“Mr. St. Clair.” Fred’s use of formality is his way of keeping me aware of the situation. He’s in his sixties, and that generation always had their own way of doing things. Like the fact that he won’t take a meeting with me so I’ve reduced myself to stalking him at an event I knew he would be at. While it is questionable if he will be at the gala or fundraiser of the week, I knew he wouldn’t miss his daughter’s wedding.

“St. Clair.” Ryan gives me a nod and a smirk.

“Shaw.” I respond with my own nod, but I keep my attention on Fred.

“Mr. Hinkle, it was a beautiful wedding. Amber looked stunning. I’m sure you’re a proud father tonight.” Amber and I went to prep school together, and our mothers are friends. That’s the only reason I was invited to this wedding. That and I’m sure with a million more important things to do, Fred didn’t bother to monitor the guest list.

Fred’s face softens with the mention of his daughter.

“I’m a very proud father.”

A faraway look takes over his face, his smile returns and his eyes go misty. Fred looks like he’s moments away from becoming a blubbering mess. My collar feels tight, suffocating. Maybe this is what I get for trying to talk to a man who just gave away his little girl. Fuck.

For a moment I think he’s going to turn back toward the group he was talking with and leave it at that, but something over my shoulder catches his eye.

“Are you missing your date?”

“What?”

I turn to find Kristy bouncing on her heels to scan over the crowd. Before she spots me, I turn back to Fred.

“No.” I shake my head. “No date.”

The corners of Fred’s lips turn down, the frown lines near his mouth are set deep, indicating his innate preference for displeasure.

I was hoping to take full advantage of his jovial mood, and possibly the fact that like me, Fred’s had a few drinks tonight. My mind is searching for what went wrong. Fred was talking about his daughter, family and love. He was happy. He asked if I had a date, I said no and then he frowned. If there’s one thing I’ve excelled at in business, it’s reading people and being able to appeal to their emotions. While I never like to mix emotions with business, I don’t mind playing on someone else’s to get what I want.

I’m trying to find my angle when a woman approaches Fred from behind. Her manicured nails, which are a good three inches long, scrape along the fabric at the shoulder of his suit jacket before she places her glossy pink lips onto his cheek.

“There you are, baby,” she coos.