Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After: Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texas Billionaire's Baby. Lois Dyer Faye

the black and white picture. The photographer for the Boston newspaper’s society page had captured him dancing with Jennifer. There was no use denying the expression on his face or hers—the photo highlighted the smoldering attraction between them.

      “Nice snapshot,” he commented.

      “That’s not the point,” John said impatiently, frowning.

      “What is the point, Dad?”

      “The point,” John urged with emphasis, “is that this young woman is a waitress at a local diner. Certainly not the kind of person my heir should be escorting to an important social event.”

      Chance bit off a curse. He didn’t bother asking his father how he knew Jennifer was a waitress and where she worked. John Demetrios had a staff of attorneys at his beck and call. He’d probably had an investigator’s detailed report about Jennifer on his desk within twenty-four hours of seeing the photo. He scrubbed his hand down his face and eyed his father wearily. “Don’t tell me that you’re here to deliver the proper-behavior-for-the-Demetrios-heir lecture again, Dad. I thought you realized I won’t listen after the last time we did this.”

      “The last time you dated inappropriate women was your senior year in college,” John snapped. “In the intervening years, your mother and I assumed you’d matured and now had better sense. You have obligations, Chance, whether you want to acknowledge them or not.”

      Chance held up his hand, palm out. “Don’t, Dad. Just…don’t.” He drew a deep breath to keep from raising his voice. “Who I date is my business. And I will never choose a woman based on a set of antiquated rules created by you and Mom. Certainly not based on whether the woman is suitable for a Demetrios heir. And when I marry—if I ever marry,” he added when his father flushed with anger, his mouth opening to speak, “I’ll choose the woman. And it’s not likely she’ll be someone from the handful of families approved by you and Mom.”

      “You have an obligation to the family name,” John spoke tightly. “For years, your mother and I have been tolerant of your rebelliousness, hoping you’d eventually take your proper place…”

      “Father.” Chance held on to his temper with an effort. “My proper place is helping my patients. I’m a doctor. I’m never going to live the life of a trust fund baby. I told you and Mother when I entered med school—my first obligation will always be to my patients.”

      “I suppose this waitress you’re dating thinks she’s struck gold,” John condemned scathingly. “Not only is she dating a doctor, but you’re a Demetrios.”

      Chance considered the older man while he fought to hold on to his temper. “You know,” he said slowly, “I doubt she even knows who the Demetrios family is. Or that she would give a damn.”