Three Broken Promises (21 page)

“That wasn’t your fault. You can’t feel responsible for everything that happens to me. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“No, I don’t. I want to take care of you. Danny would’ve wanted me to take care of you, too.” It’s the least I can do. I’ve already failed her numerous times. I can think of at least three.

“Do you really believe Danny would have wanted us together? Fucking around on the side?” she asks.

I flinch. “Don’t call it that.”

“Don’t call what we’re doing what it is? Come on, we don’t need to tiptoe around the truth. We’re just
fucking
each other until I leave. It doesn’t mean anything. We already agreed. You can’t back out of it now.”

“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Doesn’t feel so good when someone challenges you, huh? I know that doesn’t happen very often,” she tosses at me like a giant bomb.

I open my mouth to retort something extra sarcastic right back at her but the doorbell rings, interrupting me. We stare at each other, her eyes narrowing, mine narrowing in return, and we’re like two gunslingers ready for a shootout at the O.K. Corral.

Fuck, I think I’ve been watching too many reality shows on the History channel. I’m starting to sound like them.

“Are you going to get that?” she asks. “I’m sure whoever’s on the other side of that door is far more important than I am.”

What. The. Hell
. I don’t get her. She’s defiant, angry, and smug. It’s like she’s completely changed in the last twenty-four hours.

“This conversation is not over,” I tell her as I head toward the door. Thinking it might be the police, I don’t bother checking. I unlock the door and throw it open.

“Hello, son.”

Well, holy fuck. It’s my father. Talk about an unexpected visit.

I haven’t seen him in almost three years.

Chapter 17

Colin

“Are you going to let me in?” The man standing on my doorstep could be my future self. I look so much like my father it’s frightening. Same height, same build, same features, same hair, though his is liberally streaked with gray now.

He smiles at me, looking like a shark baring all of his teeth, and I barely hold back my grimace. No wonder my mom didn’t like me much. I remind her of the man who knocked her up, married her, and then abandoned her, all in a matter of about eighteen months. They pull each other in a constant tug-of-war over still to this day and I’m a grown-ass man. They have nothing to fight over. Their behavior makes absolutely no sense to me.

“Yeah, come in.” I open the door wider and Conrad Wilder strides inside, stopping short when he sees Jen standing in the middle of my living room, looking unsure and kind of adorable with it.

My earlier anger melts away, just like that. Dark circles are under her wide brown eyes and she looks from me to my dad, then back at me. She’s met my dad before, but it’s been a while. It’s pretty obvious who he is, though.

“Who’s this?” My dad turns to look at me, both eyebrows raised. He’s a player, always has been. Women flock to him and he loves it. As he gets older, he likes his women young. The younger, the better. I bet he’s giving me a mental high-five at this very moment.

“Dad, this is Jennifer Cade.” I pause as he approaches her with a too-friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “She’s Danny’s sister.”

“Ahhh.” He draws the word out, giving me a quick look over his shoulder before he turns on the charm for Jen. “I’m positive we’ve met before, though it was a long time ago. Conrad Wilder, but you can call me Con.”

So fitting that he wants people to call him Con. He’s definitely one of the biggest con artists I know. He can talk just about anyone into anything, and that’s why the man is richer than God.

“Nice to meet you,” Jen says, briefly shaking his hand. She shoots me a look, one that says she needs to get out of here, and I can’t blame her. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I watch her exit the room, my gaze zeroing in on her swishing hips, her cute ass barely covered by a pair of tiny cotton shorts. Her legs drive me fucking insane.

“She’s a cute thing, but skinny. Not your usual type,” my dad says the moment he hears Jen shut her bedroom door.

“I don’t have a type.”

Dad laughs. “You do too. Blond, petite, with a tiny waist and huge tits—that’s your type. Always has been. So what gives with this one? She something serious?”

“We’re old friends. That’s it,” I admit grudgingly.

“Ah, well that’s worse. You don’t fuck a friend, son. Didn’t I teach you anything?” He slaps my back with a laugh, acting like we’re nothing but two old buddies hanging out and bagging on women.

That’s the biggest problem I’ve had with him almost my entire life. He treats me like a friend, not like his son. Other than when it’s necessary for him to give me advice and be all fake-fatherly, for the most part he wants to talk tits and ass, get drunk, and brag about his net worth.

When I was younger, I thought it was great. Get the old man drunk, talk about the rack on some hot girl, and the next thing I knew, he was handing me a check for thousands of dollars. Now, though, it sucks. I’m getting too old for this shit. And my father is beyond too old. He’s so transparent with his frat-boy ways—and he was never a frat boy—it’s downright embarrassing.

“I’m not fucking her,” I lie through clenched teeth. I hate how he cheapens my relationship with Jen. More than that, I hate how now Jen cheapens our relationship, too. When did I suddenly become the only believer in this equation?

When have I ever been the believer?

“Then what are you doing, son? Having a little piece like that prancing around your house in shorts that should be illegal, where any man can check out those amazing legs? Not smart.”

“God, would you stop talking about her like that? It’s not like that between us.” What sucks is that I don’t know what it’s really like between us since I’m a confused, screwed-up mess.

“Considering you’re pretty damn sensitive about her, that tells me you’re taking this way too seriously. Like you have feelings for her. And that gets you nothing but trouble.” He plops onto the couch, his gaze shrewd as he studies me. “Danny Cade’s sister, huh? I remember meeting her a few times over the years, what with the way you and Danny were so damn close and always together. Though it’s been a while since I last saw her.”

“She’s been living with me the last few months. I found her working at some strip club on the outskirts of town. She had a falling-out with her parents and they called me. Told me they thought they knew where she was and when they realized I was setting up The District close by, they asked me to find her. I got her out of that shit joint and told her she could work for me,” I explain, inwardly wincing when I see the expression on his face at the mention of Jen working at a strip club.
Great.
“The Cades knew I would help. I did it for Danny.”

“Isn’t Danny dead?” Dad looks completely confused.

“Well, yeah, but he’d want me to look out for his baby sister. So I am.”

“Did she strip?” he asks. He’s looking at me as if my story is complete bullshit. And I refuse to answer him. “Nice arrangement you got here, son. Sounds like a distraction, though, and I need you on top of your game. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Dread settles in my gut, making it churn. My earlier hunger for breakfast evaporates in an instant. “What are you talking about?” I ask warily as I settle into the chair across from where he’s sitting.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and watching me intently. “I just acquired a fantastic piece of property in downtown San Francisco. Not too far from the wharf. It’s a corner location, near business offices and where the trendy younger set likes to hang out. The building was recently redone, so the renovation costs wouldn’t be too bad, and the location gets plenty of traffic on a day-to-day basis. Specifically a night-to-night basis, which is exactly what we want.” He rubs his hands together like a greedy salesman—exactly what he is. “It’s time to move on, son. Have someone else manage this location in this shit-hole town. I want you to come to San Francisco with me. We can open the new place together. Turn it into something amazing that we could eventually franchise out across the entire country. What do you say?”

“You want to manage a restaurant together?” Crap, that’s my biggest sticking point. Working directly with my father is a nightmare of epic proportions. I’d moved on years ago so I could get away with not working directly for him as much as possible. That’s always hard, though, when the money starts talking. Because that’s when I usually start listening.

“Well, at the start. You know how I am.” He’d always had wanderlust and could never stick in one spot for too long. “I won’t get in your hair. This’ll be your project, completely. I’ll hang around, help supervise, take care of the stuff you don’t want to deal with, and then when the business is in full swing, I’m outta there. Ready to sell our franchise in all the big West Coast cities at first. Los Angeles, Portland, Seattle. Then we’ll sweep out farther east. Las Vegas, Phoenix . . .”

Sounds too good to be true, so I know one thing: there has to be a catch.

“Just got the loan approved for the location and we’ve moved quickly into escrow,” the old man keeps going. “I’m land rich. Rich as a motherfucker, really, but also cash poor. That means I’ll probably need some cash loans to take care of expenses and stuff.”

There’s the catch. I hadn’t even really risen to the bait.
Shit.
“You need a loan?” The idea shocks me. My father has never, ever come to me for money. He never needed to. My long dead grandfather had left him a ton of money and though he’s at his very soul a con man, Dad is also a very comfortably wealthy con man. He can afford to take risks. He’s always the one flashing the big cash stacks, exaggerating about his success, though most of those exaggerations were always based in truth.

The last thing I want to do is let my dad borrow money from me. But what can I do?

He’s my father. He might not have been there for me emotionally and he definitely made me work for it, but he always eventually came through when I needed financial help.

I owe him. He’s one of the reasons I’m where I am today.

Jen

I’d forgotten how uncomfortable Colin’s dad makes me feel, so what just happened was a fresh reminder of the man’s ways. He’s too slick, too charming, too . . . everything. I don’t trust him. He doesn’t feel genuine.

I take a hot shower to wash away the awful thoughts that still linger from last night. And the way Conrad Wilder talked, how he looked at me. How he strode into Colin’s house as if he owned it, invading our space. Ruining everything.

Thank God I know Colin is not like his father. Yeah, he has a reputation as a player and when I first came to live with him, he flirted with plenty of girls. Even went out with a few. At The District, he’s always the charmer, talking to women, making them laugh and smile and vie for his attention. But he never comes across as a total phony.

And lately he hasn’t even gone out with any of them. For the last few months he’s flirted a little bit at work with customers, but that’s it. I’m the only one he’s paid any real attention to.

Closing my eyes, I press my forehead against the cool tile, letting the water cascade over me. He’s so confusing. Everything he does, how he acts, I can’t figure him out. One minute I think he might really want me, then the next he’s treating me like a friend or worse, a temporary fling.

You’re the one who asked for the temporary fling.

Yeah. I’m such a fool for saying that. No wonder he readily agreed. A man like Colin is always up for a no-strings affair.

I finally shut off the water and step out of the shower, toweling off quickly, preparing for the day. My body still aches, but the pain is probably nothing that a few ibuprofen can’t take care of. Colin may have said I’m not going into work, but I so am. No way will I sit around here and do nothing. I’ll be climbing the walls in no time. And after having last night’s tips stolen, I need the money.

Besides, if Colin’s dad is hanging around here tonight when Colin is at work, there is no way in hell I’m staying here with him alone.

Exiting the bathroom that connects to my bedroom, I go to the dresser and open a drawer, slipping on a bra and panties, then a pair of yoga pants and a pale blue tank top. I attempt to grab for my phone, ready to check my text messages, and realize it’s gone.

The jackass who stole my purse also took my phone. He’s probably not even doing anything with it. My cheap purse has probably been tossed in a garbage bin, full of everything I consider important. He most likely took my cash and left everything else in the trash. Things that matter to me. Stuff that I need.

I sniff, pressing my lips together to hold back the tears as I collapse on my bed. I’m tired. Irritated. Frustrated. A huge ball of confusing emotion swirls within me, and I glance at the bedside table and the landline telephone that sits there.

Yep, Colin’s one of the rare few who actually still has a real phone. I grab it and dial the 800 number of my phone company, which turns into a twenty-minute conversation as I cancel my stolen phone and order a new one.

Colin would be proud of me. I actually feel like an adult, taking care of what I need to do.

The moment I hang up, the phone starts to ring. I answer it quickly, something I rarely do since hardly anyone calls the house phone and if they do, it’s usually for Colin.

“Oh my God, I took a chance by calling this number,” Fable says right after I say hello. She sounds relieved. “Are you all right? I figured your cell was stolen, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I sigh, running a hand over my wet hair as I slump against the headboard. “I’m tired, but I’m okay.”

We talk for a few minutes, with me explaining that I’m perfectly fine and letting her know about my frustration with Colin. How he doesn’t want me to come into work tonight.

“You should totally take the night off. I would if I were you. I bet he’d pay you,” she says.

Leave it to Fable to think about the money aspect of it. I usually do too. We have similar backgrounds, since both of us grew up relatively poor.