Page 145 of The Playboy

“My daughter is much more sentimental than I am,” her dad said. “Feelings matter, sure. But her safety is my concern. LA is a big city. She’s never been on her own. I’m worried.”

“She’s not alone,” I told him. “She’ll never be alone.”

I hadn’t won him over.

I could tell by his eyes.

“I was brought up by very old-school parents who struck business deals with no more than a handshake.” I adjusted my grip, holding the glass in my left hand. “I wouldn’t bring Brooklyn to a new city, not knowing a soul, unless I could ensure her safety and unless I fully intended to take care of her.” I paused. “I do.” I took one final look at my Tiny Dancer before I locked eyes with her dad. “Nothing is going to happen to your daughter, not under my watch. And when I tell you my word is bond, I mean that, sir.” I held out my right hand in his direction.

I waited.

I observed the change in his expression as he took in mine.

And when his hand finally clasped my fingers, he said, “Don’t let me down, Macon.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Brooklyn

Celebrations, for me, usually only lasted a day. At least, my high school graduation and birthdays over the years had been that way. But my college graduation was a little different. I was sure that had to do with my parents flying in and staying with us. That Mom insisted on constantly feeding us girls so that we were always sharing a meal. That my sisters refused to take down the decorations, our place full of balloons and streamers and poster board that, in marker and big bubbly letters, told me how proud they were of me.

We’d rearranged our work schedules so we could be together for their entire visit, and it was the most amazing four days.

I didn’t think it was a coincidence that most of my family’s conversations revolved around Macon or my new job in LA. Aside from earning my degree, those were the biggest things happening in all our lives. This gave my parents a chance to have a second dinner with him and an opportunity to learn even more about him. That meal took place at Charred, the steak house in Macon’s hotel—a suggestion from Macon when we had been in the planning stages of where to take my family out to eat. The owners of the restaurant, the Westons, had opened a few days early, and we were their first private party.

By going there, my parents were able to see how Macon used his contacts to make every moment so incredibly special and one that we would never forget, like the five-course meal we didn’t know we were getting and the massive coffee-flavored cake that had been made just for me. They got to see his power the second they walked into his hotel, his influence, the way his employees respected him, how the Westons personally came to check on us to make sure we were pleased with the food and service.

But most of all, they got to see how much he cared about me.

By the time I dropped them off at the airport, they weren’t nearly as worried about me going all the way to California without any family. They’d believed Macon when he told them he would do everything in his power to keep me safe and that I was in the best possible hands. He’d completely charmed all the women in my family, and even my father had softened up a bit.

And on the day they flew back to The Big Island, two things happened.

I gave my two-week notice at the hotel. That would give me exactly three work-free days to wrap things up and finish packing before I moved to LA.

The second was the grand opening of the Spade Hotel. A night that Macon had worked so extremely hard to prepare for. Even when he had hung out with my family, he had taken calls and put out more fires, directing his teams and answering endless questions.

For him, it never stopped.

His brothers and cousin had flown in to celebrate this monumental night, and so had his uncle Walter and his friends, the Daltons.

My sisters had also been invited, but since they both had to work and couldn’t come, I opted to get ready in Macon’s hotel room. Macon was somewhere downstairs, working out last-minute details, so I was alone in his massive suite. A room almost as gorgeous as his home in LA.

After finishing my hair and makeup, I sat around in a bathrobe, waiting until it was time to get dressed, taking in the views of the beach, checking social media to see what posts had been made about the event, giving love to each one.

It was the calm before tonight’s storm, and I was soaking in every second.

When it was time to get dressed, I went to the walk-in closet, where I’d hung the outfit I’d brought—a dress that Macon had gifted me when he filled my wardrobe with interview clothes. But when I went to grab it off the rack, there was another dress hanging beside it with a note attached.

I know black is your favorite, but red, on you, is mine.

When I saw this dress, the only thing I could think of was how sexy it would look on your body.

Wear it … for me.

Since I probably won’t be able to escape, Jo will be by to zip you up.

See you soon, gorgeous.

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