and walked into the living room.
RJ followed Ron inside. His expression was somber, his tone grave as he said, “Hey.”
She closed the door and followed them inside.
“What’s up? Did something happen during rehearsal? Is there a problem with one of the gowns?”
RGF was presenting a record forty-two designs during this show. Ten of them were from Riley’s bridal collection.
“Yes,” Ron replied tightly.
“Sort of,” RJ added.
Riley looked from her father to her brother and back to her father again. “Just tell me what happened.” Because she was certain something very bad was about to go down.
She could see it in the lines on her father’s forehead and the muscle pulsing in RJ’s jaw.
“Why don’t we start with you telling us where the hell you were this weekend?” If she hadn’t been certain before, her father’s tone conveyed every bit of the anger he was feeling.
Riley squared her shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. “I’m an adult, Dad. I don’t have to explain where I was or why without knowing the reason for the request.”
It was a bold statement to make to a man like Ron Gold but Riley didn’t care. She didn’t like her father and brother coming into her house at this time of night, questioning her and staring at her as if she’d done something wrong.
“If you would just tell me what’s going on—”
“What’s going on with you and Chaz Warren? Why were you photographed getting out of a limousine with him and going into his apartment building? And this morning you were dropped off here by a car registered to King Designs.”
The vein in her father’s head that only popped out when he was seething with rage was throbbing front and center, and Riley’s fingers clenched at her sides. RJ had folded his arms over his chest in what she knew was his authoritative stance.
“I have a right to a personal life” was all Riley would say.
“With him?” RJ asked. “You know the story and you know how this looks.”
“I know who makes me feel good,” she snapped. “And what, are you two having me followed? Is that what we do now? Follow Riley around to make sure she doesn’t mess up again?”
“But you have messed up,” Ron countered. “Because not only are you sleeping with the enemy, but the enemy is stabbing you in the back as expected.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That editor I know at that little tabloid—he called me an hour ago to give me a heads-up.”
That giddy feeling Riley had felt in her stomach just a few short moments ago was now a heated ball of dread.
“A heads-up about what?” She said the words slowly, as if she didn’t really want the answer.
“Not only are the pictures of you and Chaz going to be printed in tomorrow’s paper but they’re attached to a sneak peek at King’s new collection. A wedding gown, Riley. And it looks very similar to one of ours,” RJ said.
“Not similar,” her father roared. “It’s the exact same gown! They copied our gown and are offering a sneak peek before the shows so it’ll look like we’re the ones who copied them. Chaz Warren is behind this! He probably stole the sketch while you were sleeping in his bed.”
Riley felt hot all over. Her arms began to shake and for just a second her vision blurred. This could not be happening. Not again.
RJ stepped closer to her. “What did you tell him, Riley? Did you show him the sketches?”
“No!” She could not have said the word more vehemently. “I would never do such a thing.” And Chaz would never ask her something like that.
“You bring work home with you all the time. Was he here? Could you have left him alone with sensitive information? It would have only taken a second. Just like his uncle, dammit!” Her father persisted.
“He is not like his uncle!” The minute the words were out Riley realized her mistake. She saw the concern on RJ’s face and unabashed fury on her father’s.
She turned away and walked toward the window. Tears stung her eyes. They wanted to fall but Riley wouldn’t let them. She almost folded her arms over her chest, to cradle herself and hopefully bring some comfort to the deep slice of hurt that had been opened in her. But she didn’t. Instead she took deep breaths. She was way too upset for the breaths to be slow, as she’d been taught to do when threatened with an anxiety attack, but at