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I twist back to Logan as Dad launches into a spiel about working my way up the ladder. He raises his chin and crosses his arms arrogantly.
Busted.
“No messing around. Got it.” I can’t press the speaker button fast enough.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. I don’t want you making anymore rash decisions.”
Bit late for that, pops.
“And if you find yourself unhappy for any reason, call me, and I’ll talk some sense into you, okay?”
I scrub a hand down my face. I can almost guarantee that won’t be happening.
“Sure thing.”
We exchange ‘I love you’s’ before I end the call, and Logan tsks.
“What?”
“Patrick thinks you’re working at Keerah Financial.”
“Hello. You’re the one who said we should keep this under wraps, remember?”
“Yes, and you could’ve given him the name of any company, but you chose Keerah’s most competitive, highly regarded bank. Not to mention their employees hold their positions longer than members of the US congress.”
I don’t like the way he’s picking me apart, trying to figure out my motive.
“I’m putting two and two together here, sunshine,” he says, tipping his head, “and something tells me a man like Patrick Vance might not approve of his daughter’s previous career choices.”
“What’s your point?”
He looks positively putout with me when he says, “My point is, you had the nerve to accuse me of placating my father when you’re obviously doing the same thing.”
I snap my fingers. “You know what? We need some coffee. Why don’t I go make us some and never come back? Bye!”
He blocks my retreat, but there’s no way I’m hashing this out with him right now.
I twist for the mug sitting on his desk, only to stop short when I spot a cupcake wrapped in pink polka-dot paper.
Picking up the duplicate of the one Ida gave me this morning, I recall what she said about her protégé. It can’t be… can it?
I hold out the baked treat, carefully gauging his reaction. “A woman named Ida gave me a cupcake exactly like this before I came in.” When I move closer, he takes a generous step back. “You wouldn’t happen to know her, would you?”
“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” he says, but the moment he tugs his earlobe, I know he’s lying.
“My, my, how the tables have turtled.” His hand freezes before falling limply to his side, and I can’t help but gloat. “That’s what I thought. Not so fun when it’s your secrets being exposed, is it?”
“The… I’m sorry, did you just say ‘turtled’?”
“Yeah, like when they get turned over on their backs.” I kick one leg and pedal both arms for emphasis.
Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s turned, Penelope. The tables have turned.”
I shove the cupcake closer to his face, making his eyes cross. “What are you doing with this?”
More importantly, what is he doing, baking cupcakes with someone’s grandma in Anchorage Harbor?
He glares at me for several heartbeats before leaning in and taking a big bite.
