Too Hard: Hayes Brothers Book 5

THE VENUE IS THE ONE MY FATHER ENJOYS MOST. An elegant private room at the back of the Country Club—owned by none other than Nico Hayes.

He’s the only influential person my father hasn’t manipulated in Newport Beach.

I’m sure it’s not for the lack of trying.

Although, as he manages my father’s money, maybe Dad doesn’t dare meddle in Nico’s business.

The fleeting thought fills me with a warm, fuzzy feeling because I associate Nico with the portfolio my father set up in my name a few years ago. An award, a prize for the years of serving his needs. I’m supposed to gain access to it once I graduate.

Unless it’s a lie my father conjured to ensure I obey every command. A carrot on a stick he can hold over my head.

The private event room is relatively empty. Less than thirty people sporting fake smiles and real diamonds. Apart from my father’s associates, there are a few new faces in the crowd, including the man from the front page of the Newport Gazette that Dad handed me on our way here.

He didn’t answer when I asked why my workload had tripled since I moved out of his house three months ago.

I haven’t worked this many men in such a short time since I turned eighteen. Looks like Dad’s squeezing the most out of me before my twenty-first birthday. Once I can access the portfolio, he’ll lose his bargaining chip.

Casting a quick glance around, I examine the man I’ll be flirting with tonight. He’s in his fifties with a head of silver hair, an unlit cigar in his mouth, and an expensive suit hugging his tall frame—Archibald Duke—the chair of the Orange County planning committee.

Last year, spurred by whispers of an upcoming highway project, my father bought a substantial tract of land from an old-time farmer. He offered double the market price, betting on the highway rumor enabling a big payday.

As fate would have it, the highway plans fell through. Now he’s stuck with overpriced land and a huge dent in his wallet.

Dad didn’t explain his next move, but using the Planning Commissioner must mean he’s trying to flip the land to residential. If he gets the green light, he can sell it to a developer without breaking a sweat.

And I bet he already has a developer in mind: Stone and Oak. Since Logan Hayes took the reins two years ago, they’ve been buying land like it’s a Black Friday sale.

Logan’s a visionary. The best architect in Orange County. A skilled businessman, too. Rumor has it that he doubled the company’s revenue within two short years by taking the bold risks his grandfather refused to take.

“Smile,” Dad barks in my ear, snaking his arm round my waist to lead me further into the room, greeting people as we pass. “Everything is set up. When I give you the signal. Do what you do best.”

Plastering a convincing smile to my lips, I let him walk me around the room, my job well defined: a silent coquette.

I scan the men my father introduces me to. Over the years I’ve got this down to a T, learning what makes men like my father’s associates tick. I lick my lips, smile, and bat my eyelashes.

My dress rolls up with every step, and I tug it down just enough to cover the bare minimum.

“Sweetheart, meet Mr. Duke,” my father says when we finally make it across the room, stopping before the star of the evening.

He’s alone. No woman hanging on his arm. The man he’s been speaking to for the past five minutes bobs his chin and walks away, offering a fleeting sense of privacy in a crowded room.

“Mr. Duke,” I say, my voice sweeter than sugar. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read so much about your recent success.”

“It’s Archibald, my dear. I insist.” He dips his head to kiss my hand. “Your father’s told me a lot about you, young lady.”

I don’t breathe while he talks to me about college and some sketches my father apparently showed him. Once the oxygen deprivation has done enough to create a fake blush, I subtly take a breath.

“Well, thank you, Mr…” I purposely trip over my words, biting my lip. “I’m sorry, Archibald.”

“I would love to hear more about your volunteer work,” he says, dropping his gaze to my breasts before it roams lower, eating up every inch. “It’s admirable, Blair. Your father is very proud that you’re spending time at the hospital.”

Bullshit. My father is only proud of the eight digits he sees when he logs into his bank account.

But I play my part as expected, faking smiles as I run a gentle hand down his arm. “Of course. I’d love to.”

“Can I get you a drink?” He glances from me to my father. “You’re old enough to drink, sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” my father huffs, wearing the mask of a concerned, loving, but not-so-strict parent.

If those masks we both wear were tangible, we’d have quite the collection between us.

“One drink won’t hurt, but just one, sweetie.” He shoots Archibald a stern look. “Keep her safe. I need to find Richard.”

“Take your time,” Archibald says, offering me his arm.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Just like that, I’m strutting toward the bar with Archibald Duke by my side. I’m usually a wine kind of girl, but at my father’s banquets, I need something stronger to take the edge off the humiliation coursing through my veins. With a glass of neat whiskey each, we head through the patio doors, taking a seat on a bench by a large fountain outside.

I answer Archibald’s questions on volunteer work for a moment, but it’s clear from his lustful gaze that his mind is elsewhere. In the gutter, most likely. I bet he imagined fucking me ten different ways by now.

“What brings you here tonight?” I flick the ball to his court, playing dumb.

He drapes his hand over the back of the bench, gently sweeping his fingers along my nape, curling my hair behind my ear before he says, “Your father has quite the proposition for me.”

“I should have known. It’s not often these events are attended by such powerful people as yourself.”

God, this sounds so bad. Anyone with half a brain would immediately know I’m playing him, but I melt Archibald’s brain by crossing my legs as I speak.

His eyes widen, pupils dilate.

It’s a brief show, but he sure noticed. I’m not bare tonight. Even after the shopping spree with Kelly-Ann, my father didn’t confiscate my card, so I’ve bought new underwear, but a flash of the lace between my legs is enough to thicken Archibald’s blood.

My skin breaks out in goosebumps when he moves closer, turning his body around like he’s purposely giving me a better view of the bulge in his slacks.

My stomach churns painfully. Bitter bile slicks my esophagus. I swallow hard, or else the contents of my stomach will end up decorating his expensive suit.

I hate this.

I hate that he’s imagining me naked right now.

I hate that he’s touching me, even if it’s just his fingertips on my neck. Still too much contact. Contact without consent.

I’m not afforded the privilege of consent in this setting.

“You’re a very clever young woman,” Archibald rasps, his voice thick as he incredulously readjusts his hard dick. “I’d love to hear more about you.”

“Ask away. What would you like to know?”

“Let’s start with why a beautiful young woman like yourself comes to these events on your father’s arm.”

Fear quickens my heart.

Can he see through my ploy? Am I slacking? My ears ring when I picture the wrath I’ll endure if Archibald figures out he’s being used.

“I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Why are you here with your father and not your boyfriend, sweetheart?”

“No boyfriend, I’m afraid.” Drilling the point further, luring him in with vulnerability, I add, “I wasn’t meeting his expectations, so he found what he was looking for somewhere else.”

Archibald grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to his. The unexpected move tears a surprised, a little frightened gasp from me.

“You exceed expectations.” He weighs every word, eyes falling to my lips. “You’re beautiful, Blair. If your ex didn’t see that, it’s his loss, not yours.”

Another forced timid blush as I look away, abusing the vulnerability card. “Thank you, sir.”

“None of that, sweetheart. It’s Archibald. Boys your age wouldn’t know what to do with you anyway.” He doesn’t need to elaborate on his implication.

Dropping his hand from my chin, he sets it on my thigh, grazing my skin with his thumb. I tremble under his touch, and he takes it as a good sign, inching his fingers higher.

If only he knew it’s fear shaking me like a leaf, not arousal. I don’t want his grubby hand anywhere near me, let alone three inches from the hem of my dress.

The door behind us opens with a click, rattling a wave of relief through me as Archibald’s hand twitches away.

“That was close,” he whispers in my ear.

“There you are.” My father’s voice breaches the warm evening air. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

I jump to my unstable feet, wobbling on five-inch heels. “I’m sorry, Dad, I—”

“It’s my fault,” Archibald cuts in, turning to look at my father. “We lost track of time, Gideon. She’s an extraordinary woman, your daughter.”

I look over my shoulder, where my father nods, his features soft, almost proud. He’s a great actor. “That she is. Could you give us a second, Blair? We have business to discuss.”

I rise to my feet, holding my empty glass. “I’ll grab another drink. Would you like anything?”

“Whiskey, if you don’t mind, sweetheart,” Archibald says, his hot gaze stalking my every move.

With a tight nod, I retreat inside, tugging my dress down every three steps and avoiding eye contact with all the men I pass.

Now that Dad’s taken over, I’ll be okay.

Going on the track record of these banquets, as soon as my father starts talking business, I’m off the hook.

My job is done. Just a few nights of crying myself to sleep left. I’ll be fine.

I’m always fine.

I head into the restroom, splashing my face with cold water. My phone is on silent, but I check the screen, hoping I’ll see a reply from Cody in reply to what I sent before my father picked me up: Text me after your brothers leave. They have another bachelor-party-planning session tonight. The last one ahead of the party weekend.

We’ve been over the line since the shower incident two weeks ago. We talk about things we aren’t supposed to, kiss during the deed, kiss when we’re parting ways, and… I fell asleep in his bed the other night when he took a quick shower.

I woke up around four in the morning, entangled in his arms, his t-shirt clinging to my body. A t-shirt he must’ve gently slipped over my head after I nodded off because I was naked when he left me in bed.

I panicked and snuck out, worried the atmosphere would be awkward in the morning. Cody didn’t mention it or explain why he’d let me sleep in his bed, and I was afraid to ask.

Unfortunately, there’s no messages waiting on the screen. It’s almost ten, so Cody’s either still with his brothers, or not in the mood for sex. I tuck my phone away, focusing on the task at hand as I exit the restroom, heading to the bar.

Like a well-behaved, obedient daughter, I order Archibald and my father a drink, deliver them outside, then sit at the bar with a neat whiskey in hand, my mind racing.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” the bartender says, resting his elbows on the counter. “And like you hate whiskey.”

“I don’t usually drink whiskey,” I admit, swirling the amber liquid in the glass.

“I’ll get you something better.”

He whips out the shaker, pouring, shaking, adding, mixing, pouring again, until a tall green cocktail glass stands before me.

It’s tangy with a sweet kick, and I smile for the first time since entering the room over an hour ago. “Thank you.”

He moves away to serve an older woman with short, bright red hair, but once he’s done, he comes over to chat.

I wish I could just sneak out, but I know better than to make the same mistake twice. Disobedience will cost dearly, so instead, I spend an hour and a half talking to the bartender whenever he’s not serving.

But just as he’s about to start mixing me another drink, my father arrives, a storm cloud over his head.

“We’re leaving,” he seethes through gritted teeth, gripping my elbow to yank me up.

“Is everything okay? Did—”

“Zip it, Blair,” he snaps, maintaining a neutral expression all through the Country Club until he can shove me into the passenger seat of his car. “You can’t fucking help yourself, can you?!”

I shrink in on myself, watching the speedometer climb as Dad drops the pedal to the floor, speeding out of the parking lot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened?”

“You happened. You’re nothing but a problem. I wish I never fucking had you!” He bangs his fist on the steering wheel. “What the fuck were you doing flirting with that lowlife at the bar?!”

“Calm down, Dad, I wasn’t… I…” Words catch in my throat, my palms slick with sweat as he accelerates, flying across Newport at almost a hundred miles an hour. “Slow down. Please slow down, you’re—”

“Is that your type?” He slams the brake when the lights change at the junction ahead.

Thank God I’m wearing a seatbelt, or I’d break my nose on the dashboard.

“Broke fuckers?” he continues. “He’s a bartender! A nobody! If you’re whoring around, at least have some fucking standards!”

“You told me to leave you and Mr. Duke alone,” I stutter, pumping my fists open and closed the same way I’ve seen Cody do countless times. “I was waiting at the bar until you were done talking.”

“You were drooling all over the fucking bartender,” he snaps. “Your attention should’ve been on Archibald the whole time!”

I bite my cheek hard enough to draw blood. Year after year, Dad gets worse and worse. I’m used to being called names. I’m used to the insinuations, yelling, and insults, but tonight is the first time he’s admitted he wished he never had me.

Resting my forehead against the cool glass, I stare at the buildings lining the street as Dad pulls away from the traffic lights at half his previous speed. There’s no point arguing I wasn’t drooling all over the bartender.

Dad’s right. I’m wrong.

Story of my life.

He doesn’t speak the rest of the way. Not until he’s parked up beside my Porsche. “You want to act like a slut?” he snaps, undoing his seatbelt. “Look the part.” He licks his thumb then gouges it into my eye, smearing my makeup.

Then he rubs his sweaty palm over my mouth to do the same with my lipstick, before hooking his fingers in my cleavage and ripping my slutty dress open in one tug.

He yanks me closer, tearing out my hairpins to leave my hair a disheveled mess. My eyes sting with unshed tears. I won’t fucking cry. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Not this time.

“Get the fuck out of my car but leave the shoes,” he barks. “And your credit cards.”