Mother, Please! - By Brenda Novak & Jill Shalvis & Alison Kent Page 0,1
had really occurred to him. Since her mother had moved in with her several weeks ago, violence had certainly crossed April’s mind once or twice. Like yesterday, when she’d come home to her small house at Redondo Beach to find that her mother had rearranged all her furniture.
Her father looked at her, but April wasn’t sure he saw her. He was too intent on yanking free, muttering, “How dare she!”
April struggled to retain her hold. “Hang on, Dad. You two have been going through a lot of changes lately,” she said, trying to stave off the worst of his anger. “You’ve barely started divorce proceedings. She’ll settle down soon.” At least April hoped she would. Her mother’s recent talk about getting breast implants wasn’t a good sign, but April was trying to be optimistic. “Let’s not make a scene, okay, Daddy?”
“Not make a scene?” he bellowed. Everyone within twenty feet turned to stare. “She’s already made a scene! My God, there’s not a man here who isn’t stepping on his tongue! Who invited her, anyway?”
“She owns half the company, remember?” April said softly.
“Like hell she does!”
Walt’s booming voice finally reached Claire. As she glanced their way, a hurt expression flitted through her eyes. But she blinked, raised her chin and pulled her young date onto the dance floor.
April’s father watched with a menacing scowl. “Whether or not she owns part of my company isn’t decided yet,” he said. “I’ve got ways to avoid that. Look how she’s behaving! I won’t risk some gigolo like…like that someday staking claim to Ashton Automotive.”
In April’s opinion, her father hadn’t behaved much better lately. He’d chosen someone a little closer to his own age to date. Commendable. And his barrel chest was, thankfully, well covered. Also commendable. But as her mother was so fond of pointing out, he was the one who’d had the affair that started the whole thing.
Regina, the woman who’d tempted her father away, smiled patiently at April while patting her father’s other arm. “Calm down, Wally Woo,” she said. “You know you have to be careful about your blood pressure. I’m going to have a heck of a time working the stress out of your poor muscles tonight.”
Wally Woo? Judging by Regina’s tone, she was offering much more than a standard massage. April grimaced as a mental picture she did not want to see flashed across her mind, and she thought longingly of her lab and the clear logic and predictability of all that prevailed there.
“She’s making a fool out of me,” her father replied. “She—”
April never found out what he was going to say next because a tall man approached, effectively interrupting his tirade. April immediately recognized the newcomer. Quincy “Gunner” Stevens was a famous race-car driver who’d retired from NASCAR, at the top of his game, just a year or so earlier. She’d met him once before, at a charity auction.
“You made it.” His anger temporarily forgotten, her father stuck out his hand and rigorously pumped Gunner’s.
Gunner offered the poster-perfect smile April had seen on everything from cereal boxes to motor oil commercials. “Looks like a great party. I’m happy to be here,” he said, but April could tell he didn’t mean a word of it. His body language screamed bored.
Her father drew them all off to one side, and everyone else slowly went back to mingling and chatting, although April noticed several people still throwing covert, disbelieving glances at her mother.
“This is my, um, good friend, Regina Parks,” Walt said, turning to Regina, who smiled and nodded. “And my daughter, April.”
April didn’t bother pointing out that they’d met before. She knew someone as famous as Gunner probably wouldn’t remember.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, immediately proving her right. As he shook April’s hand, his fingers were strong and warm but, like three years ago, he looked straight through her.
His nod to courtesy over, he immediately turned back to her father. “So, will you have time to meet with me tomorrow, as we discussed?”
“You’re certainly ambitious,” her father said, chuckling. “But this is a party. Eat. Talk. Dance.”
At the suggestion that he dance, her father gave April a little shove. She jerked back to avoid colliding with Gunner and finally got his full attention. But only long enough for him to steady her with a hand to the elbow.
“April here is a quantum physicist,” her father announced proudly.
“A what?” Gunner regarded her lazily over the top of his glass as he took a drink. His eyes, April noticed,