Page 3 of Damaged Mogul

“I don’t need a chaperone,” I say.

“You’re not attending that event alone. You’ve never been to Los Angeles?—”

“The last time you assigned me a chaperone for EmersonCollege’s meet-and-greet evening event in Boston, your contact was caught in a closet with his pants down as a waiter sucked his manhood.” I roll my stiff shoulders, but they refuse to ease. “When you forced me to attend the University of Texas’s open house, you assigned a chaperone who kept asking me—in not-so-subtle ways—if I’d consider deflowering his eighteen-year-old son, and would it be okay if he watched us in the throes of passion so he could coach his virgin teenage offspring on how to properly satisfy a woman. He also wanted to know if I was open to the idea of a threesome with him and his son after I was done deflowering junior to celebrate the joyous occasion.”

“We’re walking down memory lane.”

I ignore his jab and soldier on. “The chaperone you selected for the Florida State University’s evening had a disturbing flatulence problem.” I thought I was going to suffocate from the foul smell. “Still, that didn’t stop him from suggesting we swing by his favorite Cuban restaurant after the event for somePollo con Arroz Congriwith an extra side of beans, before we ended the evening at his place for a nightcap so we could get toknoweach other better. I’ve had it up to here”—I gesture a hand over my head—“with your crappy chaperones.”

“Granted, those men had shortcomings I wasn’t aware of?—”

“You could say that again.” I scoff. “I’m sure chaperone number four must have a long list of shortcomings you’re unaware of.”

“I’ve cut ties with thoseformerfriends,” he says, “because their shortcomings reflect poorly on me.”

It’s all about image with Fisher Edgington. Although, in these cases, I can’t blame him for distancing himself.

“Gage Hollingsworth isn’t a flake and he knows how to conduct himself at an event,” he says. “The man has a reputation to uphold. And to my knowledge, he doesn’t pass wind inpublic. Also, at his size, he’s more of a bodyguard than a chaperone. The man is built like a brick wall.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Lily, this isn’t up for discussion.” His firm answer has the same effect as a judge slamming his gavel on a desk.

Any other day I’d move onto another topic, one that wouldn’t put me on his bad side. But today isn’t any other day.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “When you said you wanted to meet tonight because we had so much to celebrate, I never suspected we’d be discussing Chandler’s political career, and you forcing, yet again, another dirty old man down my throat. I was expecting something else.”

He frowns.

I throw him a bone. “Something pertaining to me.”

He straightens the sleeves of his impeccable, bespoke navy-blue suit before adjusting his yellow tie, again. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t think of anything else worth celebrating today?”

The furrow between his neatly groomed brows remains. “No.”

A world of emotion swirls inside me like filth floating over the waters of a polluted swamp.

Flabbergasted, I gape at him.

He has no clue what I’m talking about.

A lump the size of my fist rises in my throat. “Think harder.”

The blank stare on his face speaks volumes.

The lump grows, threatening to choke me.

I search the restaurant for our waiter.

He catches my gaze and rushes towards our table. “What can I get you, miss?”

“What’s going on, Lily?”

I focus my attention on the expectant waiter. I swallow past the lump. “Two glasses of your best champagne, please.”

“What the hell are you doing?” My father’s tone is sharp. “This isn’t Europe. You’re not of drinking age yet.”