Page 117 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

“Noelle is sharp.” Dad tapped his head. “Even brighter than her sister. I was hoping she’d return to medicine, become a doctor like her mother.”

“I’m not my mother.” I tried to disentangle my hand from Conor’s, but he wouldn’t let go. “And Mom never wanted that for me. That was your dream after you lost her. Mom just wanted us to be happy. Why couldn’t you want the same?”

His jaw tightened as he glanced at the photo on his desk of him and Mom on their wedding day. "Because happiness doesn't always last, Elle."

“Don’t call me that. Only Mom called me that.”

Dad ran a veined hand across his mouth. “I thought I knew better, Noelle. Look, I never disliked you, Conor. I wanted success for you and believed you’d achieve it, but I didn’t want you to be a part of that life, Noelle.”

“But I wanted to be a part of that life...of his life. Your meddling didn’t work anyway. I was never going to study medicine—with or without Conor. With or without the career.”

“You made a success of your life.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Look at you two now. Conor is a man, not a boy, and he can stand up for himself and you. He couldn’t do that before. He didn’t do that.”

Conor vibrated beside me, and I put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“And look at you. You made a career for yourself without Conor’s fame and money.”

Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I said, “You obviously don’t know that my career just crashed and burned.”

“I heard all about it from your sister.” He lifted his slim shoulders in his elegant, bespoke dress shirt. “You’ll bounce back. You may not be a doctor, but you take after your mother that way. Resilient.”

Conor took a breath that ran through his body like a shudder. “You think we should be thanking you?”

“No, but I’m not going to apologize, either. If that’s what you came here for, that’s not going to happen. I’m sorry you were hurt, Noelle, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time—and I still think it was the right thing.”

That was typical Dad. He never admitted wrongdoing.

“Besides, it’s time now.”

Conor and I looked at each other, and I asked, “Time for what?”

“I own a good chunk of Baker Street, and now I can turn that over to you. Everything I did was for your future. Now that future is yours to grab with both hands.”

“I...” His obtuseness and insensitivity astounded me. He still believed money could solve everything.

“Think about what you want, Noelle.” Dad’s eyes darted to Conor. “Think about who you want.”

I sank into the antique chair, my body suddenly boneless. I didn’t know what I expected from this meeting, but Dad’s intransigence and part ownership in Baker Street weren’t it. Neither was Conor’s presence, but I was glad of it.

Dad checked his watch. “I have another appointment, but if you’d like to meet up for dinner later this evening, I’d be happy to take you to a Michelin restaurant around the corner. The fois gras is excellent.”

Conor stood up suddenly, and I was afraid he’d lunge at Dad across the desk.

Instead, he took my hand and pulled me up. “We’ll pass.”

We walked out of the room, Conor’s arm tucked around my waist, and when we made it outside, he took my face in his hands.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. It’s such a betrayal.”

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rested my head against his chest. “I’m glad you were with me. And I’m glad the tour finished on a high note for both you and Ashley.”

“Everyone missed you.”

“And you?” I toyed with the collar of his shirt.

“Me most of all, but I had a secret weapon to help me get through.”

“What was that?”