Her Dad’s Best Friend

Chapter 17

Just then, the guy who was pounding on the door of the restroom comes by our table.

“There’s the prostitute who was fucking you in the bathroom.” He hiccups. He’s clearly a little drunk. “I

see that you have two clients tonight, but give me a phone number or name…I’d like to hire you. You’re

expensive but worth it, if the expression on that guy’s face is anything to go by.”

“Get the fuck away from her.” Link’s voice is cold.

“Just offering her a business opportunity.” The drunk guy is holding his hands open in front of him. “No

need to get so touchy about a woman that you rent by the hour.

My dad points a finger at Link. “Let’s take this outside.” He sounds frighteningly sober right now.

Link, a gentleman, takes the napkin off of his lap and places it on the table.

“I’m ready.” He’s taking off his suit jacket. My dad does, too.

“Wait. No. Stop. Dad, I didn’t have sex with Link in the bathroom.”

“Don’t lie to me, Camilla.”

“I didn’t!” The ring of truth must snap him out of his anger.

“You didn’t?”

“No.” But I’m blushing.

“You were doing something in the bathroom.” His voice is so grim. “You’re so young. You don’t know

better. Link does. He knows that he shouldn’t take advantage of a young girl. Stay here.”

And I watch helplessly while the two of them quickly walk out of the restaurant. I look at their empty

chairs and the discarded suit jackets on the backs of them.

The waiter comes by with our main courses.

“Where did they go, miss?”

“Just outside for a moment,” I say, even though everyone is staring at our table. Our waiter knows that

he’s missed something, but he just carefully clears space for the new plates. I give him our salad

bowls.

I cut my eggplant parmesan, but it tastes sawdust. It’s my favorite dish here, but I can’t seem to

swallow. I put down my utensils. I can hear the sound of shouting outside. I hold back my tears,

because I’m wearing eyeliner and I know people are still looking at me and the empty seats at this

table.

This dinner is the opposite of a celebration.

Fight

Link

“I’m going to fuck you up for touching my little girl. Damn you, Link. You’ve betrayed me. I trusted you

with her. I’ve left you alone with her.”

“We’ve never fucked.”

With a cry, he’s running at me. He’s drunker than I am, though, so he’s a little unsteady on his feet. As

soon as he comes by me, I smoothly pivot out of his way like a torero facing an infuriated bull.

“I told her to work for you. Is that when it happened? Is that when you started molesting my daughter?”

“It’s not like that,” I protest, even though he’s trying to go for my throat now. Then his fist comes

perilously close to my nose as I dodge. “I didn’t touch her while she was working for me. I swear.” Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“But you admit that you touched my teenage daughter, don’t you?”

I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kick me in the face, but he doesn’t have the flexibility to do it, so the tip of

his shoe catches my ribs instead. I use the opening to catch his ankle and pull his legs from under him.

His balance isn’t that great right now, anyway.

I roll him onto his front and sit on him, pinning him in a simple hold.

“Listen to me,” I say. “I di