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Okay, great. He’s waiting for me already, and he has his employees on the lookout for me. Everything about this is confusing and unsettling.
The guy walks me down a hallway, and as we turn a corner, there’s a long, glass wall blocking off what appears to be a conference room. Chester leans against a long oak table, talking on his cell phone. He sees us, and with two fingers, motions us to come in. It comes off like he’s beckoning two people he knows are beneath him to enter the room. Or maybe I’m still a little offended about the Winston stunt at Sebastian’s birthday party.
“Leave us,” are his first words as the attendant who walked with me opens the door. No “hi,” no “thank you,” not even a grin. He still has his phone to his ear, but he orders the man who showed me the office away like he was nothing more than a busboy.
“Yes. Send over the contract. Right,” he says, and ends the call.
The contrast between us is as black and white as you can get. He’s in a pinstripe, dark blue suit, with a matching tie, and the collar on his shirt has those little pins that keep it in place. I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re gold and fancy. I, on the other hand, am wearing my Air Jordans today, black jeans, T-shirt, and a black baseball cap. Turned backward, of course, because that’s how I roll.
He looks me up and down, straightening out, but staying in place. “I don’t understand,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself or to me. Before I can ask, he continues. “You’re in a band.”
It doesn’t come off as a question, but I answer him anyway. “Yeah.”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes. Not ‘yeah.’” His dark brown eyes lock on to me in a challenging stare.
His words, his tone, his entire demeanor instantly tells me why I’m here. And it’s the same reason he invited Winston to the party. “Wow, okay. Look, I don’t know what you think you know about me, but let me tell you—”
“No, DJ. Let me tell you,” he cuts me off and takes a step toward me. “I don’t know anything about you. All I know is my daughter has feelings for you, and I won’t let that happen. You’re … What are you? A kid playing DJ on the weekends? In some sort of band? And you think that’s how you take care of a family?”
My eyes widen in astonishment. Not that this guy doesn’t know who I am, but at his audacity and how he thinks he can control his own daughter’s feelings and life. “And you think trying to control your daughter’s life is how you take care of one? I’m done here.”
Turning to leave, I reach for the door handle on the glass door, but he calls out to me. “How much will it take for you to stop seeing her?”
His words are enough to get me to turn and face him. “Excuse me?”
“How much?” He pulls out a checkbook from the inner pocket of his blazer, along with a pen. “Name your price.”
“Wow. Just … wow. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”
The insult bounces off him, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m looking out for the best interest of my daughter. My family. Something you probably have no clue of how to comprehend. A hundred thousand? One fifty?”
I’m both speechless, and I want to scream. I want to attack him, yet I’m frozen in place. Her father is literally trying to buy me out of her life. How do I even process this? Then, a more horrifying thought comes to mind; how am I supposed to keep this from Cece?
Regaining some sort of composure, I shake my head. “Screw you. You can’t buy me out of Cece’s life.”
“Two hundred, then?” He cocks his head to the side as if I’d jump at the chance. “Come now, don’t be stupid, boy.”
“Old man, you could offer me five million dollars, and I’d still tell you to go and shove that money up your ass. You can’t buy me.” Shaking my head, I realize I have to get out of this office. The astonishment is wearing off, and I’m feeling more and more hatred building up.
Spinning back around, I grab the door handle. Before I can leave, he calls out to me, “I will get rid of you. I can promise you that.”
I can’t turn to face him. If I do, I’ll want to punch him in his pathetic billionaire face. “You can try,” I hiss, and leave the room.
