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Sleep with?
Give birth?
He can’t be fucking serious.
He gives me that let’s-close-a-deal smile again, then pulls a pen out of his briefcase and holds it out across the table for me. “If you’ll just sign here and here,” he indicates two places on a long contract, “then we can get started.”
Chapter 2
I stand up as tall as my 5’6 frame will allow—well, 5’8 with my killer two-inch heels—and stare Mr. Owens down with every bit of haughty contempt bred into me by three generations of wealth and privilege. “Get the hell out of my office.”
“I’ll just leave this with you while you think it over. Here’s my number.” He produces a card, also from his inner coat pocket, and lays it on the contract. “But do call soon. My client is a man of…” he pauses as if looking for the perfect word, “peculiar habits. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I scoff in outrage and sweep both the contract and card into the trash beside my desk. Because while there’s all that WASP breeding in my DNA, there’s also my mother’s Latina blood in me. “Well, you can tell your client to go stuff it because I’m not a prostitute or baby mama or whatever the hell you think—” I break off, shuddering at the thought of all of it. Having sex? With some disgusting stranger?
This is just fucking insane. How dare this man, however powerful he is, come in here and basically offer me a job as a prostitute? Dad being in the news so much has officially brought out all the crazies.
“Get out!” I shout.
Mr. Owens doesn’t seem fazed by how upset I am. He just steps back from the desk and taps his wristwatch. “Tick tock, Ms. Van Bauer. Only forty-five minutes before security will come and physically escort you from the building. Better get packing.”
With that, he turns and heads for the door. But not before tossing over his shoulder, “I look forward to your call.”
***
I walk in the door to my apartment at a little before two in the afternoon. I couldn’t find a box, so I had to stuff my large purse with all my belongings. It’s bulging so much I have to hold it in front of me like a papoose to keep everything in.
Like a baby.
I shudder even at the thought.
I hate babies. I mean, that sounds bad, but I never want to be a mother. Lord knows my own mom was a bad enough example to put me off the idea forever.
God, that guy propositioning me like that was the most insane thing I’ve ever experienced. And that’s saying somethin
g, considering I just learned two weeks ago that Dad tried to pull off the biggest Ponzi scheme since Madoff.
“Mel?” calls my dad’s voice in a panic. “Melanie, is that you?” Dad rounds the corner of my foyer and his face crumples in relief. “Thank God. Why haven’t you been answering your cell?” He’s wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt stained with last night’s spaghetti sauce. He looks like a shadow of his former self.
I stare at him confused. “My battery probably died. What’s going on, Dad?” I drop my purse with a loud thump.
He rushes forward and grabs me in a crushing hug. “I tried your office line too, and no one answered. You don’t know how worried I’ve been.”
He squeezes me even tighter. Okaaaaaaaay. Dad and I are close but we aren’t exactly the touchy-feely type. I can’t remember the last time he hugged me.
“I got fired.” No point in beating around the bush. Unlike him, I can’t keep up a perfect sheen that everything’s a-okay when in reality it’s going down the shitter.
He takes a step back. “What? Why? You’re the best damn ad account manager they’ve seen in years.”
I just stare at him. I’ve never heard such high praise from him.
Then I heave out a sigh. “Daddy, I—” How do I tell the father I’ve always tried so hard to impress that I got fired from my dream job because of him? Because of the Van Bauer name?
He waves a hand but then the same hand is quickly raking through his hair. “None of that matters right now. We’ve got bigger problems. Everything’s just—”
He’s scaring me. All of this came as an insane shock when it blew up two weeks ago—my dad, the man I’d looked up to forever, defrauding all those people, lying to me, to everyone, for years.
He starts pacing back and forth in the entryway and finally heads into the living room. I follow him. All the blinds are drawn and the TV is muted, flashing some cable news show. Used plates and junk food packages litter the coffee table.
