Page 8 of Playing With Love

“Sorry.”

“Why are you calling me? Bernard told me you phoned the office, as well.”

“I wanted to send Mother flowers for her birthday. Last year the delivery was left on the porch and the neighbor’s dog⁠—”

“The animal has been dealt with,” he informed me.

I didn’t want to know how the neighbor’s poodle had been dealt with; if my father had something to do with it I was positive it would be awful.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No. I was calling to make arrangements for Mom’s flowers.”

Another annoyed sigh.

“I cannot imagine why you’d bother me with a flower delivery. I am not a florist nor in the business of making such deliveries. You know better than to call my office and bother my staff.”

Yes. I knew. No one bothered the almighty. Not even his daughter wanting to make sure her mother’s birthday bouquet wasn’t mauled by a dog.

“Okay, well, thanks for calling me back. That was all I needed.”

“While I have you, your mother informed me you’re still living in the dreadful apartment.”

This felt like a sneak attack. The problem was I didn’t know where his arrows were pointing so I didn’t know where to place my armor. I also didn’t understand why he was bringing it up. I’d lived in my apartment since I’d moved to Virginia—three years ago.

“Yes.”

“I thought I told you renting is a waste of money.”

Oh, now I knew where he was going.

Cue lecture.

“It’s a nice⁠—”

“You’re throwing your money away,” he interjected. “It’s ridiculous a woman your age is living in an apartment. How you face the day knowing you left a stately home your husband provided to an apartment is beyond me. But you went through with the divorce.” He spat the word divorce like it tasted foul, like it was my fault which in his mind me leaving my cheating husband was a character flaw. “Now you have to live with the consequences.”

I took a breath but didn’t get a chance to respond, not that my response would’ve been good enough for my father.

“You need to stop squandering your life and buy a house, Liza.” I didn’t want to buy a house. I didn’t want all the problems that came with being a homeowner. I didn’t have time to deal with all the issues that inevitably popped up. I didn’t want to have to take care of a yard.

“I don’t have time for a house.”

“Do you know how stupid that sounds?” he huffed. My shoulders slumped forward.

Here we go.

I raised my shields but it was too late, he was off on a tirade before I could block out his piercing words.

“Unlike you, I don’t have time to waste. Certainly not of frivolous conversations and nonsense. I’ve told you this, repeatedly yet you still insist on wasting my time. If this is what you treated Arnold to, it was no wonder he looked elsewhere. No one likes an argumentative, nagging woman. I suggest you change your attitude or you’ll find yourself old and alone. And for God sakes, buy a house.”

With that he hung up on me.

Another special father-daughter conversation for the books.

I glanced around the bar, homed in on the table I’d vacated. Embarrassment flooded. How I ever thought a man like Tucker Mitchell would want to be with a woman like me I’ll never know. There were times when I could convince myself my father was wrong. But mostly I knew he was right. I wasn’t good enough for Tucker and I never would be.

I watched as Phoenix pushed his chair back. He helped Wren to her feet—now that was a couple who worked. Phoenix deserved a good woman. I shoved my phone in my pocket and hustled back to the table.