Chasing Serenity (River Rain 1)

“You okay?” she asked.

No, I absolutely was not.

“Of course,” I answered.

She tipped her head to the side, her sheet of gleaming ebony hair tipping with it.

“Sure?”

“Absolutely.”

I began to move away again.

“You haven’t said a word about Judge. Not since you texted me you were still with him at five on Sunday,” she noted.

“We saw each other last night,” I told her.

She brightened.

“We worked on the project. We have a solid plan. It’s good. We also decided not to see each other in that way. Too messy.”

Her face fell.

“It’s okay,” I outright lied.

“I thought he was really nice, and Jacob super liked him.”

He was nice and super likeable.

It was also very nice my best friend approved of him and strangely, even better her boyfriend got on with him.

Women could be hoodwinked by men (with the men doing the hoodwinking).

Other men could often see through that.

“He works for my soon-to-be-stepdad,” I pointed out.

“He’s very into you,” she returned.

He’d seemed to be.

“And you seemed very into him,” she carried on.

Hmm.

“If it didn’t work, it would be uncomfortable,” I noted.

She now appeared confused. “Are Duncan and Judge good buddies?”

“They work together,” I reiterated.

“I thought Duncan was the CEO of the chain and Judge was the director of their kids’ program.”

“That’s right.”

“They work side by side every day?” she asked dubiously.

“They see each other every day.”

“There’s like, hundreds of River Rain stores across the nation,” she declared.

“I think that number is actually something like seventy-seven,” I corrected.

“What I’m saying is, they both have important jobs, but you shouldn’t hold back because it’s not like Judge is Duncan’s assistant or the VP of buying. He runs a program that’s somewhat independent of the stores. Even if they work in the same offices, there are probably a lot of people who work there. It’s unlikely they interact day to day.”

“What I’m saying is, we’re not that into each other.”

Mi-Young read my tone and her lips pursed, pushing up into her nose.

It was cute.

It was provoking.

It told me she knew I was in a mood, she was not going to deal with me in this mood, but this conversation wasn’t over.

“Can I go grab that stock?” I asked fake-sweetly.

“Be my guest,” she returned, taking my sweet to the highest heights of fake.

I shot her a bored look.

She flicked her sheet of perfect hair.

God, she always won in a catfight.

I did my best to move away at a cavalier pace.

But I feared I looked like what I was.

Escaping.

* * *

“I’m feeling…lobster,” I announced that evening about two seconds after the server walked away from our table with our drink order.

I hadn’t even looked at my menu.

“Of course you are,” Dad murmured, sitting on the other side of the booth from me, grinning down at his menu, looking gorgeous, as always.

Tall, lean, fit, athletic, dark, with patrician features that had more than a mild hint of roguishness.

Dad did not have the look of the knight in shining armor.

He had the look of the prodigal son.

Every girl knew that was not the smarter choice, but it was the better one.

He’d been a heartthrob as a breakout teen star on the tennis circuit.

He’d become a heartbreaker when he’d grown up.

And that (no prejudice, truly) had never died. I saw the fanmail his assistant had to sort through every month. It was not a joke.

And just like Mom’s, it could get unnerving.

I allowed him time to make his selection (I really was feeling, and ordering, lobster, so I didn’t bother looking) and to put down his menu before I asked, “And how are you, mon père bien-aimé?”

He smiled. “I’m well, my beloved daughter, how are you?”

“Perfect,” I chirped.

His face clouded.

“Oh Christ, what’s going on?” he asked, likely because I never (ever) chirped, then, before I could answer, he presented another question. “Is it your mother fixing you up with Judge Oakley?”

It seemed odd that he’d use both Judge’s names.

“I’d heard the kids ribbing you about things during Christmas,” he went on. “Though I had no idea who he was then, since he was only referred to as Judge. When Gen shared what she was up to, I told her it wasn’t a good idea. But then you showed and went outside with him, and you two seemed close when we were having dinner.”

We had?

“And he’s a good kid,” Dad carried on. “Far as I know, he has been his whole life.”

I blinked.

“Sorry? His whole life?” I queried.

“Yeah, I met him when he was…” Dad had to think on it and then he said, “Four, five. You weren’t born yet. Or maybe your mom was pregnant with you, or about to be. Around that time.”

What…the…fuck?

“You…know…Judge?” I pushed.

Judge hadn’t mentioned this.

Neither had Dad or Mom.

“‘Know’ is a stretch,” Dad answered, his gaze never leaving my face. “Though I know his father, Jamie.”

I drummed my fingers on the table and glared at him.