Page 61 of Never Bargain with the Boss
She makes it sound like a cult, but as I look around the table, meeting the eyes of each of the women, it feels like… family and home. And I really don’t want the feeling to ever end.
CAMERON
“You two ready?” I call up the stairs, looking at my watch again. We need to be in the car in five minutes or less if we’re going to make it for the dance’s start. I always run on time, but we especially need to be timely tonight because the kids are walking down a red carpet and getting their photos taken by a professional photographer before entering the actual dance.
“Coming, Dad!” Grace answers, then I hear giggling and a whispered, “No, you go first!”
A smile finds my lips as the anticipation of seeing what Grace and Riley have put together grows.
They’ve been gone all day, getting their nails done and having lunch with Mom and the rest of the women in my family, and when they got home this afternoon, they bolted upstairs before I could see them, claiming they had to start getting dressed immediately. Meanwhile, I spent the whole day staring at my laptop, mostly pretending to work, while I worried how my family was treating Riley and wondered what she thought of all of them. Thankfully, both Kayla and Mom texted me, giving their enthusiastic thumbs-up to Riley. I’d love to say that I don’t care about their opinions, but it’d be a lie. I very much care,especially since I feel like an ass for the way I’ve been treating Riley this week.
It's not her fault my grip on my restraint is tenuous at best.
But all week, I’ve punished her—stomping around, slamming doors, and barely doing more than grunting at her. I’ve been an ass, especially since what I’ve wanted to do is take her in my arms and tell her that she’s making me question everything I’ve ever planned. Which is downright terrifying.
I think Riley would laugh outright if I told her that she scares me, but she absolutely does.
“Ready?” Riley asks, sounding like she’s right at the top of the stairs, but she’s still out of sight.
“Not at all,” I mutter truthfully. Louder, I say, “Yes, let’s go.”
She takes my breath away the instant she appears. Riley is wearing a satiny ivory dress that skims over her curves to just below her knees. The square neckline frames a stack of chunky necklaces and the sheer puffy sleeves end in buttoned satin bands several inches above her wrists, giving her room for plenty of bracelets. The dress is classic and tasteful, but she’s made it her own with her jewelry, her pink hair, and the boots she affectionately calls her ‘Docs’.
Wait… I check again… yes, she’s wearing clunky boots with the dress. There’s a circle of lace peeking out at the top of the black leather, so at least she has on fancy stockings with them.
She smiles hesitantly as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, and I realize I’ve stared gobsmacked for too long, and she thinks there’s something wrong. I rush to say, “You are stunning, Riley.”
I truly mean it. I can’t believe I once thought her fashion choices were too much or odd because now, they seem perfectly… Riley, and I can’t imagine her any other way. It’d be too quiet without her musically jangling bracelets, natural hair colors seem so bland and boring, and something off-the-rack would be too expected. She’s loud, exciting, and completely unpredictable… and I love that.
Shit. No, that’s not what I meant. Ilikethat. That’s all.
“Oh,” she stammers, clearly relieved. “Thank you.” Her eyes light up, showing how pleased she is by the simple compliment, and I feel like even more of a jerk for treating her so poorly all week.
“I’m sorry—” I start to say, but Grace appears at the top of the stairs, drawing both our attention. My apologies will have to wait.
“Wow, honey! You look beautiful,” I tell my daughter.
Her blue dress reminds me of a Disney princess, with a corset-inspired bodice and skirt that puffs out in a ballgown sort of way but only reaches her knees. I can see the hints of Riley’s handiwork in the oversized ribboned bows added to the straps, and as she comes down the stairs, she’s stepping carefully in her low heels, which are silver, also leaning into the Cinderella vibe.
“Riley helped me with the bows! Do you like them?” Grace fingers the velvet ribbon at her shoulder as she looks from me to Riley.
“I do. They’re the perfect touch.”
The corners of my eyes start to burn with the threat of tears, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe because choosing a dress and getting ready for a dance is something Grace should’ve done with Michelle? But Grace doesn’t seem the slightest bit sad that she’s missed that moment with her mother amid the countless other ones she’s had to share with only me, and now this one, she shared with Riley.
“You two look like a bride and groom,” Grace says, laughing as she points at us.
Holding my hands out, I look down and realize that in my black slacks, black dress shirt, and black shoes, and Riley in her ivory satin dress, Grace is right. The idea is jarring, butmy daughter gives me no time to process it, suddenly saying, “Let’s go!” before jumping and clumsily attempting to run for the garage. She stops after only a few steps, though, her ankles wobbling in the heels she’s not used to wearing. “Whoa. Walking it is,” she says, holding her arms out to the sides to help balance against her ungraceful stumbling.
I look at Riley, who looks shell-shocked herself at Grace’s comparison of us to cake toppers, and hold out a hand, gesturing for her to go first. Gentlemanly? No. Apparently, I’m a masochist now because it’s specifically so I can watch her walk in front of me, her ass swinging left and right, as I imagine something completely different than our merely going to a school dance as chaperones.
Instead, as I help Riley slip into her coat, I’m picturing us… together.
“What the hell is this crap?”I hiss under my breath.
Since she’s standing right next to me, Riley hears, even with the too-loud music. “Sabrina Carpenter,” she informs me with a smirk. “Please, Please, Please. Look, there’s a routine.”
She points to a group of middle school girls who are all doing the same moves, but what I see are the herd of boys who’re watching closely. Too closely. Involuntarily, my feet start to step their way. I’m thinking they need some encouragement to get some punch or something, anything that stops them from leering at their classmates. But Riley lays a hand on my arm, stopping me.