Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

My mistake. Marlon Daymon is a conceited. Spoiled. Liar.

“Not all men are like that. It’s not your fault he turned out to be a total fucker.”

“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you to say, but I should have known better. Most of those guys are playboys.”

“Okay, but some of them aren’t.”

“Um…” I disagree. “Maybe not, but Buzz Wallace is. Hello, he dates supermodels and actresses—not girls who work at publishing houses and read books for a living.” Nerd alert! “A professional baseball player is not my speed, Madison. You know this about me.”

But they are her speed and that’s why she’s so desperate for me to date one. I hear about it nonstop, and I wish I were into men who are into themselves, but I’m not.

I had that desire sucked right out of me when my last love interest wanted nothing more than his golden ticket to the owner’s suite. I was simply a pawn to him.

My phone rings, vibrating on the counter, and I flip it over.

“Oh, it’s the silver fox!” Madison enthuses, hopping up and down like a hyper toddler.

“Stop.”

I hate when she calls my dad a silver fox; it’s gross and weird.

I set the phone back down. Dad can wait.

“See what he wants!” she pushes, nudging it toward me. Poking the green talk button, forcing the video call on me.

“Hi Dad.”

My best friend leans in to see the screen. “Hi Mr. Westbrooke!” She says it in a slightly smarmy way that has me swatting at her to quit it.

Shut up! I mouth with an eye roll, strategically shifting the camera away for a moment. “Sorry about that, Madison is here.”

Dad clears his throat, unsure about how to reply. He’s not great with young adults, and he certainly has no idea how to act around my best friend—not when she hits on him every chance she gets.

His throat clears again, all business. “Earlier when you were here, I forgot to mention the commission-sponsored fundraiser this upcoming weekend. All proceeds go to fight human trafficking, and I have a ticket for you.”

I groan. That is one of the world’s worthiest causes, but I’d rather go to an actual meeting to learn more about it than spend an afternoon in a room full of fake people at a fundra—

An elbow hits my gut. “She’d love to go, Mr. Westbrooke. Will you be there?”

Jeez Louise, she’s full-on flirting with my father.

“Er, no. I’ll be out of town, but I can have my secretary send over the ticket.”

“Can you send over two tickets?” Madison’s eyes are wide and hopeful. “Then she can take a date.” Me, she mouths with a wink.

Dad hesitates, not one to be strong-armed by an interloper who isn’t even part of the family, and he’s never been overly fond of Madison. “I don’t know—can you guarantee you’ll get Hollis to attend?”

No! I mouth, stepping away from the phone and crisscrossing my hands frantically in the stop-no-no-no signal. I do not want to attend!

My whining and gesture do not work.

“Of course I can, Thomas. You leave it to me.” Judging by the look on his face, it hasn’t escaped his notice that she’s just used his actual name and not called him Mr. Westbrooke, a breach in etiquette he won’t forget any time soon. Old fashioned. Stuffy. Stuck up—just a few words that describe my father.

“Dad, it’s kind of you to offer, but really, I—”

Madison pulls me into her, covering the phone with her right hand. “You are going—we are going. Do not ruin this for me. I am single, dammit! You are single, and there will be single guys there.”

Is she nuts? Going to a fundraiser for a serious human rights organization to pick up dudes? I cannot with her.

I resist, though I know it’s pointless—she will win this argument, like she always does, because I have nothing going on this weekend and she knows it, and she’s going to drag me there whether I want to go or not.

“Right, exactly—you know who is going to be there? Marlon. He’s at all those freaking things because he is an ASS kisser,” I hiss. “I don’t want to risk running into him.”

“Don’t be such a pussy,” she hisses back. “Suck it up. At some point you’re going to have to see that piece of shit, and wouldn’t you rather have me by your side when you do it?”

“No! God no, you’ll make it worse. I don’t need you stabbing his eyes out with a fork in public.”

“At least I wouldn’t stab his dick.”

The sound of a throat clearing has us both looking down at my phone—down at my father’s bright red face.

“Oh shit.” Madison laughs.

Oh shit is right.

“I’m still here,” Dad somberly intones. Unamused. Unimpressed.

Your dad is so hot, Madison mouths.

I could kill her.

“Send over the tickets, sir. We’re going to that fundraiser.”