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“So, I didn’t care what anyone said,” Mr. Gordon brags. “I wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
The table erupts into feigned laughter.
And that’s it.
When he smiles, I see it.
My hand stills.
He’s a friend of my father’s.
The chief of police.
Chapter 16
Xavier
Rhiannon is obviously nervous, and I think she’s already realized why I have her here. She pushes her food around on her plate, forcing a smile every now and then. She squirms in her seat, and I place my hand on her thigh under the table to calm her. Or stop her. Stella and Hank Davenshire probably think I’m crazy for bringing the daughter of DeLaurio here, but Hank owes his company to me so they won't say a word. And maybe I do have a death wish. Maybe I just give absolutely no fucks.
There’s a method to my madness here. Waltz into a dinner party with DeLaurio’s daughter on my arm with the chief of police sitting across from us making fucking small talk. It’s almost comical. Yes, I want him to let DeLaurio know I’ve got her, and yes I know they can’t do a damn thing about it.
I don’t think Gordon has even recognized either of us yet. Probably just thinks we’re business associates of Hank’s. But, rest assured, he’ll definitely know who we are when we leave. And I’m sure the rat bastard will personally be the one to tell DeLaurio I’ve got his daughter.
We work through an assortment of pecan-crusted salmon with asparagus and potatoes, and before I can finish off another bite, Rhiannon leans over.
“Can I go to the restroom?”
We’re in a house, what harm can she do?
“Come right back.”
She excuses herself from the table, and I continue discussing menial bullshit with Hank and Ken. Once dinner is over, and the wives aren’t around, is when I plan to make exactly who I am known, and then, he’ll go run along like the crooked cop he is.
“A toast,” we all raise our wine glasses, so they’re good and drunk later, “to keeping the streets safe,” I toast Ken.
Everyone cheers, and I smile at him over the rim of my glass before checking my watch.
“Excuse me, everyone,” I say, rising from my seat.
I quicken my steps down the hall and round the corner to the first-floor bathroom.
“Rhi.” I knock.
No answer.
Shit.
I jimmie the knob and bust the door open.
And with the sight I see, I don’t know if I should laugh or be furious.
I lean against the door frame. “I can see right up your skirt.”
She freezes in her attempt at crawling through the tiny window above the whirlpool tub. It’s like damnWinnie the Poohgetting stuck in his tree trunk from the cartoon Rhiannon and I watched as kids. For fucks sake.
“I don’t care. Enjoy the view; I’m leaving. That man out there will have my father here in ten seconds once he realizes who I am.”
“I doubt that.” I move further into the bathroom. “Seriously, Rhi? You’re never going to get your hips through that window.”
