I’m not sure thereisa way out. I might’ve sealed my fate when I chose to put my father over the man I’ve fallen for.
* * *
I head to the Complex and sit in the bleachers as I work. I should be watching Maverick. I should be taking notes on how he’s interacting with his teammates and coming up with media talking points, but instead I’m knee-deep in research about my own damn father’s illegal casino to try to piece together anyone else that might’ve been there. There has to besomeonewho can take the heat off Maverick, some celebrity with a bigger name that people would find interesting enough.
There’s not. Not that I’ve found yet, anyway.
And so I make a phone call that I know is going to sink my ship, but I have no other choice.
“Everleigh, what is it?” my father answers.
I sigh. “What can you tell me about this lounge?”
“I can’t talk about it. I’m in town. Can you meet me?”
I glance at Maverick. He’s fine. He’ll be fine if I slip out. This is in the name of protecting his image, anyway. “When and where?”
“I’m staying at the Fontainebleau. Meet me there in thirty minutes.”
“Fine,” I mutter, and I head to my car.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the lobby of the hotel when I see my father rushing toward me. He ushers me without a word toward the elevators, and we head up to his room.
“Why are you being weird?” I ask.
He glances at the camera in the corner of the elevator, and he doesn’t answer my question. He remains silent until we’re in his room behind a closed door.
“You are not to bring up the lounge over a phone call. Ever. Do you understand?” he says.
“Why not?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“People are listening,” he hisses as he paces in front of the windows. “I’ve been very careful, and I’ll not have one of my own children blow this up for me.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t be doing illegal things, Dad,” I point out.
“Be that as it may, I could be in a lot of trouble if I left a loose thread out there. What do you want to know?” he asks.
“Who was there the night it was raided?”
His brows furrow. “Why do you need to know?”
“Maverick Jennings is my client. I’m trying to clear his name, and throwing attention to someone else is one strategy.”
“To bury the story?” he guesses.
“What would you have me do?” I ask.
“Ignore it. No need to make a statement.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal.
“Clearly we work in different industries. I realize you’ve kept a lot of secrets, but I’m working with a celebrity figure whose fans deserve a statement.” I shrug back at him, though mine is a bit more sarcastic than his was.
“I can’t give you that information.” He stares out the window instead of at me.
“What if you’re arrested?” I ask quietly.
“Then your mother goes through this whole thing alone.” His phone rings, and he glances at it. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to chitchat right now. I’m waiting for a secure call from the Caymans,and—”
“A secure call from the Caymans? Isn’t that where people hide off-the-books money?” I ask.
