Game On Box Set: Time Out\Her Man Advantage\Face-Off\Body Check Read online

  A gray-haired man with the build of Arnold Schwarzenegger and a George Hamilton tan made a beeline in their direction. A plump, blond woman tagged on his heels, looking annoyed by her escort’s obvious enthusiasm for Darcy.

  “Darcy!” Jonas Quade boomed, grinning widely. “What a treat to see you here.”

  “Happy birthday, Mr. Quade,” Darcy said politely.

  Quade turned to his companion. “Margaret, this is the owner of the lingerie store where I buy you all those intimate gifts.” He winked at the blonde. “Darcy, this is my wife, Margaret.”

  Hayden could see the barely contained mirth on her friend’s face. Hayden had to wonder if Quade’s wife was aware that her husband wasn’t buying intimate gifts only for her.

  “And who is your lovely friend?” Quade asked, peering at Hayden.

  Since she didn’t particularly enjoy being ogled, Hayden felt a flicker of relief when, before Darcy could introduce them, Quade’s wife suddenly latched on to his arm and said, “Marcus is trying to get your attention, darling.” She proceeded to forcibly drag him away from the two women.

  “Enjoy the party,” Quade called over his shoulder.

  “That poor woman,” Darcy said. “She has no idea…”

  “I’m sure she knows. He might as well have adulterer tattooed on his forehead.”

  She and Darcy started to giggle, and Hayden decided this party might not be so bad after all. She hadn’t spotted her father yet, but with Darcy by her side, she might not have such an awful time.

  “Can I interest you in a dance?”

  Damn, she should’ve known her best friend, with that indecently short dress, wouldn’t be available for long.

  The handsome, dark-haired man in a navy-blue pinstriped suit eyed Darcy expectantly. After a moment she shrugged, and said, “I’d love to dance.” She handed her champagne flute to Hayden, adding, “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  “Sure. Have fun.”

  Hayden’s shoulders sagged as her friend followed Handsome Man onto the dance floor. Great. Seeing Darcy had been a pleasant surprise, but now her enthusiasm returned to its original level: low.

  Then it swiftly dropped to nonexistent.

  “Hayden, honey!” Her father’s commanding voice sliced through the loud chatter and strains of music. He strode up to her, a glass of bourbon in his hand and an unlit cigar poking out of the corner of his mouth.

  She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. “Hey, Dad. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “I am, I am.” He squeezed her arm and beamed at her. “You look gorgeous.”

  Something about his overly broad smile troubled her. She wasn’t sure why—he was just smiling. And yet an alarm went off in her head. She examined her father more closely. His face was flushed and his eyes were a touch too bright.

  Like an unwanted visit from the Avon lady, Sheila’s words filled her head. Your father’s drinking again.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, unable to stop the wariness from seeping into her tone. “You look a little…tense.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m absolutely great.”

  “You sure? Because I saw those reporters outside and…” And what? And I wanted to make sure that they’re all just lying about your involvement in illegal sports betting?

  Presley’s eyes darkened. “Ignore those bloodsuckers. They’re only trying to cause trouble, conjuring up their delusional stories to sell papers.” He took a slug of bourbon. “This isn’t the time to discuss this. Martin Hargrove was just asking me about you. You remember Martin, he owns a chain of restaurants—”

  “Dad, you can’t just ignore this,” she cut in. “What about the announcement that one of your players came forward? I tried calling your cell yesterday afternoon to talk about it but I kept getting your voice mail. I left you two messages.”

  He ignored the last statement and said, “I was golfing with Judge Harrison. No cell service out on the course.”

  She decided not to mention that she’d also called the house he was renting, knowing he’d probably have an excuse for not answering those calls, too.

  God, why was he acting like none of this was a big deal? One of his players had admitted that Presley fixed games, and her father was brushing it off like a fleck of lint on his sleeve. Going to parties, smoking cigars, mingling with friends. Did he honestly think this would all just blow over? Hayden refused to believe her father had done the things he was accused of, but she wasn’t naive enough to think they could just close their eyes and blink the whole mess away.

  “Did you at least talk to Judge Harrison about what your next move should be?” she asked.

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Because this is starting to get serious.” Hayden clenched her fists at her sides. “You should give a press conference maintaining your innocence. Or at the very least, talk to your lawyer.”

  He didn’t bother replying, just shrugged, then lifted his drink to his mouth. After swallowing the rest of the liquid, he signaled a passing waiter and swiped a glass of champagne.

  Hayden took the opportunity to place her and Darcy’s drinks on the waiter’s tray, suddenly losing any taste for alcohol. Both times she’d seen her father this past week, he’d been drinking, but tonight it was obvious her father was drunk. His rosy cheeks and glazed eyes, the way he was swaying on his feet. The blatant case of denial.

  “Dad…how much have you had to drink?”

  His features instantly hardened. “Pardon me?”

  “You just seem a little…buzzed,” she said for lack of a better word.

  “Buzzed? Is that California slang for drunk?” He frowned. “I can assure you, Hayden, I am not drunk. I’ve only had a couple drinks.”

  The defensive note in his voice deepened her concern. When people started making excuses for their inebriated state…wasn’t that a sign of a drinking problem?

  She cursed her stepmother for putting all these absurd ideas into her head. Her father wasn’t an alcoholic. He didn’t have a drinking problem, he hadn’t had an affair, and he certainly hadn’t illegally fixed any Warrior games to make a profit.

  Right?

  Her temples began to throb. God, she didn’t want to doubt her dad, the man who’d raised her alone, the man who up until a few years ago had been her closest friend.

  She opened her mouth to apologize, but he cut her off before she could. “I’m sick of these accusations, you hear me?”

  She blinked. “What? Dad—”

  “I get enough flak from Sheila, I don’t need to hear this shit from my own daughter.”

  His eyes were on fire, his cheeks crimson with anger, and she found herself taking a step back. Tears stung her eyes. Oh, God. For the first time in her life she was frightened of her own father.

  “So I made a few bad investments. Sue me,” he growled, his champagne glass shaking along with his hands. “It doesn’t make me a criminal. Don’t you dare accuse me of that.”

  She swallowed. “I wasn’t—”

  “I didn’t fix those games,” he snapped. “And I don’t have a drinking problem.”

  A ragged breath escaped his lips, the stale odor of alcohol burning her nostrils and betraying his last statement. Her father was drunk. This time there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. As she stood there, stunned, a tear crept down her cheek.

  “Hayden…honey…oh, Lord, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

  She didn’t answer, just swallowed again and swiped at her face with a shaky hand.

  Her father reached out and touched her shoulder. “Forgive me.”

  Before she could respond, Jonas Quade approached with jovial strides, clasped his hand on Presley’s arm and said, “There you are, Pres. My son Gregory is dying to meet you. He’s the Warriors’ number-one fan.”

  Her father’s dark green eyes pleaded with her, relaying the message he couldn’t voice at the moment. We’ll talk about this later.