Anyone But Her

T H R E E

Sometimes greeting Dad's employees felt like I'd flipped over a giant box of chickens. Whether that was their natural state or a result of my (usually unexpected) presence, I hadn't yet discovered.

I entered Demetrius Castile's office fuming, my smile—intended for the people who had nothing to do with their boss being a maniac—flopping out of existence. 

Dad could be found at his HQ on most days of the week, which was what I'd meant when I said he was "away".

"I'm going to have to call you back, Connor." Behind his desk, Dad wisely ended his video call.

And I went off. "I'm really looking forward to your explanation—" I raised my hand as he opened his mouth. "—when I'm done talking.

"Tell me: Is this because I embarrassed you once or twice in the news? What's my next move here? Do you wake up tomorrow morning with your prized—I don't know—engine in your bed? Do I steal your cook? What?" I paced, stuck in rant mode. "Can't you understand how un-effing-believable you are? I'm minding my own business, not making any trouble, not bothering anybody, and what do you do? You create unnecessary drama!" My curled fingers made a strangling motion in the air. "The world knows I love you, but nobody realizes how much of a sucker that makes me! Yes, Dad, yes, don't shake your head—you're trying to sucker me the way you would one of your asshole colleagues..." My voice was getting hoarse. I could yell all I wanted, because nobody outside of this room would hear me. "...the way you'll try to sucker everyone else. What's the story going to be? I know: 'Anorde and I put our heads together and thought of the worst possible idea for everyone but ourselves, then I declared that Kenna would be my daughter-in-law, and even though my actual daughter was absent, I'm sure she was thrilled—somewhere.'"

Dad leaned back on his petty throne. I wanted to pull on the stupid curl that hung on his forehead, use a permanent marker to riddle his three-piece suit with obscenities, and zap him down to the two-inch height he deserved. "A highly inaccurate version, Wren, but entertaining as always."

"Of course, Papa, Daddio, I exist to entertain you! If I wasn't sure of that before, I am now. How dare you? How dare you even consider this?"

"Wren, if I do something, it's for your benefit."

For my benefit...right.

"That excuse won't fly, Dad. I've been doing my own thing all this time and suddenly you decide you want to throw me to the wolves? For what? Money? The pursuit of an empire?"

He steepled his fingers like a proper villain. "Stability. Security. Safety."

Safety? Was he joking? I'd moved into the mansion after someone, suspected to have been hired by mob boss Roydon Morsi, shot at Dad (who, prior to the attempt on his life, had rejected Morsi's "business proposal"). By moving in with him, I'd hoped to draw the danger to myself. My excuse to Mom was that I wanted to experience how he lived—now that it seemed so exciting. She hadn't been able to talk me out of it (and I hadn't been able to talk myself out of it, either).

The police didn't connect the shooter to Morsi in any way, but I'd overheard Dad all but confirming it on the phone. Well, if anyone around him was going to be targeted, it would damn sure be me. These days he and I were viewed by the public as being close, but Mom was rarely brought up, which was just the way it needed to be.

"Our families will be stronger united," Dad insisted.

My headache was getting worse.

"Your companies, you mean," I snapped.

My pocket alerted me to a text, and Dad revealed, "That'll be the information about your other account."

"My—? I don't have any other account." My eyes narrowed. "I've never taken money from you before. Please tell me why I'd start now?"