“Dad…”
“Wendy,” he parrots. “Listen, this isn’t up for discussion.”
My fingers squeeze tighter around my phone. “Why?”
He hesitates and clears his throat again—his tell for when he’s trying to avoid the subject. Biding his time, formulating his thoughts before he lets them escape as tangible words in the air. “The dean is a business associate. They’ve assured me this will be the best fit.”
My mind replays the conversation with Jon from the other day, how his shoulders seemed to ease as he talked about getting to stay home. And just like that, a bit of rage seeps into the center of my chest, unfurling like smoke and curling around my edges. The entire reason I moved here was to stay with Jon; to try and bring our broken family back together. My father promised he’d be home more, that Bloomsburg was the perfect spot for him to settle and put down roots and stop living for everyone else.
And now, he’s going to ship off the only person I have. And I’ll be here. Working in a coffee shop and living in a mansion. Alone. And for what?
I squeeze my eyes tight and blow out a breath. “When are you going to tell him?”
“He doesn’t leave for another week, so I’ll be home to tell him then.”
“Dad, you cannot let me be the one to handle this. He needs to hear it from you. He needs you to explain the reasons why.”
My stomach cramps with the realization that I can speak until my throat is sore, but it doesn’t change the fact that somewhere along the way, my father stopped listening to what I had to say. And with every day that he’s gone—another business trip, or another sight to see that doesn’t include us—he slips further from our grasp. Away to somewhere nobody can reach, even if we wanted to.
“I hear you, sweetheart, I do. I’ll do it when I come home. Sorry about dinner.”
Click.
Swallowing down the irritation, I glance at the fireplace mantle to the photo I placed there of the two of us in hopes it would remind me of better days. In hopes that it would remind him, too. I’m sitting on his shoulders, a big smile splitting both our faces. I wonder when it was that the shift happened. Whether it was me who changed and started to outgrow my naive, fairy-tale view, or if it was he who regressed after our mom’s death. Although, truthfully, it happened before then.
Maybe people never change and it’s only our perceptions that alter the view.
My phone dings the second I place it down, and untapped hope spirals through my center, even though I know it isn’t going to be my father again.
And of course, it isn’t. It’s Angie.
Angie: The JR tonight, bitch! No saying no. I’ll pick you up at seven.
My stomach flips as I read her message, my mind immediately going to the handsome stranger who asked me on a date and then disappeared for days.
Will he be there?
Chewing on my bottom lip, I type out a reply.
Me: Okay. Count me in.
8
James
“Peter Michaels wants to meet.”
My heart clenches the second his name passes Ru’s lips. “I’m aware of this already, Roofus. You’ve talked of nothing else for the past week.”
Ru’s brows draw in. “Don’t be a smart-ass. It’s… what do you say? Unbecoming.”
My lips tilt up at his attempt at an English accent, although to be fair, even mine isn’t as crisp as it once was. The years have muddled it down until it’s an odd mix, not quite British yet far from American.
“Do you have a point?” I ask.
“My point is that I need you there with me.”
I breathe out a sigh, unbuttoning my suit jacket as I sit down opposite his desk. “And why is it I couldn’t go in the first place, again?”
His eyes narrow. “Because you intimidate people.”
My brows shoot to my hairline and I point to myself. “Me?”
He chuckles. “Don’t play dumb, kid. We both know you have this…” His arm waves between us. “Thing about you. Other powerful men don’t like to be around that.”
I bite back my smirk. “You’re a powerful man, yet here we are.”
Ru grins, spinning a cigar between his lips. “I know your loyalty. You work for me.” He shrugs. “I’m not worried about my place in this world, and I’m not worried about your role in it.”
While I appreciate the sentiment behind his words, they cause a cramp to spear the center of my stomach, regardless. Ru may think he knows my purpose in this life, but even he doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know that my father moved from America when he was just shy of twenty, becoming the premiere businessman in all of England. That I was born into the life of luxury, and until his death, there wasn’t anyone on earth I looked up to more. Ru doesn’t know that every second since has been spent focused on vengeance against the man responsible.
A phantom twinge splits my side, and my knuckles tighten against the urge to brush the jagged scar that mars my torso.
Some men are born into this world with purpose; other men are mutilated into it.
An unwelcome emotion threatens to slither its way into the moment, an odd ache attempting to settle heavy in my chest. I clench my jaw as I force it back down. The time for sorrow has long since passed. Now it’s simply a thirst for revenge that keeps me going.
Leaning forward in my chair, the fire of my life’s goal licks me with its tempting warmth. “So… when are we meeting?”
Ru smiles. “Next week.”
“Perfect, I have plans the next few nights, it would be a shame for them to fall through.”
“Oh?”
I nod, not willing to elaborate—not wanting to give up my prize before I’ve caught her in my web. I want Wendy to come willingly. To be the bright accent on my arm while I show her off to the world; watch the look on her father’s face as she brings me home for dinner.
A grin sneaks along my lips. “A pet project, if you will.”
He chuckles, running his hand down the front of his face. “Fuck it, kid. If I had your looks, I’d be pussy deep every single day. I’m surprised you show the restraint you do in the first place.”
The muscle in my jaw tics, and I swallow back the disgust at the vision his words create. As if I’d ever give up control for sexual pleasure. Having the urge is one thing, losing yourself to temptation is quite another. And while yes, I may use Moira to keep my darker urges at bay, I never need it. Years of being at the hands of someone who frequently lost their wits have taught me that control is paramount. And while fucking and coming is stress relief, that’s all it will ever be. It’s never for actual enjoyment.
“You’ll be around tonight, though?” Ru asks, his eyes skimming the top of his desk, a vulnerability seeping into the words; so slight you can barely hear it.
Nodding, I stand and make my way to the front of his office. “Of course, Roofus.”
I reach into my jacket pocket and grab the box I’ve brought with me today. Ru isn’t much for presents, but he loves his lighters. Has an entire case filled with his collection. This one is special. A custom-made S.T Dupont, encrusted with red rubies and an inscription on the front.
Straight on ‘til morning.