Avery searched the room, but she didn’t see Fisher anywhere, thank God. Usually, wherever Meyer Sinclair went, Fisher was sniveling close behind. They were friends, but more importantly, they were business partners. Meyer had the stability of history and accumulated resources, and Fisher had fresh success and a very bright future.

She just knew Meyer would want her to come home, and blast it all, she didn’t want to.

Exhaustion couldn’t compete with resentment. When she’d most needed her family to believe her, to support her, they’d sided with Fisher instead.

Why in the world was Meyer Sinclair here now, especially at nearly two in the morning? He looked the same as he had the last time she’d seen him more than a year ago. Wearing a long black wool coat over tailored slacks and a designer sweater, he smoothed his windblown, thinning, brown hair. The cold had left his fair cheeks ruddy. He removed his glasses to clean them.

Avery stood there, watching him, unsure what to do.

After he replaced his glasses, he searched the bar. At first his gaze went right past her, but then shot back. As if he couldn’t take it in, he looked at her, around her, and disapproval showed in every line of his posture. Brows drawn, he started toward her.

No one remained at the bar, thank God, so Avery started out to meet him. If she could keep him near the door, then maybe she could more easily be rid of him. Not that she had anything against Meyer. She didn’t. In fact, she mostly liked him, definitely respected him and knew he adored her mother, which was a plus.

But like everyone else, he’d believed Fisher’s lies, and that meant she wanted to keep him as far away from Rowdy as she possibly—

Rowdy intercepted him. “Can I help you?”

Oh, shoot, shoot, shoot.

Meyer barely gave him notice. “No, thank you.” He made to step forward—and found himself running into Rowdy again.

Avery hastened her step and reached them a breathless five seconds later. Still hoping to send Meyer packing, she wrapped her arms around Rowdy’s biceps and hugged him like a giddy, infatuated girl. “Rowdy, this is my stepfather.” She leaned into him, smiling as if she weren’t still offended over being called a liar. “Meyer, meet Rowdy Yates.”

It was almost ridiculous how big Rowdy looked when compared to Meyer’s shorter stature and lack of physical presence.

She had no idea what her mother saw in the man, other than his obvious wealth and complete adulation.

Meyer dismissed Rowdy, saying, “If you’ll excuse us...”

No, you don’t. Avery clung to Rowdy, but he didn’t even make a pretense of budging.

She gave Meyer a smug smile. Her stepfather had clout wherever he went, and most recognized it by his attitude alone—unless, apparently, he ventured into the wrong part of town, or, more specifically, into Rowdy’s domain.

With any luck, Meyer would see them as a couple and he’d be dissuaded from nagging at her to return to her old life. Of course, she needed Rowdy to play along. In an effort to convince him, she stopped squeezing his arm and instead slipped an arm around his waist, low enough that she wouldn’t hurt his back, which sort of put her hand over his muscled tush.

Brows drawn, his expression flinty, Rowdy glanced down at her...but he didn’t call her bluff. Instead, he reciprocated, his arm around her, his hand on her hip.

Avery was so surprised by that, she faltered. “Meyer.” Her laugh was a little too loud, and way false. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

He took in their familiar embrace and bristled with discomfort. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”

“I don’t know. Are you here alone?”

“You didn’t think I’d bring your mother here, did you?”

No, it wasn’t her mother she was worried about. But she didn’t want to say Fisher’s name. Rowdy already looked like a dog waiting for a bone to chew on. She wanted him as camouflage, but she didn’t want him compelled to defend her.

And wasn’t that nice? Because she knew without a doubt, unlike her mother and stepfather and all her so-called friends from her past life, if she told Rowdy what happened, he’d believe her one hundred percent. She sighed at how wonderful that made her feel.

Taking her silence as more stubbornness—the accusation he often leveled at her—Meyer puckered up in displeasure. “Yes,” he bit out, “I’m quite alone.”

“Then sure, we can talk.” Yet when she started away from Rowdy, he held on.

Yes, she definitely had a tiger by the tail.

“Rowdy,” she coaxed, “do you mind if we use your office?”

“Good idea.” He lifted a hand and beckoned Cannon over. “Finish up here, will you?”

“Sure thing.” Cannon didn’t ask any questions. He just got to work.

“Come on.” Rowdy led the way toward the back office while Avery tried to think of a way to keep him from knowing too much.

Her staid stepfather trailed along.

Rowdy said as they walked, “We were just closing up for the night. A few more minutes and only employees will be here.” He opened his office door. “Can I get you anything to drink? I think there’s coffee left in the break room.”

“That’s not necessary. I won’t be long.” Again Meyer took in his surroundings. It was clear by his sanctimonious expression that he found everything lacking.

That set Avery off again. She had thought to talk to her stepfather privately, to ensure Rowdy didn’t get drawn into her problems. But she’d be damned before she let Meyer slight him in any way.