double doors.
"Which you've had years to rectify."
Christopher's gaze swung back to him, accusatory. "Why do you always do that? Make me out to be the bad guy."
"Maybe because you are," Wyatt said, disappointed that even now, his father couldn't take responsibility for the dog act of abandoning his first two sons. "The thing is, you left your family behind to start a new one. And you weren't much chop with our family either. That makes you a deadbeat dad."
Christopher's brows drew together. "You little punk—"
"Yeah, that's me. The punk who's a self-made millionaire by using initiative and brains. The punk whose Aussie brothers are happy to hang around with. The punk who never lived up to your expectations because I couldn't throw a football like your golden boy Kurt."
Unaware his voice had risen, Wyatt lowered it when a waiter glanced their way. "The punk who has some advice for you. If you want Steele and Zane to have anything to do with you, you better be a damned better father to them than you were to me."
With that, Wyatt headed in the same direction as Steele.
He'd wanted to say that shit to his father for years and it should feel good to get it off his chest. It didn't. Instead, tears stung his eyes and he dashed his hand across them, determined not to cry over Christopher.
He’d learned the hard way his father wasn't worth it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ashlin saw the confrontation between Christopher Harrison and his sons, Wyatt and Steele, from twenty feet away. It didn't look pretty. And the devastation on Wyatt's face as he left made her chest ache in a way she knew wouldn't be soothed by partying with Miranda.
She needed to go after him.
"Sweetie, I have to go." She pecked Miranda's cheek. "You going to be okay?"
Thankfully, Miranda's bluster over Steele had petered out once she'd slurped half a Mojito. There were some major sparks between those two and Ashlin couldn't wait to see what developed while the commanding Aussie stayed in town for the next few weeks.
Miranda raised her cocktail glass. "Sure. I see a footballer over there with my name tattooed on his forehead."
"Have fun." Ashlin gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the footballer. "Fill me in on the details tomorrow."
Miranda had already wandered off, leaving Ashlin to dodge dancing partygoers on the parquetry floor as she headed after Wyatt. As she reached the ballroom exit, she spied him leaving the building, and picked up the pace.
When her cell, tucked into the pocket of her slim-line leather jacket, vibrated against her hip, she ignored it. Until she remembered the email she'd received earlier, from a premier dance company in the UK, ascertaining her interest in the lead choreographer position for their upcoming season.
Her steps faltered as she dug the cell out of her pocket, glanced at the screen and recognized an international number.
Damn, she had to take this.
Hitting the call answer button with her thumb, she took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.
"Ashlin O'Meara speaking."
"Just the woman I wanted to speak to." The clipped English accent made her pulse race. This could be it. The job offer of a lifetime. "Graham Thorpesman here. Did you receive our email, Miss O'Meara? Because we heard about your competition win and we're very keen to have you onboard."
She'd done it. Landed the best job of her career. So why the dithering?
"Thanks for the offer, I'm thrilled." Then why the shaky hands and slight quiver in her voice? Damn it.
"So that's an acceptance?"
Ashlin hesitated. She wanted to yell 'hell yeah'. But a small part of her felt disloyal somehow, like she should be discussing this with Wyatt.
Crazy, considering they weren't in a long-term relationship and she'd known a new job in a new place would be a real possibility when they'd started up. She’d even told him how stagnant her life in Vegas was and that she craved a change. But now that her dreams had become a reality, she
"Which you've had years to rectify."
Christopher's gaze swung back to him, accusatory. "Why do you always do that? Make me out to be the bad guy."
"Maybe because you are," Wyatt said, disappointed that even now, his father couldn't take responsibility for the dog act of abandoning his first two sons. "The thing is, you left your family behind to start a new one. And you weren't much chop with our family either. That makes you a deadbeat dad."
Christopher's brows drew together. "You little punk—"
"Yeah, that's me. The punk who's a self-made millionaire by using initiative and brains. The punk whose Aussie brothers are happy to hang around with. The punk who never lived up to your expectations because I couldn't throw a football like your golden boy Kurt."
Unaware his voice had risen, Wyatt lowered it when a waiter glanced their way. "The punk who has some advice for you. If you want Steele and Zane to have anything to do with you, you better be a damned better father to them than you were to me."
With that, Wyatt headed in the same direction as Steele.
He'd wanted to say that shit to his father for years and it should feel good to get it off his chest. It didn't. Instead, tears stung his eyes and he dashed his hand across them, determined not to cry over Christopher.
He’d learned the hard way his father wasn't worth it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ashlin saw the confrontation between Christopher Harrison and his sons, Wyatt and Steele, from twenty feet away. It didn't look pretty. And the devastation on Wyatt's face as he left made her chest ache in a way she knew wouldn't be soothed by partying with Miranda.
She needed to go after him.
"Sweetie, I have to go." She pecked Miranda's cheek. "You going to be okay?"
Thankfully, Miranda's bluster over Steele had petered out once she'd slurped half a Mojito. There were some major sparks between those two and Ashlin couldn't wait to see what developed while the commanding Aussie stayed in town for the next few weeks.
Miranda raised her cocktail glass. "Sure. I see a footballer over there with my name tattooed on his forehead."
"Have fun." Ashlin gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the footballer. "Fill me in on the details tomorrow."
Miranda had already wandered off, leaving Ashlin to dodge dancing partygoers on the parquetry floor as she headed after Wyatt. As she reached the ballroom exit, she spied him leaving the building, and picked up the pace.
When her cell, tucked into the pocket of her slim-line leather jacket, vibrated against her hip, she ignored it. Until she remembered the email she'd received earlier, from a premier dance company in the UK, ascertaining her interest in the lead choreographer position for their upcoming season.
Her steps faltered as she dug the cell out of her pocket, glanced at the screen and recognized an international number.
Damn, she had to take this.
Hitting the call answer button with her thumb, she took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.
"Ashlin O'Meara speaking."
"Just the woman I wanted to speak to." The clipped English accent made her pulse race. This could be it. The job offer of a lifetime. "Graham Thorpesman here. Did you receive our email, Miss O'Meara? Because we heard about your competition win and we're very keen to have you onboard."
She'd done it. Landed the best job of her career. So why the dithering?
"Thanks for the offer, I'm thrilled." Then why the shaky hands and slight quiver in her voice? Damn it.
"So that's an acceptance?"
Ashlin hesitated. She wanted to yell 'hell yeah'. But a small part of her felt disloyal somehow, like she should be discussing this with Wyatt.
Crazy, considering they weren't in a long-term relationship and she'd known a new job in a new place would be a real possibility when they'd started up. She’d even told him how stagnant her life in Vegas was and that she craved a change. But now that her dreams had become a reality, she
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