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A lump formed in my throat. The memory of my father’s demands to abort Lola wasn’t nearly as painful as the way my brother had refused to meet my eye as he’d agreed with the self-centered bastard.
It was no wonder I couldn’t forgive him. Damien had once been my best friend. Yet, in being so, he’d hurt me more than anyone had, ever.
“Now, you don’t have to believe me,” Dahlia continued gently, hands wrapped around her glass. “I’m not asking you to, I’m just asking you to listen to me. This is a man who keeps sending you checks and has a bank account for your daughter for when she’s old enough to go to college.”
He did—he does—what?
“He has what?”
“Shit,” she muttered. “Damn it. I assumed you knew that.”
“No.” My voice was scratchy, quiet, barely a whisper, the perfect sound for the way I was feeling. Confusion, frustration, misunderstanding.
Why would he do that? He’d met her once and never cared—only out of duty.
“He basically has a college fund for your daughter, in her name, for when she’s old enough to need it. He cares about you. This isn’t a man who believes you made the wrong choice. It’s a man who, I think, was intimidated by the words he said.” Dahlia reached into her purse and pulled out a small, silver business card holder. She pulled one out and rifled through her bag again.
The whole time, my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Had I been misunderstanding my brother this whole time?
She placed two hands on the card and pushed it over to me. “That’s my personal cell. If you want to talk or you want to see him…Call me.”
I stared at it for a long moment. Emotion warred inside me, beating me up until I couldn’t make sense of anything.
“Does he want to see me?” I couldn’t take my eyes off the card.
“I think he’d move a mountain to see you if he could,” she replied gently.
Swallowing hard, I bobbed my head twice in acknowledgement. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry this wasn’t what you expected.”
“Are you kidding?” I peered up. “This is the first conversation I’ve had in weeks that didn’t involve my boobs or why I’m stepping on Barbie’s shoes every five minutes. It wasn’t enjoyable, but I’ve had worse.” I tucked the card into an inside picket of my purse with a sigh. “Bye, Dahlia. Thank you.”
I tapped the table and offered her a grateful smile right before I got up and headed for the door. Fergus was nowhere in sight, luckily for him. I had a few choice words I intended to share with him when I fixed the clusterfuck inside my head.
“Perrie!” Dahlia’s voice traveled across the bar, and she stopped me before I could close the door behind me. “Perrie!”
Sunglasses in my hand, I turned to face her. “Yeah?”
“Hold on.” She stepped outside, and a young guy passed us, going into the bar. “Can you tend bar?”
I glanced away before bringing my eyes to meet hers. “I have before. Why?”
“On that card. If you’re interested, I need another staff member. Someone just left and we haven’t replaced him yet. Call the number for The Scarlet Letter and ask for Abby.”
Awesome. Here came the charity.
“You don’t need to offer me a job just because you’re sleeping with my brother.”
“You’re right, but I’m not.” She pulled her own, oversized glasses from her purse and touched my arm. “I’m offering you an interview.”
Suspicion made me narrow my eyes. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
She pushed her glasses over her own. “Because I believe you deserve more than the shit your life has thrown at you. Think about it.”
With that, she turned, leaving me standing and staring after her.
Something I’d done an awful lot of lately.
***
By the time I’d gotten home and picked Lola up from school and gone through the routine, I hadn’t had a chance to think about Dahlia Lloyd and our meeting from this afternoon.
Thanks to the fact I had to be leaving my house in the next five minutes to work, I doubted I’d get much more than the drive to the police station which was a whopping twenty or so minutes on a good day.
My brother had a trust fund for my daughter.
That was all I could think about. He was providing her with a future I didn’t have the option to, because the dirty money that was in my name was in a locked account. Benedict Fox would never buy out the ten percent of the company I owned, but he was gonna make damned sure I was unable to get any of the money that belonged to me.
Not that I wanted it, but still.
Why was Damien doing that? Were the checks he sometimes sent to me not, in fact, out of pity or duty, but because he wanted to help me?
