Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Back and forth. Back and forth.
What’s wrong with him? This isn’t normal behavior.
Right after college graduation, he demanded my presence back home. Then he tells me to come to his office to talk about “work.” A part of me wonders if he’s planning to pass down the company to me, but that wouldn’t make any sense. He refuses to ever talk about it, but something is obviously driving him to act like a madman because no sane person acts this way at two p.m.
Sure, the pacing isn’t necessarily a sign of an issue, but it’s his office that has set off red flags.
Disarray.
Complete and utter disarray.
Those words clearly depict what is going on inside the four walls of this office.
I pull my gaze away from my father and allow myself to take in what should be a clean sanctuary for him to do business. Instead, it looks like a construction site that just had demo work done.
The first thing I see is the desk. It’s turned over. My forehead scrunches as I look at it.
Wow.
That takes real strength to knock it down like that.
I can’t believe the man who raised me could do that.
I’m impressed.
Not only is the desk on the floor, but so are the papers that should be resting on his desk. The phone is smashed.
I have to assume whoever called him pissed him off.
“What happened?” I take a step closer, and he steps back. From the way his brows knit together and his fist clenches, it’s apparent that he’s hanging on by a thread and trying not to snap at me.
“Leave, Phoenix,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
I advance toward him, shaking my head on my approach. When I’m standing close enough that I can touch him, I place my hand on his shoulder.
“You asked me to come, so I’m here. Talk to me,” I say. He turns his head and looks at me. Then he closes his eyes. They don’t stay closed for a long time—just a beat—but long enough for his chest to rise and fall with his breaths.
With his gaze on mine, the look in his eyes begins to soften. “I don’t want—”
“No.” I place my hand on my hip, indicating I mean business. “You no longer get to push me away. You summoned me here for a reason. I’m your daughter, and this is my legacy too …”
“Don’t you want more?”
“No. Dad.” I say the word and let it hang in the air. He might not be my biological father, but he raised me, and this is my choice. “I want to help.”
His shoulders drop, and he walks toward the couch in the corner of his office. I follow suit and sit across from him.
“If we are going to talk business, we might as well drink.”
“Agree.”
Sitting down, he pours himself a glass of scotch and me another one. I’m not one for scotch, but if I’m trying to prove myself, I’ll accept.
“What’s going on with the business?”
My father rubs at his chin. “Nix, there is something I need to tell you …” he says, and I laugh. He used my nickname, one he rarely uses. It’s reserved for times when he thinks he’ll disappoint me.
“Dad, I know what you do.” My voice is nonchalant. He can pretend all he wants that he’s simply in the import-export business, but I’m no fool.
I watch as he opens his eyes wider, surprised by my revelation. “How?” he asks.
“You might have sent me to boarding school and then away to Switzerland for college, but I have always known.”
From where I sit, I can see the muscles in his jaw tighten. He’s not happy, and I know it. It doesn’t matter, though. This day was going to happen sooner or later.
“You have?”
“Of course.”
His eyes go wide at that, and his mouth hangs open. He rights himself rather fast and cocks his head, still staring at me in complete shock. “And you don’t hate me?”
“You saved me. How could I ever hate you?” My voice drips with emotion. I don’t like to think about my life before, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He saved me. After my parents died, he took me in and raised me as his own. I owe my life to him. So even if he’s a criminal, I’ll always love him.
He mulls over my words, but eventually, he nods his head in acceptance then lifts his glass to take a swig.
I lift my own, placing it to my lips. When the first drop touches my tongue, I bite back the urge to cough. I need my father to take me seriously, and coughing would probably show my lack of maturity.
He treats me like his little girl. Capable and smart, but still a little girl. Now that I’m out of college, I want him to see me as the adult I am—if I have any hope that he’ll let me help him.