If Love Had A Price

Nate managed to avoid his father for a week, but things came to a head the night after his boat date with Kris. Skylar was out with friends, and Nate had stayed home to run lines for both the Oscar Bravo film and a few upcoming auditions.

He was reheating a leftover casserole in the microwave when Michael shuffled into the kitchen, wearing plaid pajama pants and a white NACHO AVERAGE DAD T-shirt that Skylar had gifted him as a joke for Father’s Day (in addition to treating him to dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant).

Nate stiffened. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I woke up.” Michael shrugged, his voice raspier than usual. He’d kept to himself since his trip to the hospital, only venturing out of his room for food, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent as he surveyed his son.

Was he sober?

Nate hadn’t seen his father hit the bottle in, what, five, six days? But that didn’t mean shit. It was only a matter of time before alcoholics backslid, and he’d never been able to convince his father to quit and join AA. Hell, Michael wouldn’t even admit he had a problem, much less spill his guts to Alcoholics Anonymous.

“Great.” The microwave beeped, the sound loud and jarring in the tiny kitchen. Nate didn’t bother waiting before he yanked open the door and pulled out the steaming hot casserole. He winced when the plate burned his fingertips.

Fuck. He quickly dropped it onto the counter and ran his hand under a stream of cold water, eager for something to do other than stare at his father and wonder how the vibrant, doting dad from his childhood had ended up like this.

He understood Michael was hurting from his wife’s death. Of course he did. Michael’s wife was also Nate’s mom, and Nate felt her absence in every inch of his soul. But if he, an eighteen-year-old at the time she passed, could pull his shit together, why hadn’t his father? Michael was older and supposed to be wiser. He should’ve stepped up and pulled his family through the darkest time of their lives.

Instead, he’d abdicated all responsibility and left his teenage son to pick up the pieces.

“Nate.” Michael shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “We should talk.”

“About what?” Nate couldn’t wait to get to his room, where he could lose himself in his scripts and count down the days until he saw Kris again. He wasn’t sure where their relationship stood, exactly, but he’d much rather figure that out than talk to his father, even if he and Kris had agreed not to put a label on things.

“About, ah, last week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Nate wiped his hands on a dish towel and faced the elder Reynolds, his jaw flexing. “By last week, do you mean when I had to cut one of my shifts at the cafe short so I could run home and let the A/C repair guy in because that was the only time he could come and you were too out of it to hear the doorbell ring? Or do you mean missing another job interview because you didn’t know what day it was? Or, perhaps, you meant when you drank so much you almost died and your teenage daughter was the one who had to call 911, wondering if she was going to lose the only parent she’s got left? Not that you’ve done much parenting over the past five years.”

Michael’s face turned the color of the old, crumbling chalk.

“I’m trying,” he said, his voice trembling. “I know I messed up. I never, ever wanted Sky or you to see me like that. I haven’t touched a drink since—”

“Don’t.” Nate’s chest was so tight it was hard to breathe. “Don’t tell me you’ve quit until you join AA or rehab or stay sober for more than a month. Hell, I’d settle for two weeks. You’ve gotten our hopes up in the past, but I’m not falling for it again.”

“I mean it this time.” Michael looked like he’d aged ten years in ten minutes. “When I was lying there in the hospital, I kept thinking of your mother and what she would say if she could see me now. And I know I haven’t been the best—”

“I can’t do this.” Nate shook his head. “You expect me to believe that after five years, you’re only now realizing Mom would’ve been horrified by what’s happened to you after she died? That’s BS. You’ve always known. But you’ve become too addicted to the bottle to care.”

Michael blanched, and a pinprick of guilt stabbed at Nate’s stomach. Okay, that had been beyond harsh, but it needed to be said. He’d held onto his resentment for so long that he was afraid it had become an inextricable part of himself, and it felt damn good to get some of it off his chest.

Plus, Michael needed the reality check. God knew Skylar wasn’t going to give it to him—and she shouldn’t, considering how young she was—and Nate had been enabling him for too long. But that trip to the hospital? That had opened his eyes.

If Michael didn’t start taking better care of himself, and soon, Nate and Skylar were going to end up orphans.

Then again, that wouldn’t be a huge change from the way things were. Michael was there physically, but he’d checked out mentally and emotionally a long time ago.

Nate yanked a paper towel from the roll above the sink and used it to cushion his tray as he stalked past his father and up the stairs.

Michael didn’t stop him.

There wasn’t much left to say.

IF THIS WAS God’s idea of a joke, he had a shitty sense of humor.

Kris shifted in her seat and tried not to scream as Risa slid a plate of rosemary and garlic lamb roast and mashed potatoes in front of her. It smelled amazing, but her appetite was in milk carton territory. Aka lost and not yet found.

She glared across the dining table at Gloria, who was cooing at Kris’s father and asking him about his business in Manila.

She had to hand it to the Stepmonster—she was good at making a guy feel like he was the only, and most important, person in the room. Maybe that was how she’d snared a savvy businessman like Roger Carrera.

Given his net worth, Kris’s father had had no shortage of women throwing themselves at him since Mariana Carrera up and abandoned him all those years ago, and while he wasn’t handsome by conventional standards, he exuded power and authority. He’d dated on and off over the years, but none of the relationships lasted. He’d certainly never proposed to anyone. Then along came Gloria, with her over-the-top Southern accent and double D’s, and he was a goner.

Roger was too smart to fall for just a pretty face and a great rack. However, Gloria was a master manipulator and no dumb bunny. For all her shallowness and vindictiveness, she knew exactly how to flatter Roger’s ego and make herself seem interested in whatever he was interested in.

“…with Bobbi?”

It took Kris a minute to notice both her father and the Stepmonster were staring at her—her father with raised eyebrows, the Stepmonster with a tiny smirk.

“Sorry, what did you say?” She reached for her water and took a quick sip, if only so she didn’t throw her lamb in the redhead’s perfectly made-up face.

“How are things going with Bobbi?” Roger repeated.

“Fine. I’ve been learning a lot.” About how stupid celebrities can be once they get a little alcohol in their system, Kris finished silently.

“Good.” Her father dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “It’s good that you’re learning the value of honest work this summer. Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with your finances in the past, but I want to make sure you understand the value of money. Your spending has been out of control recently, especially with the bill for Courtney’s birthday last year.” His thick brows pulled low.

Kris’s lips thinned. He’d never had an issue with her spending until Gloria came onto the scene and “gently” advised him to curb Kris’s shopping habits. Like Gloria didn’t throw away money left and right herself. Case in point: the tacky, crystal-studded dress she’d bought the other day for $2,000. She’d flaunted it in front of Kris like it was something to be proud of instead of a migraine-inducing nightmare.

At least Kris swiped her plastic for nice items and gifts for friends.

Besides, she’d take her father’s claims about teaching her the “value of money” more seriously if Roger hadn’t reinstated her credit cards and access to her flush checking account. Sure, she had a monthly card limit now instead of a black Amex, but there were enough zeroes in the bank to make up the difference. That was how she could afford to pay Nate.

Technically, her checking account was for emergencies only, but saving her father from a greedy gold-digger counted as an emergency, right?

“You’re coming into your trust fund in a few years,” Roger continued. “I want to make sure you’re ready to handle it responsibly once the time comes.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Kris poked at her lamb, annoyed. She’d heard the same speech in multiple forms since she returned from Shanghai, and she was over it. “How long are you going to be in L.A.?” she asked, switching the subject before she blew her fuse.

Her father’s sudden appearance two nights ago had been an utter shock for both her and, apparently, Gloria. It’d also thrown Kris and Nate’s plan awry. She was supposed to be ironing out final details with Nate right now—and perhaps enjoying another series of mind-bending orgasms—instead of eating dinner and getting lectured at the massive fifteen-person dining table.

“I’m here until the end of summer.” Roger adjusted his tie, because he was the type of man who wore ties even to a family dinner. “The Manila deal is all but closed, and I can wrap up the loose ends remotely. Given the wedding is in only a few months, I want to make sure I spend some quality time with my girls before the big day.”

Kris almost choked on her lamb.

He had to be joking. Until now, Roger had spent a cumulative of two or three weeks a year with Kris, and he chose now to get all We Are Family on her?

Not that she didn’t want to spend quality time with her father, but he had the worst timing on the planet. If he’d waited another week, the Gloria Plan would’ve been donezo. But now that he was here to stay, at least until late August, there was no chance Gloria would be stupid enough to follow through on her tryst with Nate. Nate had already texted Kris, informing her Gloria had postponed their previously scheduled hotel date tomorrow night.

Fuck.

All that time and energy they’d spent on the plan, wasted. And unless Kris managed to throw another scheme together in the next few months, she was going to be walking down the aisle in her hideous bridesmaid dress and watching Gloria become Mrs. Carrera Number Two, in which case the Stepmonster would be entitled to half of the family fortune.

Kris wanted to hurl.

“That’s incredible news, sweetheart,” Gloria oozed, playing the role of Excited, Lovestruck Fiancée perfectly. “I’m so happy you’ll be here. There are so many things we need to go over for the wedding…”

Kris tuned her out as she discreetly texted Nate beneath the table.

Kris: Dad’s here to stay. It’s a no go.

Nate: Shit.

Nate: How are you? Anything I can do to help?

Kris’s heart melted a little. He was so—

“Who are you texting?”

Once again, Roger’s voice yanked her out of her thoughts.

“What?”

“Who’s so important that you have to text them during a family dinner?” Roger repeated, sounding more curious than upset.

“No one,” Kris lied. He may not be an attentive father, but Roger was quite particular when it came to the boys she dated. Only upper class, Ivy League types need apply.

Not that she was dating Nate. They were just…hanging out.

“Perhaps it’s her new boyfriend,” Gloria said primly. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

Kris’s gaze snapped toward the Stepmonster. The redheaded troll stared back with unnerving composure, considering she’d been ready to ride said “boyfriend” like a bronco before her fiancé showed up. What the hell was she doing, bringing Nate up?

Something dark and insidious stabbed at Kris’s stomach.

“Really?” Roger’s frown reappeared. “A boyfriend this soon? It’s not one of those British boy band singers, is it?”

“God, no.” Kris grimaced. “It’s—he’s not—” Shit. She didn’t want to endure her father’s inevitable interrogation, but she couldn’t say Nate wasn’t her boyfriend. Not when she’d been all over him in front of Gloria and had all but professed her love for him to bait the other woman into making a move. The Stepmonster was a jealous, vindictive bitch like that. “He’s an actor.”

“Hmm.” Roger didn’t seem impressed. “What’s his name?”

“Nate.”

He shot her a look.

Kris sighed. “Nate Reynolds.”

“I’ve never heard of him. What movies has he starred in?”

What she wouldn’t give for a glass of wine right now. “He has a role in an upcoming Oscar Bravo film.”

A tiny role, but Nate would be the star during those two minutes. That counted, right?

“What about his past films? Any Academy Awards?”

Kris’s skin itched the way it did whenever she touched polyester. Except she was wearing silk, and her discomfort had everything to do with her father’s questions and nothing to do with cheap fabrics. “He’s done mostly TV work.”

“Oh, darlin’.” Gloria’s laugh grated against Kris’s nerves. “Don’t lead your father on. Nate isn’t a full-time actor.”

“Then what the hell is he?” Roger demanded.

“He’s a waiter, aspiring to be an actor.” Gloria’s mouth was a triumphant slash of red against her face. “It’s quite romantic, really, the heiress falling for the help.”

Kris clenched her hands into fists beneath the table. Her Chanel camellia cocktail ring dug into her palm with a sharp bite. Yes, Nate was a waiter, but she hated the way Gloria said it. The help. Like it was a disease, and Gloria herself hadn’t been in his position a few years ago. It wasn’t like Nate’s socioeconomic status had stopped the Stepmonster from offering him a blowjob—and more—out of either lust for him and/or spite toward Kris.

“If shacking up with the help is good enough for my father, it is for me,” Kris said coolly, even as her blood simmered with anger. “At least Nate has higher ambitions than spending someone else’s money and going to the spa every week.”

Gloria tsked. “You would know, wouldn’t you, sugar? Like your father said, your spendin’ has been out of control.” She paused delicately. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your job this summer. Are you sure everythin’ is goin’ okay with Bobbi? I saw her at Fred Segal the other day. She mentioned you seemed…distracted at work. Somethin’ about press clippings and not pullin’ your weight? I hope Nate isn’t distractin’ you.”

Bobbi, you bitch.

Kris’s mouth curled into a snarl. “Speaking of Nate, why don’t you tell us what you—”

“Enough!” Her father slammed his hands on the table. The silverware rattled with alarm, and Gloria and Kris both fell silent.

“This is not how I envisioned dinner,” Roger ground out. “You two were supposed to get to know each other better this summer. Kris, you’re my daughter, and Gloria, you’re going to be my wife. I expect you to have a harmonious relationship. Understand? You don’t need to be best friends, but I will not tolerate you squabbling like this every night.”

“It’s not like you’re around often enough to hear us argue.” Kris regretted the words the minute they left their mouth.

Gloria smirked, and Roger glared at her with an intensity that made Kris’s toes curl in her suede Prada boots.

“Perhaps I haven’t been around as often as I would’ve liked,” Roger acknowledged. “But I will be here this summer. I’m staying in Los Angeles until your job with Bobbi Rayden is over and we return to Seattle—together.” He took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over the front of his shirt. “Meanwhile, you and Gloria will spend time together, one-on-one, at least once a week.”

Kris’s jaw dropped while Gloria froze, looking like a displeased mannequin in a department store.

“But—” They spoke at the same time.

“Once a week,” Roger repeated firmly. “I don’t care if it’s shopping or brunch or a damn knitting club. Clearly, living in the same house isn’t enough. You will spend quality time together until you get along.”

Kris resisted the urge to tell her father that just because you got to know someone better, it didn’t mean you’d like them more. She was sure she’d like Gloria better if she never saw her.

But that wouldn’t go over well, so Kris remained silent.

“I also want to meet your boyfriend.”

She blanched. “I don’t think—”

“I’m hosting a dinner party for some of my entertainment industry friends in a few weeks,” Roger said. Gloria’s eyebrows shot up, betraying her surprise. Kris was equally caught off guard. Her father hated parties. He only tolerated them for networking and publicity purposes, and he avoided hosting them as much as possible. “Movie studio heads. Directors. Producers. Invite Nate. Perhaps he could make some useful connections.”

Huh. Was her dad trying to help Nate? Roger Carrera was all business when it came to his high-powered contacts, and it was not like him to invite someone he’d never met to a hobnobbing event with some of L.A.’s most powerful.

“Make sure he’s prepared,” her father continued. “If he embarrasses me, I’ll make sure he won’t get so much as an appearance in a dog food commercial.”

That sounded more like Roger.

“Okay.” Kris didn’t know what else to say.

In the span of forty-eight hours, her hire-Nate-to-seduce-Gloria scheme had veered so far off the rails she couldn’t see the tracks. She could only hope she wouldn’t be crushed at the end of all of this.