"It's going well. Very nice, indeed."
"I'm glad." I didn't really care that much about his new investment. In fact, if I was pushed to give my opinion, I'd say it was nothing more than a silly indulgence to thwart off boredom with a hint of mid-life crisis. Some men in my father's circle would—and did—stave off that crisis with a trophy wife or a mistress or a fancy sports car, or maybe all three. But not Daddy.
He bought a hockey team instead.
A hockey team. Here, in New Orleans. I still thought the idea was completely ludicrous but nobody had asked my opinion and I was smart enough to keep it to myself. At least, this time.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Hm?" I glanced up, wondering what I had missed. A knot of anxiety twisted in my stomach when I noticed the expression on my father's face. It was too determined. Too speculative. Too calculating. I knew that look, had seen it too many times before when he was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear or ask for my help in something I wanted no parts of.
"I need you to act as my hostess Saturday night."
I blinked and curled my fingers into my palm. "Hostess?"
"Yes. I'm having the boys over for a small dinner party. A way to get to know them better, as it were."
"The boys?"
"Yes. The team. The Bourdons."
I did some quick mental math and swallowed a groan. "You want to have a dinner party for close to thirty men?"
"Just something small. I was thinking a simple buffet. Treat them to some local dishes. Joanna will be able to help you."
"You want me to arrange everything?"
"Of course."
"For Saturday? This Saturday?"
"You don't have plans, do you?"
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that yes, I did have plans, but the words stuck in my throat. The fact was, I didn't. And even if I did, I'd be expected to change them. Arguments flitted through my mind, examined and dismissed in the space of several stunned heartbeats. I wanted to tell him I couldn't help, that it wasn't fair of him to even expect me to take on that responsibility, but the words died before they really had a chance to form. Daddy didn't ask a lot of me, didn't rule my life with an iron fist. Some would say he even went to extremes to indulge me—except when it came to ideas of my future. Or more specifically, my ideas for my future. Maybe that's why he indulged me more than he should: because he fully expected me to settle down with a respectable husband and become a respectable mother to respectable children who would follow the respectable path my parents and their parents and their parents' parents had been following for generations.
"Adelaide, is something wrong?"
I closed my mouth with an audible snap, only now realizing I'd been sitting there with it open. I shook my head and reached for my glass of tea, my fingers sliding against the wet surface and nearly dropping it.
"No. I'm fine, Daddy."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Positive." I sipped the tea then carefully wrapped both hands around the glass and held it in front of me. "What time do you want the party to start?"
"I was thinking of seven."
"And how many guests?"
"Plan on no more than forty or so."
I swallowed back a small groan and absently nodded as visions of loud and rowdy jocks tearing apart our home whirled through my mind. The assumption was harsh and unfair—I didn't know these men, had never met them, had no business judging them so prematurely. That didn't stop the mental comparison I was making to some of the wilder parties I'd attended during college and I tried not to wince when I remembered some of the damage that had been done during those parties. Surely the men on my father's silly hockey team wouldn't be so careless in the home of their team's owner.
On the other hand, maybe this would be the perfect opportunity to put Nathan from my mind. Having thirty or so men circulating around me was the best distraction I could ask for—unless they were brutish hulks missing all their teeth. Even so, it would give me a chance for some flirtatious fun. Nothing serious—I'd be a fool to even think of dating one of Daddy's players—but a definite distraction.
"I've asked Quinn to attend as well. He can act as host with you."
All thoughts of flirtatious distractions fled from my mind, replaced by a sudden vision of doom. "Daddy, I don't think that's necessary."
"Nonsense. This will be the perfect opportunity for Quinn to see what a capable hostess you'd make. It will also give the two of you some time together."
"But Quinn is—" I clamped my mouth shut before the words an insufferable ass could fall from my lips. Quinn Harding was the son of one of Daddy's oldest friends and they'd been trying to push us together since we were both in the cradle, despite the fact that we were as compatible as oil and water. Quinn and I tolerated each other—barely—simply because of our families' long-standing connection. And I knew for a fact that Quinn's interests lay elsewhere, in the arms of one of the interns at his father's law office.
At least, they did a few weeks ago. Knowing Quinn, he'd already paid her off in exchange for her silence and moved on to another conquest.
"No arguments, Adelaide. Quinn will be your date for the evening." He pushed away from the table then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against the top of my head. "I have a meeting I need to get to and you, my dear, have a party to start planning. I know you won't let me down."
I watched him walk away, taking with him all thoughts of flirtatious fun and delightful distractions. In their place was a quiet certainty that disaster loomed ahead—
And a sobering conviction that I was destined to somehow disappoint my father...again.
Chapter Seven
Nathan
I opened the door, knowing even before I did that I'd regret it. The three faces staring back at me, their expressions ranging from irritation to amusement, told me I'd been right in not wanting to open the door. I started to shut it again but Dylan jammed his foot over the threshold, stopping me.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I ignored the smirk on his face along with his question and shoved him back, just enough to get the door closed. Tristan stepped forward, taking Dylan's place in the doorway. If it had been just the two of them, I could have fought them off but Luke Matthews, the sneaky fucker, slipped past them and entered the apartment like he owned the damn place.
Swearing under my breath, I stepped back and let the other two men in. If they wanted to hang out here, fine, they could hang out here—without me. I had more important things to do and was in the process of grabbing my keys and wallet from the island counter to do just that when Dylan grabbed my arm.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I waved my keys and wallet in front of him, like that should have been answer enough. For anyone else, it would have been. "I'm going out."
"I can see that. What I want to know is why."
"Because I've got shit to do."
Luke rolled his eyes then started walking around the apartment, touching everything and peeking into the boxes I'd yet to unpack even though I'd been here for two months already. I bit back a growl of frustration then turned to the other two men in time to see them exchange a knowing look. My frustration morphed into impatient anger and I held up one finger in warning.