Page 68 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

He nods, his eyes on the desktop, and I frown.

“Daddy, are you in financial trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

My father is a rotten liar. Perhaps I’ll have to get answers myself. I know he keeps his bank statements in that desk somewhere. Later, when he’s gone, I’ll find out the truth. I stand. “Well, I’ve got some homework to do.”

“Yes, yes. You go do that.” He waves me out, but his face looks worn and worried.

By late afternoon, I’m climbing the walls.

Rafe still hasn’t responded, and I’m getting desperate. I’ve even thought about driving to the clubhouse, but I’m not sure I remember how to get there. Of course, I could get that information from Melissa or Fiona, even. I have both their numbers.

Pacing the floor of my bedroom, I turn the notion over a million times, playing it out in my head…Walking through the clubhouse door. Rafe and all his brothers sitting at the bar, and all turning to stare at me. Maybe even some trashy woman with her arms around him.

What if he ordered me out? I’d die inside. What if he told me we were over in front of everyone? I couldn’t handle it. But sitting here, doing nothing to win him back, isn’t an option, either.

I pull out my phone and stare at my contacts.

Then an idea comes to me.

ME: Fiona, can we meet? Are you busy? I need to talk to you about Rafe.

It only takes about ten seconds before the screen lights up with those three gray dots.

FIONA: Oooh, sounds intriguing. Sure, I can meet you. You up for some tacos?

ME: Absolutely. Where? When?

FIONA: Twenty minutes. Pistol Pete’s on Broadway.

The minute I disconnect, I’m in a whirlwind, trying to find something in my closet to wear. It has to be sexy but sweet. I want him to take one look at it and think twice about dumping me. After trying on ten outfits, I stomp my foot. “Grrr. Stop overthinking this.”

I settle on an off-the-shoulder, boho peasant style blouse. It’s cream with flowers and a ruched tie front. I style it with a pair of faded blue denim cutoffs. I add a couple of delicate necklaces, stacks of beaded bracelets and hoop earrings. Staring in the mirror, I take a deep breath, then slip on some sandals and head out the door.

When I arrive, I park half a block down.

Fiona is waiting for me by the door.

The place has adobe walls and colorful ceramic tiled floors. Mariachi music is piped in overhead, and I can smell thedelicious aroma of steak fajitas sizzling on the grill. We’re escorted to a table by the window and handed menus.

The waiter takes our drink and food orders, and then Fiona settles back.

“Okay, spill. What’s going on with you and my brother?”

“We had a fight. Well, not a fight exactly. I had to go to this function with this other guy. He’s older, a friend of my father—”

“Ew.” Fiona makes a face.

“Okay, not that old. Anyway, he’s got money. Like, a lot of it. I was just supposed to entertain him for my father, who’s trying to work a deal to sell him some land. It’s a long story. Anyway, he asked if I’d be his date for this charity event. I sort of felt roped into it.”

“And Rafe was pissed?”

“Rafeispissed.” I sigh. “I really fucked up. When I told him about it, he wanted me to cancel, to blow him off.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.”

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