Page 8 of Pleasure Island

He never looked so open and easy unless he was after something.

I had no idea what he could want, but I already knew it wasn’t anything good.

I remained seated as he approached and tilted my head for the kiss I knew he’d drop on my cheek.

Once he’d settled into the seat across from me, I gave him a polite smile. Then… “What’s going on, Dad?”

He blinked, looking confused.

Waving a hand, I said, “Don’t bother playing innocent. Something is going on, and I want to know what it is.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head.

“Bullshit.” I reached for my wine and took a sip, meeting his eyes over the table.

He gave me a pained look, then acquiesced. That he’d done so relatively easy was…surprising, to say the least.

This really, really wasn’t going to be good.

“I’ve been having a few…issues,” he said. “With a past client of mine. He’s becoming a nuisance, started making veiled threats…”

I put my wine glass down with a snap.

“Dad…”

“It’s probablynothing,” he said, rushing to reassure me. “I’m almost positive he was just venting, pissed-off, you know? But I’m not going to take a chance with my only child.”

Now he gave me a look that all but invited sympathy and acceptance. I didn’t have much of either for him.

He’d gotten into some sort of mess with one of his companies.

He did construction – or rather his company did. There were rumors floating around that he cut corners he shouldn’t cut and other shit that had to do with unions. I had no idea what, and I didn’t want to know.

But maybe I should have paid attention.

If he was gettingmeroped into one of his schemes, I needed to be aware.

“You said there have been threats?” I asked, keeping my voice level.

Christopher waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’m handling it.”

“If you’ve got the driver walking me to the door and you’re sitting there all mum about what is going on, then I think Idoneed to worry about it,” I responded.

But I was wasting my time.

Getting anything out of Christopher Golding once he’d decided he didn’t want to speak was like trying to get oil out of a rock.

Actually, it might beeasierto get oil out of a rock.

Disgruntled but determined not to show it, I took another sip of my wine. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure it out,” I told him.

With a shark’s smile, he replied, “It won’t surprise me if you do. You’re my daughter, after all.” He winked, his charming smile inviting me to smile back.

I did, but I suspected he saw the strain underneath it. If he did, though, he elected to keep the peace, reaching for the wine list and studying it with a practiced eye.

“What did you go with, darling?” he asked.

I told him, already wishing I’d told the waiter to leave the bottle. I was probably going to drink it all. “I doubt you’d like it. It’s got a bit of sweetness that wouldn’t appeal.”

---