Kissed and Missed (Daddy Issues #2)

Chapter 1

1

HONOR

SIX WEEKS AGO

I t’s strange that I’ll be spending Christmas in shorts.

I’m from New England, where you’re lucky to make it out of your house without frostbite between November and March. Those five months of social isolation have created a population of cool, disinterested people.

California might as well be on a different planet. I’m still in the airport, hustling through baggage claim with my heart in my throat, gripping my rolling suitcase with a sweaty palm, but the weirdness is already making itself known. Even the barista at the coffee kiosk smiled at me, and not a single person has shoulder-checked me or flipped me off in the twenty minutes or so since my flight landed.

Or maybe my view of the state is compromised by the general weirdness of my being here in the first place. Back home in Connecticut, I was an average twenty-four year old, complete with roommate, long-distance relationship, and mediocre job. When I stepped off the plane, however, I found myself in another universe. One where I’m hurrying to meet my driver—as in a town car, not a rideshare—and will be spending the holidays in the presence of my girlfriend’s obscenely rich, tech-tycoon father.

Riley isn’t a fan of her father’s. She’s spent a lot of time lamenting his controlling, money-hungry ways, and lately, complaining about being forced to spend the holidays with him and his side of the family instead of her mother’s.

I get the sense I’m here as a buffer, but considering my relationship has been on life support for about six months, I think this could actually be good for us. We’ve both been busy, and a few days to reconnect can only help, right?

My stomach squirms as I duck around a group of besuited, German-speaking businessmen, and spot the small cluster of drivers standing beside the doors to luggage claim. Despite the heat, they’re all wearing suits, and most are clutching little dry-erase boards with the names of their passengers written on them, just like in the movies.

For a moment, I experience a brief burst of hope that maybe Riley listened to me when I insisted I could grab a cab to her dad’s house. This optimism proves futile. Right there at the end, is a short but well-muscled man, with “H. Vogel” written in black marker on his sign.

God. Okay. Here we go.

“Hi.” I smile valiantly as I approach, trying to look more comfortable than I feel with this situation. “I’m Honor Vogel.”

The man doesn’t so much as blink. “Welcome to Los Angeles, Miss Vogel,” he says with a polite, professional smile. “Can I take your bag?”

“Oh!” I blink, struggling to decide on the fly whether it would be rude to accept or reject this offer. Before I can, however, the man reaches for the rolling suitcase at my side and—because the built-in wheels are so obviously unnecessary when it looks like you could bench press a car—lifts it right up, turning toward the bright glass doors leading out onto the street.

Blowing out a long breath, I follow, weaving through beleaguered travelers to keep up. Outside, the heat hits me like a wall, taking my breath away, and I swipe my hair back from my face, hurrying after the nameless driver. There is a row of town cars, cabs, and rideshares parked along the sidewalk, and we stop beside the fanciest, shiniest one of them all. He pulls open the back door, but I don’t get in, staring at the dark interior which is most definitely not occupied by my girlfriend.

“Um. Has Riley arrived yet?” I ask timidly, because twenty-four years of being a woman has trained me that getting into a car with a man whose name you don’t know is a no-no.

Muscles shakes his head. “Miss Ballard missed her flight’s takeoff window. She’ll now be arriving this evening.”

My heart falls. The girl uses a private jet, and she still managed to miss her flight? Which means I’m going to be meeting her father, alone ? She promised this wasn’t going to happen.

“Um.” I smile apologetically, silently praying this man can read between the lines and tell me he’ll leave me here to scroll through my phone in the airport coffee shop. “I can wait for her if?—”

“Mr. Ballard is expecting you shortly.”

Got it. My shoulders sag as I step off the curb and slip into the back seat, wincing as the door thuds shut behind me. In the darkened interior, I feel around my purse for my phone, intending to tell Riley exactly how I feel about this turn of events. When I find it, however, there’s a message waiting for me from an unknown number that certainly wasn’t there when I checked after my flight landed.

Unknown: Hey, Honor. So, this is super awkward and I’m pretty horrified to be put in this position, but you deserve to know the truth.

Unknown: We haven’t met, but I’ve been seeing Riley Ballard for about three months now. I really hope you believe me when I say I had absolutely no idea she had a girlfriend, and the only reason I found out was because I overheard a conversation between her and her dad about you spending Christmas with them.

Unknown: I’m really sorry. I broke up with her, and I’m sure she’s going to say I’m crazy or a liar or whatever, so here’s some proof if you need it.

“Proof” comes in the form of about a dozen screenshots of texts between her and a number I recognize as Riley’s, containing everything from flirting to discussing how good their sex was the night before. There’s even a half-naked picture of Riley spread out in bed, and while it doesn’t show her face, the tattoo on her sternum makes it pretty hard to deny this stranger’s words.

My hand covers my mouth as Muscles gets into the driver’s seat, and I’m only vaguely aware of him pulling away from the curb, too busy reading and rereading the messages over and over again as we move farther from the airport.

This isn’t actually happening, is it? I’ve never been cheated on before. Am I supposed to feel this numb?

Disregarding the nameless driver, because he has almost certainly heard weirder stuff than this, I hit her contact with a shaking hand. Riley answers on the first ring.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry , honey.” She groans theatrically. “I had the longest day ever yesterday and slept late. Please don’t be mad. I promise you won’t have to be alone there for too long. I’ll be landing at six.”

My mouth is so dry it takes me two attempts to actually speak. “Um. Did you cheat on me?”

There’s an indignant squawk. “Oh my god, are you seriously accusing me of?—”

“I have like a dozen screenshots here, Riley!” I let out a hysterical, incredulous laugh, letting my head drop back against the leather seat, squeezing my eyes shut.

“You’re always doing this, creating a problem when there isn’t one. How could you believe some random creep over me?”

Maybe because acting in her own self-interest, without a care about the effect her choices will have on other people, is exactly the person that my girlfriend has always been. I wipe away the first tear to escape my tightly closed eyelids impatiently. I’m mad at Riley, but more than that, I’m mad at myself. I trusted a selfish person, made excuses for her behavior, convinced myself she cared about me when all she’s done is prove the opposite.

“The picture of your boobs makes it pretty hard to believe that.”

In the front seat, Muscles clears his throat.

Riley is silent for a moment, then makes a quiet, frustrated noise and hisses, “If you’ve decided I did it, why did you even bother calling?”

“Because we’ve been together two years, and you don’t break up with someone you dated for two years in a text message.”

I hadn’t decided that was what I was going to do, not until this moment, but suddenly it became so clear. This person doesn’t love me, and probably never did. Riley Ballard only cares about herself, and what others can do for her. I, who was always unfailingly supportive and comforting, taking her side no matter what, was the equivalent of her emotional support dog.

And I’m done.

Riley lets out a hard laugh. “You know you’re never going to do better, right? I mean, not to be a dick, but you’re kind of a fucking drag, Honor. Good luck out there.”

My hand holding the phone falls back to my lap, just as the car slows to pass through a large, dark gate. God knows how long I sat here, reading and rereading the evidence of Riley’s betrayal before I actually called her, but by the looks of it, it was long enough for us to already be at her dad’s house.

“Um,” I whisper, struggling to think what to do. Should I go back to the airport? Get a hotel? Call someone? I’ve had relationships end before, but not like this, not when I was seconds away from meeting their father for the first time and a whole country away from home.

The car turns a corner onto a brightly-lit circle of drive that’s arranged before a massive, modern house. My family has money, but not this kind of money, and I am so out of my element it’s not even funny. Before I can muster a half-baked solution for the situation I’ve found myself in, the car comes to a stop before a sleek wood door, and it’s opening.

My mouth goes dry as I stare through the tinted car window at the man emerging from the house. He’s familiar in that I’ve seen him hundreds of times, usually in reference to one of the internationally traded companies he started. He’s tall and dark-haired, dressed casually in loose-fitting slacks and a deep blue T-shirt.

The media paints him as a robot, an intensely focused genius who can do no wrong. His daughter describes him as a narcissistic, controlling asshole who uses money to get his way.

As the driver pulls open my door and I make eye contact with the man I’ve been told so much about, I know without him speaking a single word that both of those perceptions of Julian Ballard are dead wrong.

“Hi,” he says, drawing forward as I step out of the car onto the drive, the sun beating down on us both. “You must be Honor.”