“Mr. Titan. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling to inquire whether you’ve been able to secure the invitations I emailed you about.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Excellent. In the meantime, I wanted to make sure you didn’t run into any trouble with Mr. Leahy concerning our arrangement.”
My blood froze, and for a split second, I wondered if Lucas Titan was having me followed because his question was eerie as hell.
“No. No trouble. And please don’t concern yourself with my life? Mr. Titan. It’s really not relevant to you or the… favor… you’ve asked of me.”
“I’ll concern myself with whatever I please, Vanessa. I wouldn’t have gotten this far in life if I let people dictate to me.”
Arrogant son of a bitch.
“Is there another point you’d like to make, Mr. Titan? Because I’m about to hang up.”
“I do wish we had clicked on a more basic level. You and I could’ve had a hell of a lot more fun finding better uses for that sharp tongue of yours.”
More like he’d find out how good I am with my knee. Like Con had.
“Hanging up now.”
“Wait—” he started. But I didn’t. I’d had enough of men telling me what to do today and attempting to meddle in business that wasn’t their concern. Screw them all.
A horn blared and dragged my attention back to where it needed to be: the road. A man in a white delivery van cut off the car in front of me, and I slammed on the brakes.
Men. Assholes. Every last one of them.
Elle had left a folder on my desk with confirmations for Lucas Titan’s selected events.
She was a miracle worker.
I pulled up my calendar and saw it had been updated as well. My eyes immediately went to tomorrow night. It was empty.
I pulled out my phone before I lost my nerve or rediscovered my sanity and good sense. I had to retype the message three times before I got it right.
V: I’ll see you tomorrow night. Name the time and place.
For any thirty-year-old woman, living with your father would likely be a less than ideal situation. But when your father was Royce Frost, it made things even more difficult. I didn’t want to live at home. I’d planned to move in with friends after I’d finished grad school, which I could have mostly afforded on my meager salary, but my father had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. His oncologist had been the one to tell me that his living alone wasn’t the best idea. My father had flatly refused a live-in nurse, and I’d caved under the guilt. So it’d been over five years, two scares of recurrence with the cancer, and I was still living at home, worried that if I moved out, he’d quit taking care of himself, and I’d lose the only parent I had left. He could be an asshole, to be sure, but having one parent was better than having none. At least in my opinion.
Royce Frost was a third generation steel baron, born into money and power. After my mother had passed, his entire focus had narrowed to increasing that money and power. Even derailed momentarily by cancer, it hadn’t wavered.
I was just leaving the house to meet Con when my father was coming home from whatever event he’d attended that evening. As the CEO of one of the country’s largest steel manufacturers, his social calendar was more complicated than mine.
“You better be headed out to meet up with Simon Duchesne at this hour of the night. Preferably to spend the night in his bed.”
Oh, and did I mention that although he was part of the upper circles of society, he could be just as crude as the men who worked in the mill? And he also had to know by now that Simon and I weren’t happening. But I guess if holding on to that hope kept him from finding a new man to foist off on me, then I’d let him keep hoping.
“Please tell me you did not just say that.”
My father eyed my summer dress and cardigan.
“Where are you headed?”
I didn’t answer. There was one rule I insisted on since the day I’d moved home: I didn’t have to justify my comings and goings to him. We were both adults, and while he might be my father, he didn’t get to meddle in my life. He might ignore the rule frequently, but I followed it religiously.
He shook his head. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He pointed at me accusingly. “But no decent man is ever going to want to marry you if you’re flouncing around town all hours of the night like some kind of tramp.”
Still, I said nothing. He turned away and crossed to the center staircase. Pausing on the bottom step, he looked back at me.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful. You’re still my little girl.” My heart panged in my chest. When he said things like that he sounded like an honest-to-God doting father. And what’s more, I still felt the ridiculous need for his approval on some level.
“I promise.”