Page 1 of Dream Girl Drama

Chapter One

When good things happened to Sig Gauthier, it never failed to surprise him.

But “good” wasn’t enough to describe the moment he met Chloe.

No word existed for that.

There was simply an understanding that his life would never be the same—and the life he’d led up to knowing Chloe became a collection of indistinct sounds and shapes, while the present became incredibly clear, like a window being defogged.

There she was.

Eight minutes earlier, he was on his way to the snobbiest goddamn section of Connecticut in existence. Darien held the title for wealthiest town in the state. Elite schools. Sprawling estates. Old money. In other words, not his vibe. Sig wasn’t exactly sure why he’d agreed to this dinner with his father and his latest love interest—also known as his richest sucker to date. Normally, he turned down invitations from Harvey Lerner, but after Sig looked up the affluent address, he’d driven the three hours from Boston out of sheer curiosity.

Was Harvey going to swindle this rich woman, too?

If so, it would be a pattern. Sig’s own mother claimed Harvey had drained the contents of their bank account and left while Sig was still a baby. Harvey claimed to have changed, that he wanted an authentic father-son relationship with Sig, but Sig never trulybelieved him. Every once in a while the deeply hidden need for a father-son bond reared its head and Sig agreed to meet with Harvey—and he regretted it every single time. Tonight would be no different.

A rattle in the engine of his 1998 Chevy pickup made Sig sit up straighter.

“Ah, fuck.”

He’d heard that sound before. This wasn’t going to end well.

In fact, he had about a minute before the old banger he’d been driving since his college days sputtered to a stop.Damn.And only three minutes from his destination?

With a quick check of his blind spot, he started to pull over onto the shoulder of the tree-lined road, but a sign caught his attention up ahead. Country Club of Darien.

Sig snorted.

His red, dented-up truck was going to be more out of place in that parking lot than a priest in the penalty box, but he didn’t want to risk waiting for AAA on the side of the road. The sun was going down and there were too many blind curves. Someone could easily slam into him. Better to wait it out in a lot.

“Guess I’m going to miss caviar and gimlets in the conservatory,” he muttered, taking a right at the sign heralding the country club since 1957. As he slowed to a stop in an available spot on the farthest edge of the lot, he whistled long and low, observing the club through his rearview. It was something out of a movie. Flickering lanterns and sparkling fountains and white pillars. Tennis courts, valet parking, a golf course. Probably an underground cigar room.

Even the air tasted expensive.

In fact, Sig would be shocked if a parking attendant didn’t ask him to get his ratty ride away from these feats of German engineering asap. And they were welcome to try.

As a two-time NHL all-star, Sig wasn’t easy to move.

Once the Bearcats offered him a new contract, he’d probably be able to afford the most expensive car in this lot, just like the corporate lawyers and trust fund babies drinking Macallan while overlooking the back nine—but hestillwouldn’t want one.

Sig unplugged his phone from the charger and looked down at the screen, cursing when he saw the dreaded empty battery icon. One percent? He’d had the damn thing plugged in the entire ride. Maybe he shouldn’t be shocked that his frayed—and discontinued—cigarette lighter charger had finally stopped working, but it couldn’t have picked a worse time.

The phone went ominously dark and Sig dropped his head back against the seat. “This is on you, man. You shouldn’t have come.” Without looking, he tossed his lifeless phone onto the passenger seat. “Should have stayed in Boston.”

Didn’t he know by now that bad shit happened near his father?

There was no choice but to walk into that mirage of wealth and ask to use the phone.

Or a charger. Just until he was able to put a call through to AAA.

Jesus, he couldn’t think of anything worse than venturing into this playground for one percenters. Except maybe sniff testing everyone’s gear after an overtime game. What other option did he have, though?

Blowing out a breath, Sig retrieved his phone and pushed open the driver’s-side door, peeling his six-foot-two frame off the leather seat, stretching in the darkness while he considered the brightly lit club.

Just get it over with.

He kicked the door shut with a rusted shriek and started toward the valet, his bootsteps loud on the asphalt. The two dudes in royal blue jackets watched him approach warily, but he knew instantly when one of them recognized him.

---