Penny doesn’t even hesitate. She snatches up the bills. “Our little secret,” she says with a wink and hurries off to the back of the restaurant to put in our drinks and appetizer order.
The minute she’s out of earshot, Avery leans into the cloth-covered table between us. “Okay, Finn Harvey—fess up. Are you already loaded? Is that why you don’t care about making money from your photography business?”
“Who says I don’t care?”
“You didn’t take any of my suggestions. I’m great at what I do. I’ve helped companies near bankruptcy make it into the Fortune 500. Strategic partnerships, brand positioning, SEO, and local newsletter ads would make your business soar, but you ignored all of it. You only care about the stinking shark fin logo.”
“Because it’s pretty damn cool. I’m Finn. It’s a shark fin…” I tap my temple with two fingers. “That should’ve come to me sooner.”
Avery doesn’t return my smile. She blinks at me with a blank expression.
“Okay, okay, you want the truth?”
She nods. “I think I know the truth. You doubt me.”
Reaching across the table, I grab the tips of her fingers, decorated in light green polish, and squeeze tenderly. “Not for a damn second. I’m, uh…overwhelmed…and pretty intimidated. You kept talking about metrics and measuring campaign success…” Releasing her fingers, I bury my face in my hands before blowing out a sharp breath. “I take pictures, I have a studio, I edit, but the business part? I was never cut out to be entrepreneurial. If I start all that stuff you told me to do, I wouldn’t know how to handle it after the summer, when you go back to California.”
She tilts her head to the side, a look of pity washing over her face. “Finn, you could call me whenever, for whatever, and I’d be there for you. I get this kind of thing can be a lot at first.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“When I asked you to help me in exchange for my services, I guess I made the thickheaded assumption that your business was your main source of income. But I make pretty good money, Finn, and never once in my life have I tipped a limo driver or waitress hundreds of dollars to get my way. So be honest…you don’t actually need my help, do you? Your photography business is more of a hobby. You’re already filthy rich.”
The temperature of my blood begins to rise. This is the side of my life I prefer not to highlight. It attracts the wrong characters. But this is Avery…
“Not yet,” I mutter. “Yes, I’ll get part of my inheritance when I’m thirty, but until then, the next year and a half will be a little tight financially—”
“Then why are you wasting your money on showing off?”
My jaw drops open. “I’m not showing off. It’s not really my money.”
I have almost one hundred thousand dollars that I’ve tucked into a separate account. It’s a culmination of money from my dad, which he gifted for birthdays and holidays. The account also contains the huge chunk of change he gave me when I built an in-home photography studio. I try my best not to touch the money. My dad is convinced he can buy relationships. It’s dirty money. Forgive me. Love me. Love the monster. But yeah, sue me, I made a few withdrawals to take Avery out and show her a nice time.
“Look, I’m trying to be—” How do I say this? I don’t like dipping into that account…but I do it for you. To prove a point. You’re worth the white glove, five-star, royalty treatment. The way no one’s ever treated you in your life. “I don’t want you to see me as a guy who is all looks, has a failing business, and can’t treat you to nice things.” I gesture around to the extravagant restaurant.
“That’s funny,” she mutters almost under her breath. Her face falls as her eyes land on her lap.
“What’s funny?”
She flashes me a brief, clipped smile. “I just liked it better when I thought you needed me.”
“Oh, I do—”
A loud bellow of laughter sounds at the entrance of the restaurant, causing me to stop midsentence. Even Avery whips her head around at the commotion. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I watch him charm the young, brunette hostess. Fine, my dad has game. But she’s thirty years his junior, at least.
Twenty seconds. No, less than. Less than fucking twenty seconds, and we haven’t even spoken and I’m already irritated. I raise my hand to beckon him over to our booth at the back of the restaurant, but he doesn’t see me. His eyes are fixed on the young hostess’s chest as he makes an excuse to touch her arm. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but “your table is this way,” really shouldn’t involve so much flirting.
Avery straightens in her seat, her bugged-out stare landing on me. “That’s your dad?”
“Mhm, that’s Junior.”
“Junior?”
“Yes, Gramps is Senior, Dad is Junior, and I’m Griffin Harvey the Third.” I cock my head at the glazed look in her eyes. She seems both alarmed and amused at the same time. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “You guys just look a lot alike…” But the way she says it…
Ugh. I roll my eyes. “Don’t say it.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she insists, trying to cover her giggle.
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m not.”
I glare at her. “You are… Fine. Just say it.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Just get it out, Avery,” I grumble.
“You’ll forgive me?” she asks, giving me an adorable, innocent smile.
“Of course.”
She makes a big ordeal of coughing into her fist. “Your dad”—cough, cough—“is hot.” She bursts out laughing. “Okay, I’m kidding. Kind of. It’s just he doesn’t look his age. Actually, how old is he?”
I narrow my eyes at her again. “Why? You want his number?”
“Oh, stop, Finn.”
I’m not proud to say it, but it would not be the first time one of my dates ditched me for my dad.
“He’s fifty-six, a pilot, disgustingly rich, and has the sex drive of a man in his early twenties.”
Avery shakes her head, her long, brunette waves falling over his shoulders. “Oh, geez. Your poor mom.”
That. That right there is why Avery’s the one. She gets it.
I glance over Avery’s shoulder, watching the hostess heading to our table with my dad in tow. He purposely trails a foot behind so he can watch her ass. It’s like watching a lion stalk its prey. Maybe I should warn her, but judging by that stupid giddy smile on her face, she’s happy to walk right into his trap. Use a condom. Getting child support out of him will be a bitch.
“Look,” I say in a hurry, “my dad is a nice enough guy, but if you’re uncomfortable at any point, we can leave—”
“Finn.” Avery reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You asked me to come here for support. So I’m here. Unless your dad slaps a hockey mask on and starts chasing us around with a machete, I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about me.” She raises her brows. “Worry about you,” she says in a hushed tone as my dad approaches.