When I was younger, we started up a tradition where I had dinner with my father once a month.

Before Mom died, she’d asked that we please continue it. The relationship between my dad and me was…odd.

I loved him, and I knew he loved me.

But he wished I’d been more like him, and I wished he’d get over that already.

Because of our difference of opinion, not to mention mannerisms, personality, and just about everything else, a dinner with him wasn’t really what I’d called relaxing or calm.

Still, out of respect for my mother, I continued in the practice, and I was ready in front of my condo when my father’s driver picked me up at seven. As I slid into the car, I glanced at Eduardo. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’ll be meeting us there. A meeting ran a little long.” He gave me a polite smile before closing the door.

Typical.

I didn’t even bother rolling my eyes.

Pulling out my phone, I spent the drive clearing my emails and penning a quick one to my maternal grandmother, Millie. I was much closer to her than I was to my father. If I had a standing dinner date with her once a month, I’d look forward to it instead of dreading it.

“Stop it,” I told myself, feeling bad when I knew my dad at least made an effort.

It was more than some kids could say.

We got to the restaurant quicker than usual, and I slid out before the driver could come around to open the door. Still, Eduardo came around to meet me, a pleasant smile on his face. “Your father asked that I walk you inside, Miss Mila.”

I cocked a brow at him. “That’s new.”

He spread his hands wide. “I do what I’m told, Miss Mila. You know that.”

I also knew that he picked up on a lot of things but decided not to push him. At least I had something to talk to my father about tonight.

And that was a pathetic way to look at it.

Still, I knew it would come up for discussion, so I accepted Eduardo’s quiet presence at my side as he escorted me to the door. “I’ll pick you up after dinner,” he said.

“I’m taking a cab,” I told him.

He frowned in consternation.

“Sorry.” Giving him a waggle of my fingers, I added, “I already have other plans after this.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but I really had no intention of going straight home. I’d be too tense to do anything but pace away the time inside those four walls, and that wasn’t conducive toward sleep.

* * *

Dad kept me waiting for almost thirty minutes.

He did send a text about five minutes after I arrived and told me a meeting had run over, but he’d be there shortly.

I told myself I’d give him a half hour.

Two minutes before his time was up, Christopher Golding arrived.

Dad didn’t pause at the hostess stand, just strode right in, his eyes searching until he found me. A broad smile creased his face and my worry increased by about fifty percent.

He never looked so open and easy unless he was after something.

I had no idea what he could want, but I already knew it wasn’t anything good.

I remained seated as he approached and tilted my head for the kiss I knew he’d drop on my cheek.

Once he’d settled into the seat across from me, I gave him a polite smile. Then… “What’s going on, Dad?”

He blinked, looking confused.

Waving a hand, I said, “Don’t bother playing innocent. Something is going on, and I want to know what it is.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head.

“Bullshit.” I reached for my wine and took a sip, meeting his eyes over the table.

He gave me a pained look, then acquiesced. That he’d done so relatively easy was…surprising, to say the least.

This really, really wasn’t going to be good.

“I’ve been having a few…issues,” he said. “With a past client of mine. He’s becoming a nuisance, started making veiled threats…”

I put my wine glass down with a snap.

“Dad…”

“It’s probably nothing,” he said, rushing to reassure me. “I’m almost positive he was just venting, pissed-off, you know? But I’m not going to take a chance with my only child.”

Now he gave me a look that all but invited sympathy and acceptance. I didn’t have much of either for him.

He’d gotten into some sort of mess with one of his companies.

He did construction – or rather his company did. There were rumors floating around that he cut corners he shouldn’t cut and other shit that had to do with unions. I had no idea what, and I didn’t want to know.

But maybe I should have paid attention.

If he was getting me roped into one of his schemes, I needed to be aware.

“You said there have been threats?” I asked, keeping my voice level.

Christopher waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’m handling it.”

“If you’ve got the driver walking me to the door and you’re sitting there all mum about what is going on, then I think I do need to worry about it,” I responded.

But I was wasting my time.

Getting anything out of Christopher Golding once he’d decided he didn’t want to speak was like trying to get oil out of a rock.

Actually, it might be easier to get oil out of a rock.

Disgruntled but determined not to show it, I took another sip of my wine. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure it out,” I told him.

With a shark’s smile, he replied, “It won’t surprise me if you do. You’re my daughter, after all.” He winked, his charming smile inviting me to smile back.

I did, but I suspected he saw the strain underneath it. If he did, though, he elected to keep the peace, reaching for the wine list and studying it with a practiced eye.

“What did you go with, darling?” he asked.

I told him, already wishing I’d told the waiter to leave the bottle. I was probably going to drink it all. “I doubt you’d like it. It’s got a bit of sweetness that wouldn’t appeal.”

Christopher made a face. “No, I’ll pass. I’ll take a good dry red any day.” The server appeared, and my father pointed to my glass, asking if I wanted more. I nodded, and he placed his order too. Once we were alone, I wracked my brain thinking for something to talk about that didn’t involve why he was worried about my safety, or that might lead to some row between us.

My father and I, we were like oil and water.

Everything to him was money, money, money. I should appreciate the fact that he loved me – and I did. But I was more like a second thought to him.

What came first and last with my father was the pursuit of the almighty dollar.

Determined not to let myself brood, I reached for my menu and opened it. We tried a different restaurant almost every time we went out – at my insistence. If my father had his way, he’d stay with the five-star joint he’d taken me to for my graduation.

He was something of a stick in the mud, especially in some ways.

It was little wonder the two of us had so much trouble seeing eye to eye.

“You’re upset with me.”

His quiet voice had me raising my head, and I met his eyes levelly. I suppressed a sigh but couldn’t quite manage a smile for him either. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m upset, Dad. I just…” Waving a hand between the two of us, I said, “We can’t ever quite seem to hit a niche. It was like we lost the ability to really connect when Mom died.”

His mouth tightened, and he looked away. “I do try,” he said, finally looking back at me.

“I know. So, do I.” Closing the menu, I reached over and touched his hand. “So, we’ll keep on doing it. But…Dad?”

He gave me an appraising look.

“I don’t want to get dragged into any of your messes, okay?”

He squeezed my fingers. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”