Page 3 of Royal Cocktail

Had her father lost his freaking mind?

“He’ll always feel guilty,” Hannah said gently. “It doesn’t matter that the truck blew through a red light. He was the one driving the car.”

Hannah was right, of course. Skye’s mother had died in that accident, and Skye had come close. She’d spent almost two months in the hospital. And despite her father’s fortune, no doctor could fix her.

And though her father had walked away from the accident with nothing more serious than a broken arm, Skye knew that he was as damaged as she was.

Before the accident, she’d been a chatterbox. Everyone said so. After—well, after, she hated the way she sounded. The way she couldn’t control how her mouth moved and couldn’t predict how the words would come out.

Traumatic brain injury. And it wasn’t the kind of thing that would ever completely heal.

Those sluggish and muddled words had become a part of her, and not a part she liked. She tried to breathe properly. To force the words to come slowly. But even with years of practice, it was hard. Most of the time, she sounded drunk, her speech slurred and her cadence off. And repeating things because people didn’t understand was her personal nightmare.

She knew she should be grateful that only her speech was impacted. But getting good grades was cold comfort, especially when both kids and adults would hear her speak and just assume she was below the line academically. Standing to present in front of the class had brought on sweats and shakes and only made her already thick speech that much worse. She’d had to prove herself over and over so many times that she’d been utterly exhausted—not to mention relieved—when she graduated.

She might be out of school now, but she was still self-conscious around everyone except her family and the co-workers she knew best.

Her father understood all that. He’d lived the daily drama with her. And yet here he was, throwing her out into the world. A world where people weren’t used to deciphering the cadence and slur of her speech.

“Just tell him no,” Hannah said gently.

Skye shook her head. The advice was great in theory, but total crap in practice. Tarlton Porter was one of the firm’s senior partners, the grandson of one of the founders, and the head of the Austin office of Porter, Jenson & Kaye. He was a man whose praise of a new attorney could push their career up a notch, and whose sidelong glance of displeasure had sent more than one young associate racing toward the restroom with a sour stomach churning with nerves. Such a common reaction, in fact, that all the restrooms were stocked with a mouthwash dispenser.

Just because he was her father didn’t make Skye immune to the Tarlton Effect. So there was no way she was walking into his office and telling her dad that she wanted him to assign someone else to present her paper at the symposium.

Even if she could ask him without nausea and weak knees, it would be career suicide. More than that, it would make for a very un-merry Christmas. Never mind that it was still summer. Tarlton Porter, Esq. knew how to hold a grudge.

She shook her head, wanting to cry. Like seriously, truly, honestly wanting to just break down in tears. A presentation to over a hundred big wigs from all over the globe. People with massive influence, who expected presentations to be both polished and understandable.

Well, they were in for a shock when she slid behind that microphone. She drew in a shaky breath. “I need a way out of this. But short of emergency … surgery or running away to Australia, there is no way.” She blinked back tears. “You know he won’t let me back out and … and I don’t want to disappoint him.” The tears flowed freely now. “But I will. You know … I will.”

She shuddered, and Hannah reached over and squeezed her hand again. “I really am sorry. But maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“It will.” Skye was certain of that. “And don’t tell me … you can understand me. That’s not the point.” She was suddenly aware of the way she was concentrating on her breathing. The effort required simply to try, often futilely, to keep her speech understandable. It was exhausting. And her dad thought she could present an entire paper?

“He thinks that if he just pushes the right buttons … then everything will be better. But this is me.”

“I think that’s the point, Skye. All your dad wants is for you to be you.”

Skye waved the words away. “Wasn’t traffic a bitch today?”

Hannah stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Is that your subtle cue that it’s time to change the subject?”

“It wasn’t meant … to be subtle at all.”

“Fine.” Hannah finished off her drink, then signaled to Tyree, the bar’s owner and a friend, for the check. “We’ll change the subject to Bart.”

Skye frowned. “What about him?” Bartholomew Greene was a friend from law school who was currently crashing at her place while his house was being remodeled.

“That’s my question,” Hannah said, a lascivious edge to her voice.

“We’re … just friends.” He was one of her best friends, actually. Someone who knew her secrets and had her back. But their connection had never been sexual or romantic. Which made him the perfect roommate.

“Uh-huh…”

“I’m serious,” Skye said, wishing she could make her voice sound more emphatic. “He’d tell you the same.”

“Fine.”