Page 44 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

Good answer. Respectful without being obsequious. “She’s seventeen years old. Beautiful, brilliant, and absolutely not in need of saving, fixing, or tolerating from anyone. Are we clear on that?”

“Absolutely, sir. Vivienne is… she’s incredible. I have nothing but respect for her.”

Another good answer. The kid’s either well-coached or genuinely decent.

“And your itinerary for this evening?”

Noah reaches into his jacket with careful movements and produces a folded piece of paper. His hands are shaking slightly.

I unfold the document with deliberate precision.

It’s not just an itinerary. It’s a comprehensive operational plan. Times, locations, addresses, phone numbers of chaperones. Emergency contact information for every venue. There’s even a QR code linking to the hotel’s parking map and traffic patterns for the optimal route home.

I blink once, genuinely impressed despite myself. “You made a custom itinerary. With backup contact information.”

“I thought it might be helpful.” Noah’s voice climbs slightly in pitch. “And show that I’m taking this seriously. That I understand the responsibility.”

I glance up from the paper to study his face. “Are you? Responsible?”

He visibly tries not to flinch under my stare. “Yes, sir. I am.”

Cooper whistles low from his position on the couch. “He came prepared.”

Uh-oh, there is an after-party component to this itinerary.

I point to the 11:00 p.m. entry, reading aloud: “ Millers’ house, post-dance gathering. ”

“Yes, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Miller will be home the entire evening. They’ve hired additional supervision to monitor the entrances. No alcohol will be permitted on the premises. We’re planning to stay for light refreshments and group photographs before heading home.”

Right. Light refreshments and group photographs. That’s what they’re calling it these days.

I fold the paper with mathematical precision, creating sharp creases that could probably cut glass. “Midnight curfew.”

Noah nods with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just been offered a stay of execution. “Yes, sir. I’ll have her back by then. Earlier if she prefers.”

I lean forward just enough to enter his personal space, just enough to make him wonder if I’m about to whisper something that will haunt his dreams for the next decade.

“One a.m.,” I say quietly, my voice carrying the kind of controlled menace that once made board members reconsider hostile takeovers.

“And she doesn’t walk up to this door alone.

You walk her to the door. You speak to me face-to-face.

You confirm her safe return. Or I come looking for you.

And trust me when I say, you don’t want me to come looking for you. Are we perfectly clear on these terms?”

He nods with enough force to potentially cause whiplash. “Crystal clear, sir.”

Cooper turns to look at me with obvious admiration. “This is so much better than your driving test lecture. Remember when you made that DMV instructor cry?”

“That was an accident.”

“Was it, though?”

I ignore him and settle into the couch with the satisfaction of a man who’s just stress-tested a bridge and found it structurally sound.

From upstairs, I hear the distinctive thud of heels against hardwood, the universal signal that a teenage girl is about to make a dramatic entrance, whether she intends to or not. It’s followed by Ainsley’s voice calling out final instructions about posture and lipstick application.

Noah bolts to his feet.

Ainsley appears first, descending the stairs with the kind of calm, glowing confidence that comes from twenty-four years of managing my particular brand of controlled chaos.

She’s armed with that special mom-energy that could simultaneously plan a wedding, negotiate international peace treaties, and still find time to adjust someone’s collar.

She takes one look at Noah’s expression and gives me the look —the one that says I know exactly what you’ve been doing and we’ll discuss this later.

“Did you terrify him?” She walks straight over to kiss my cheek.

“Define ‘terrify,’” I reply innocently.

Noah, to his credit, doesn’t immediately rat me out. Impressive loyalty under pressure.

“I’m Vivienne’s mother.” Ainsley extends her hand to shake his. “It’s lovely to meet you, Noah. I apologize if my husband has already threatened your academic standing or future prospects.”

“Only a little,” Noah manages, his voice cracking slightly on the words. “And it was very… educational.”

“She’ll be down in just a moment,” Ainsley tells him, then turns back to me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t pace.”

“I don’t pace.”

“You hover,” she corrects with the authority of someone who’s observed my behavioral patterns for years. “You hover like a neurotic bat with separation anxiety.”

Before I can mount a proper defense of my completely rational parental vigilance, there’s movement at the top of the stairs. The kind of careful, deliberate movement that suggests someone is making their grand entrance.

And then there’s Vivienne.

My daughter. My firstborn. The tiny baby who used to fall asleep on my chest during late-night feedings, who insisted I read the same picture book about sea lions forty-seven times in a row, who inherited her mother’s stubborn streak and my strategic mind.

She’s wearing a dark blue dress that somehow manages to be both elegant and age-appropriate—a miracle of shopping that I’m sure involved multiple consultations and several heated negotiations.

Her hair is swept up in some kind of elaborate style that probably took two hours and required professional-grade engineering. Her makeup is perfect but not overdone.

She looks… grown. Sophisticated. Like someone I recognize and someone I’ve never met before, all at the same time.

The entire room stops breathing. Even Cooper shuts up, which is a statistical impossibility.

Noah forgets how to operate his lungs.

“Hey,” she says softly when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her eyes finding Noah’s immediately.

“You look…” He trails off, visibly struggling to find words that won’t get him murdered by an overprotective father. “You look absolutely beautiful, Vivienne.”

She blushes—actually blushes—and something in my chest clenches with the realization that my daughter is becoming someone I can’t protect from everything. Someone who’s going to experience things I can’t control or fix or intimidate into submission.

“Thank you.” She accepts the corsage box with genuine pleasure. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Ainsley produces her phone, insisting on a million pictures. Cooper provides running commentary on lighting and composition. Grace reappears to critique the corsage placement and offer unsolicited advice about flower arrangement.

Through it all, I just stand there and watch my daughter pose with a boy who clearly understands that he’s dating someone completely out of his league. I watch her smile like she’s standing on the edge of something big and beautiful and entirely her own.

Something I can’t control, can’t influence, can’t protect her from experiencing.

It’s simultaneously unbearable and perfect.

As they head toward the door, I follow because that part was never optional. The final checkpoint in this evening’s security protocol.

“One o’clock,” I remind Noah, holding up the itinerary like a binding contract. “Not one-fifteen. Not ‘around one.’ One o’clock exactly.”

“Yes, sir.” This time, he manages not to flinch when I speak. Progress. “Thank you for trusting me with her.”

I give him a long, measured look. Then I extend my hand for a final handshake. Firm grip, maintained eye contact, but not quite enough pressure to constitute assault.

“Make good choices, Noah.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

Vivienne steps close and kisses my cheek. “Love you, Dad. Please don’t stand at the window with binoculars like you did when Tommy Martinez walked me home from the library.”

“No promises.” Honesty is important in family relationships.

She laughs—the same laugh she’s had since she was three years old and thought everything I said was the funniest thing in the world.

They leave together, Noah carefully helping her into the passenger seat of his father’s SUV. The door closes behind them.

And I just… stand there in my own foyer, watching taillights disappear around the corner and trying to remember when exactly my little girl became someone who goes to dances and knows how to apply winged eyeliner and looks at boys like they might be worth her time.

Ainsley leans into my side, her head finding its familiar place against my shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

“She’d better be.” Because the alternative involves me committing several felonies before dawn.

“She’s smart, capable, and absolutely terrifying when provoked. She’s your daughter, Maverick. She can handle one night with a seventeen-year-old boy who’s probably more scared of you than anything else in the world.”

Cooper strolls past us, hands shoved deep in his pockets, wearing the kind of smirk that suggests he’s been waiting all evening for his moment to shine. “So when I start dating, are you gonna interrogate me, too, or just whatever poor girl is brave enough to go out with me?”

I snort, because the question answers itself. “I’ll be interrogating her.”

He raises an eyebrow with obvious curiosity. “Why?”

“Because I already know you’re trouble. The real question is whether she’s smart enough to survive you.”

He considers this for a moment, then shrugs with obvious acceptance. “Fair point.”

Grace climbs into Ainsley’s arms, with her stuffed sea lion tucked securely under one arm, clearly ready to move on to more important matters. “Can we have ice cream for dinner?”

“We’re having vegetables first.” Someone in this family needs to maintain standards.

“Ugh,” she groans with the kind of dramatic suffering that suggests I’ve just proposed torture. “You used to be fun, Daddy.”

“I used to sleep eight hours a night and have disposable income,” I reply. “I’ve had to adapt.”

We head toward the kitchen as a unit—Ainsley carrying Grace, Cooper already lobbying for pizza instead of whatever healthy meal has been planned, and me bringing up the rear while checking my phone for traffic updates and weather conditions that might affect driving times.

Because the truth is, I spent my college years running empires built on information and intimidation.

I manipulated institutions, broke rules that other people thought were unbreakable, bent circumstances to my will through sheer force of calculation and strategy.

I made kings out of cowards and turned enemies into allies through carefully applied pressure and precise timing.

But this house, these people, this loud and messy and beautiful chaos that fills every corner of my life—this is the only kingdom that ever really mattered.