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When she didn’t respond, he continued. “Do you have any idea how this looks?”
Of course, she did. She wasn’t an idiot. “Yes, Daddy, I—”
“You know, you’re an Ashby. What you do reflects on me and Ashby Industries. Even if you do have your own career.”
“I know, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
He sighed deeply. “Pumpkin, if you want people to take you seriously, you have to stay away from scandal.”
“You’re right.” Maybe she should tell him that’s what she’d been trying to do. But obviously, she’d screwed that up, so—
“Being caught in a tryst isn’t so bad. But there are right ways and wrong ways to handle these things.”
“Like not doing them in the middle of your ex-boyfriend and current business partner’s engagement celebration?” She smiled in spite of herself, but there was no smile in her dad’s voice when he spoke again.
“Like not doing them with men like Ryder Prince.”
Any trace of amusement in her expression dropped flat.
“Because he’s Noah’s brother, you mean?”
“Because he’s Ryder Prince for God’s sake! Do you know what kind of reputation that hooligan has?!”
The kind he doesn’t deserve, she thought.
She gritted her teeth. “He’s not a hooligan, Daddy.”
“He’s not good for your reputation, Victoria. And he’s not good for you.”
Something in her wanted to bite back and argue. But she couldn’t disagree, not about the reputation. Not when she’d allowed herself to be caught in a kiss so steamy it made the original one—the scandal she’d been trying to erase—look like nothing. And being bad for her reputation—especially right now, while she was trying to establish herself in her own right, not just as Noah Prince’s (ex) girlfriend—well, bad for her reputation was bad for her.
“Listen, Daddy, I should go. I’m having lunch with Cheryl Prince in a little while.”
She had made the date two days ago, back when she thought it would solidify her position with the family, not remind Noah and Ryder’s mom of what an embarrassment she was.
There was a long pause, during which she assumed her father was debating telling her what a disaster seeing Cheryl would likely be right now or delineating Ryder’s many unsavory acts as evidence she ought to get the hell out of her (fake) relationship.
She didn’t have the patience for either.
Fortunately, after a moment, the elder Ashby seemed to think better of saying anything more. “All right, Pumpkin. I’ll talk to you later.”
Vicky dropped onto her sofa, setting the phone on the coffee table. She blew out a breath.
What a mess.
She’d had a plan. A perfectly good plan.
And it had all gone to hell.
Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you mauled Ryder on the roof last night.
Ya think? She banished the thought. It didn’t matter. The damage was done, and anyway, she hadn’t been thinking at all last night, clearly, or none of this ever would have happened.
So much for her carefully crafted plan to turn herself and Ryder into a boring story that faded into the background and was eventually forgotten. Her father was right. This didn’t look good.
New York wasn’t going to forget the guest of honor’s brother and ex sneaking off to make out like a couple of oversexed teenagers.
Things had been going so well. Why had she done it?
