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“Hey, kiddo,” he says to me, strolling over and offering me a smile. “I hope this old jackass isn’t working you too hard.”
I force more laughter, but it comes out sounding strangled and awkward. “Dad, that’s not very professional.”
He turns his grin to Murphy. “Professionalism has never been my strong suit, but I guess you’re right. Mind if I sit?”
Murphy nods. “You don’t have to ask.”
“Come on, Molly.” Dad waves a hand at the desk. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony.”
We sit on the opposite side of Murphy’s gigantic desk, as though the two of us are going to pitch something to Murphy… whereas, in reality, it’s going to be me and Murphy pitching something to Dad further down the line. Our lust, our closeness, our relationship…
Please, Dad, please understand, I imagine myself pleading. We’re meant for each other.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m dressed like this?” he asks, waving a hand at his suit.
“Why, Dad?” I say quickly, desperate to fill any silence, no matter how short.
The silences create spaces where he could notice things, little signs of betrayal that will bring the whole edifice crashing down.
“I had a job interview,” he says, with an enigmatic smile on his face.
Murphy smirks, leaning forward, but I can only look at him for so long. His biceps press against his suit jacket and his lips glisten in the generous sunlight, still wet from our kisses, as though he can’t bear the idea of wiping it away and erasing our closeness.
“I know that look,” he says. “What game are you playing, Henry?”
“I interviewed for a job…”
“Yeah…”
“Here.” He chuckles. “There was a position going for a junior copywriter and, well, I used to be able to write, didn’t I? In a different life. Before…”
Before Mom, before his addiction, but he leaves that unsaid.
“Henry,” Murphy says, shaking his head slowly. “If you wanted a job, all you had to do was ask—”
“I know,” Dad says swiftly. “Of course I could’ve asked you and of course you would’ve given me one. But that’s just it. I don’t want to be handed anything. If they want to give me a go, then fine. If not, I’ll find another way. Please don’t get involved with this, Murph.”
Murphy sighs, nodding. “I know better than to argue with that. You’ll never take more than you need to.”
“Of course I won’t,” Dad growls passionately. “What sort of person leeches off their best friend?”
Murphy nods shortly, and my heart does funny things in my chest.
Murphy wants to support us fully, but Dad’s pride won’t let him.
“Well, good luck, then,” Murphy says. “I won’t get involved. You’ve got my word on that.”
“Thank you,” Dad says. “Have we got time for a coffee?”
Murphy nods. “I’ll have somebody send it up. Molly, what’ll you have?”
He turns to me with those all-seeing eyes, eyes that send a thousand illicit sensations through my body, causing me to close my legs tighter against the irrepressible tingling even as Dad is sitting right there.
“Um, I’ll take a coffee, a latte, please.”
“Okay then. Henry, still a black-coffee man?”
“You know it.”
Murphy presses the intercom button and gives the order to someone, and a lady replies and says she’ll be up in ten minutes. Afterward, we sit there for a few long moments, and then the moments get longer and longer until it’s like we’ve been sitting here for days.
I search for things to say, ways to break the tension, but it’s impossible to know if the tension is in my mind or if everybody else is feeling it too.
“I’m proud of you, Dad,” I blurt, just so I don’t have to sit in this self-imposed awkwardness. “For quitting gambling. For going for the job. I know you’ll be amazing at it.”
I don’t remember much about Dad’s early days as a copywriter for various companies, but I’ve read old reviews on his now-defunct website, and they are all glowing, singing his praises.
Dad’s about to reply when Murphy’s phone blares, this time with the same alarm that interrupted us when we were downstairs, in the moments after he called me beautiful and promised that nothing would ever happen to me.
It’s the emergency ringtone, for mob business, I remember.
How is it possible those revelations only happened an hour ago, maybe less? All the closeness we’ve shared since then… all the kissing and the heat and his hand jammed between my legs, rubbing firmly, causing a sizzling fire to move through me make it feel like hours and hours, days, months, ago.
Murphy answers the phone, his face turning from neutral to something like murderous, his eyes narrowed, his temples pulsing, his jaws clamped so tightly I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter.
He lets out a gruff growling noise.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up and stands, shaking his head and letting out a deep sigh.
