Page 128 of Masks and Mishaps

For once, Warner stays quiet—and that’s all the answer I need.

He won’t do it.

My arms fall to my sides and I grapple with shock until I let out a scoff. “After what he did to Essie, after what he did tome, you’re not going to fire him?”

“He’s my son, Dalton.”

And I’m not.

It only occurs to me at that very moment: I’m not actually Warner’s son.

My own father never would have protected me like this. Frank would have left me to bleed out before he sacrificed his reputation, and maybe that’s a good thing—because a good father wouldn’t raise a son like Westonorprotect him.

I look at Essie, who’s standing near the door to the conference room. She smiles gently, the same smile I’ve seen against my pillow, staring up at me on the floor of my treehouse, nestled in my lap while I’m cuffed to a chair.

I may not have a father—and I may never have one—but that doesn’t matter anymore.

I haveher. I have her, and she’s all I’ve ever needed.

Taking a deep breath, I face Hannington again. “Fine,” I say, cocking my chin at him, taking satisfaction in the somber, empty way he stares back. “Then I quit.”

Forty-Seven

ESSIE

“Ah,shit.MyWheatThins are in my desk,” Dalton murmurs as we step out of the elevator.

I shoot a glance in his direction. This man just quit a high-paying, luxe banking career and abandoned several outrageously expensive bottles of liquor in his office—and he’s talking about hisWheat Thins.

He’s perfect.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, taking his hand and squeezing it.

Dalton lets out a slow breath through his nostrils. “Yeah,” he replies after a beat. “They sell them everywhere, so we can get a new box—”

“I meant about quitting,” I clarify. “And also the thing with Hannington.”

Dalton faces me and takes my other hand. His thumbs drag over my knuckles, caressing them while he thinks. “I don’t need a father,” he finally says. “I thought I needed someone who was proud of me and wanted to take care of me purely out of love.” Our eyes connect. “But I have you. I can do all that for you, and you do the same for me. We both do it for our friends and families. Why do I need a father?”

“You don’t,” I reply, stepping closer and releasing his hands to pull him into an embrace.

“I don’t need that job either,” he continues. “Neither do you. And no matter what, it would be my honor to support you. If you want to cam, I’m in—on- or off-camera. If you want to resort to a life of crime, apparently, I make a good serial killer. Whatever you want. Because I know one thing for certain.” He cups my cheeks, bends, and kisses my forehead before he says, “I’m going to make you so much money that you’re not going to know what to do with it.”

I’m completely fine. I’m completely fine because I’m so completely in love with this guy.

I tug Dalton down. His mouth is hot against mine, and we kiss there in the lobby until my phone buzzes in my pocket.

He practically pouts when I pull away to read my messages. “For you to stop kissing me, it better be an emergency alert about a missile headed to DC.”

But this isn’t a laughing matter. “Can you get me to Massachusetts?”

He snickers. “To Salem?”

“To Boston. Christian is in the hospital with an allergic reaction.”

Dalton’s face pales. “Shit, that’s awkward. I’m sorry.”

I wave my hand. “Whatever. I’m used to you. Can we just go?”

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