The Write Off

Chapter 3: The Birthday Party

Rhiannon's POV

Lauren was right, these shorts were to die for. Little cut-off denim shorts with lace sewn to the bottom of the pockets so they peeked out past the hem. The loose black crop top did her some favors by accentuating her cleavage. Did it scream "Father's Birthday Party"? No. But did it scream "I'm going to seduce a rich old man"? Absolutely.

Martha, her stepmother, was in the kitchen when she got there. "You're late." What a greeting.

"Sorry, traffic only gets worse. I thought I left in plenty of time." She wouldn't fight with Martha, not today. She had only one mission in mind.

"You look like a harlot." Martha handed a tray of cubed cheese to her.

"You're lovely as always," Rhiannon responded. Not today, Martha.

"Your father's friends are here. Try not to embarrass us. Take this outside and see if anybody needs another drink."

A brilliant smile split Rhiannon's face. Oh, game on.

She practically strutted into the backyard carrying the tray of cheese and another tray of cut strawberries she had scooped up on her way out. "Happy birthday, Daddy," she announced.

Her father, Richard Prater, and John Hartley sat around a table by the pool. Her father was facing her, Richard sat to the side, and John's back was to her.

She watched as Rich chewed on the inside of his sun-tanned cheek. Honestly, the man was practically leather with as much time as he spent in the sun. His jaw worked, and Rhiannon realized in that moment that he knew something was up. She recognized the troubled gesture from whenever there was a problem at work. John must have mentioned something. Rich dipped his head in greeting.

"Sweetheart! I'm so glad to see you," her dad called back, standing to give her a hug. She brushed past John and greeted her father.

"I'm so glad you invited me tonight." She pulled out the chair next to John as her dad settled back into his seat. "Hope this isn't taken," she murmured to John.

He finally lifted his head to look at her. Rhiannon gave him a sly wink. She watched every emotion in the book flash across his face in a split second.

John settled for a pleasant smile and just replied, "Nope, it's all yours."

Rhiannon plopped into the chair. "What did I miss?"

"We were actually just talking about you. I was telling them about what a talented writer you are."

John's POV

John had a vague memory of Rich talking about David's daughter moving back and how Rich was planning to offer her a position while she decided what to do after finishing school. Suddenly, Rich's strange behavior all afternoon made sense. He knew. That rat b*stard knew the whole time. He had just let him walk into this. And John had already made such a fool of himself, talking about how, no, this girl was different, she was so unique.

Yeah, she was unique. She was unique because he had never dated one of his friends' children before.

To be fair, Rich had quickly diverted the conversation earlier when David had asked John about any potential replacements for Jessica or Jennifer or whatever that girl's name was, but John had only assumed Rich didn't want to talk about John's interest in an employee.

David and Rich were deep in a conversation John had tuned out of. He cut his eyes to Rhiannon. She lifted one arched, black brow and gave him a smug half smile. His eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to the side. This was a game to her.

Rhiannon placed a hand on his arm. "I'm so glad you're back from Birmingham, Mr. Hartley. It's been, what, five years since the last time I've seen you?" Her voice was dripping honey, syrupy sweet. The split in her lip was scabbed over now.

John licked his lips and nodded. "Probably thereabouts."

Rhiannon was grinning, practically laughing at him. She picked up a strawberry and popped it into her mouth. She turned back to her father, hopping into the conversation he still hadn't heard a word of.

"I never liked the guy anyway, I'm glad he lost the election." She shrugged.

Oh, the election. One of David's neighbors had been running for county commissioner or something like that.

Martha, God bless her, burst through the back door carrying a cake covered in candles. She was already singing Happy Birthday in a nasally operatic style. She loved David completely, but bless her heart, she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

David and Martha mingled with neighbors and some of David's coworkers. John watched him carefully but leaned towards Rich. "You could have said something yesterday."

"I thought you were talking about the blonde!" Richard hissed back.

"I didn't even see a blonde," John shrugged.

"We have two bartenders. Rhiannon, and the blonde. They were both there. Is your sight failing you, old man?" Rich snapped.

"The blonde has a name."

John nearly jumped out of his skin.

Rhiannon had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He would have thought high top sneakers made more noise, but she was silent as a cat in those things. "Her name is Lauren. And she's out of your league."

Before he could respond, she had slipped away again. He watched her strut across the back patio, a predator playing with prey. His eyes trailed up those long legs to where those short shorts barely covered her round a**. D*mn.

"Hey," Rich growled. "Leave her alone. David will shoot you in cold blood."

John made a show of mulling it over. "It might be worth it."

"You're a d*mn fool."

Rich might have said something else, but Rhiannon had made eye contact with John from across the yard. She leaned over the porch railing, revealing ample cleavage. His mouth watered. And where the f*ck had she found a popsicle? His mouth went dry as she pushed it all the way to the back of her throat and pulled it back out again. Her eyes darted to either side and back to him. She licked the tip and bit her lip before turning away.

Rich elbowed him hard. "Look. Away."

John jerked his head to look at Rich.

"This is a very dangerous game. David is right over there. If he catches you, he will blow your guts against that wall with that d*mn shotgun he loves so much." Rich scowled, pointing emphatically at the back of the house.

"Tell her that! She started it."

"You started it, Hartley. You are old enough to be her father, and you asked her to dinner. You asked her to a dinner that you hoped would end in something other than dinner."

"She said yes," John grumbled in response.

Rich threw his hands up in the air. "I give up." He left in search of more reasonable company.

As if on cue, Rhiannon appeared at his side. She pulled a Budweiser out of her back pocket and handed it to him. "I brought you this. You looked thirsty." She looked up at him from under heavy lashes.

Maintaining eye contact, he cracked open the beer, chugged it, and handed her the empty can. "Thanks."

"Anytime." She smirked.

She flitted away. He watched her, watched her hips sway with each step. She threw a smile over her shoulder and then bent at the waist, carefully placing his empty can into the recycling bin. He watched as her shorts rode up, revealing just a little more of that perfect a**. He had dated girls who had paid for a**es that weren't as nice as hers.

John meandered over to where Rich had joined David in conversation with one of the neighbors. They were talking about inflation and the price of gas. Normally, he'd love to join in and talk dirty money and why the world is going to hell in a hand basket, but he was too distracted to contribute anything. Instead, he stood and nodded politely.

Rhiannon's POV

Rhiannon glared across the yard. She was going to have to try harder. She needed a bigger response. She wanted him uncomfortable, squirming. He might not have recognized her the other day, but he would never forget her now, she would make sure of it. She watched as her dad's next door neighbor, Todd, finished his plate. She marched across the yard to the circle of men.

Rich locked eyes with John. He tried desperately to send telepathic messages to his friend. David was right there, don't do or say anything dumb. Rhiannon was on a mission, and John's job was to not engage.

Rhiannon slipped between John and Rich. "Hey, Mr. Todd. Are you done with that plate? I can take it for you," she offered sweetly.

The man looked down at his empty plate. "Yeah, actually, that would be great, thanks." He proffered the paper plate.

As Rhiannon stepped towards him to take the plate, she subtly—so subtly it could be mistaken for an accident—brushed a hand against the front of John's navy slacks. As she stepped back, she drug her hand back across his crotch.

Rich watched John's eyes widen as he clenched his jaw. To his credit, John recovered quickly. He schooled his expression back into placidity.

Rhiannon's eyes flicked to ensure her father hadn't noticed. He hadn't. She then threw a smirk at John and paraded away to toss the plate in the garbage.

John coughed. "Excuse me, I'll be right back," he coughed, marching inside.