A yawn stretched my lips and I waved it off. “Sorry.”
“Now you’re apologizing for yawning?” He shot me a grin as he passed the couch.
“My father once scolded me for yawning during a meeting.
I apologized then and haven’t stopped since.”
It was the first time I’d mentioned my father aloud. For over a month, I’d kept my past locked away. I’d dodged questions about my family and the reasons why I’d moved across the country. Sleep deprivation had caused my walls to drop.
Or maybe it was just Knox. He shared freely. He made me want to do the same.
“Seriously?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“You don’t talk about your family.”
“I don’t talk about much.”
“This is true.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Where are your parents?”
I sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “I figured you’d ask eventually. But I haven’t figured out how to answer that question yet.”
“It’s a simple question, Memphis.”
“Then the simple answer is New York.”
“What’s the complicated answer?”
“The truth makes my family seem . . . ugly.” As frustrated as I was with them, I didn’t want strangers to think they were bad people. They were who they were. Distant. Self-absorbed.
Proud. They were the product of their surroundings and extreme, selfish wealth.
Once, I hadn’t been all that different. Maybe they were ugly. But their awful actions had been the catalyst to my change. Because of them, I would be a better person. Despite them.
Knox walked to the door, pausing beside his discarded tennis shoes. “Better let me be the judge.”
I glanced to the clock on the microwave. “This isn’t really a conversation for two oh seven in the morning.”
He crossed the room, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch with my son asleep on his chest. “Are they less ugly during the day?”
“No,” I whispered. “My father never held Drake. You’re the only man to ever carry him in your arms.”
A crease formed between his eyebrows. “Did he . . .”
“Die? No. He’s very much alive. My parents, my dad in particular, doesn’t approve of my choices. He sets the tone for our family, and when I refused to do things his way, he disowned me. My mother, my sister and my brother followed suit. Though it doesn’t really matter because I disowned them too.”
Knox studied my face. “What do you mean, they disowned you?”
“I worked for my dad. He fired me. I was living in one of their Manhattan townhouses. Drake was four weeks old when his attorney served me my thirty-day eviction notice. My grandparents set up trust funds for each of their grandchildren but required my father be the conservator until we turned thirty. I went in to take out some money so I could move and Dad denied the bank from granting me any withdrawals. He left me with nothing but the money I had in my own bank account and my final paycheck.”
“Are you fucking serious? Why?”
“He wants to know who Drake’s father is. I refuse to tell him. I refuse to tell anyone.” There was a hidden warning in my tone, that if Knox asked, I’d deny him an answer. “Dad didn’t like being told that it was none of his business. But there’s a reason why no one knows who Drake’s father is. I plan to keep it that way.”
Knox leaned forward, his hold on Drake tightening. “Is there something I need to know?”
“No. He’s gone from my life.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.” I had a signed document to prove it. “My dad thought he’d call my bluff. That if he made my life hard enough, I’d tell him everything he wanted to know. That he could continue to pull my strings and I’d dance as one of his little puppets. I’m twenty-five, not sixteen. My decisions are my own. My secrets are my own.”
Knox leaned into the couch, shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m not really liking your family at the moment.”
“My father isn’t used to being told no. He owns a hotel conglomerate. And he runs his family as heavy-handedly as he
does his business.”
“A hotel?” Knox’s eyebrows arched. “Which one?”
“Ward Hotels.”
“No shit?” He huffed a laugh. “After culinary school, I worked in San Francisco. The restaurant was in a Ward Hotel.”
I blinked. “Really?”