Louis, who regarded her with a frown as he tucked his club back into its bag, had always been quick to point out.
“You look good.” His eyes roamed over her hair as if deciding if he liked her updated cut. “Not as professional as you could be. That dress is a little short.”
She chuffed her disagreement, but her hand automatically smoothed over the material. “Are you finished showing off your clubs?”
