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“Just a quick stop on the way home,” my father said as our driver pulled into the parking garage at 1 Donahue Plaza.
I continued looking out the window as the tall buildings disappeared and we became surrounded by concrete walls and fluorescent lights. “Of course.”
Once we were in the parking garage elevator, Dad punched in the code that took us all the way to the thirty-sixth floor. Donahue Plaza consisted of three buildings our family owned in the heart of Manhattan, right off Fifth and Sixth Avenues. We rented out office spaces and entire floors to companies like NBC andPeoplemagazine. After all, it was easier to dictate what the press said about you when you sat them in your lap. The top three floors of 1 Donahue Plaza belonged solely to us, though. This was where my father did business. This was where his heart beat the strongest.
The elevator opened up into the art deco style lobby. It was after four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, so the offices were mostly empty. I followed Dad past the copper and silver sculpture of the Greek god, Apollo, trying not to smirk at the irony of the artwork as we made our way down the hall.
He stopped to open the door of an office directly across from his. “Welcome to your future.”
He held the door as I walked past and into the space. I took one look, then glanced back over my shoulder at him, and he smiled.
What the fuck?
Since the day I turned thirteen years old, my father had always viewed me as competition. I physically felt the air shift the moment he’d transformed from loving father into bitter rival. I could have bet my life he’d never let me step foot in this building as an adult. Now he was giving me an office one month before my twenty-fifth birthday, the day all hell was destined to break loose. Something wasn’t right.
It was open and airy with a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into Manhattan. The walls were painted a crisp white, and the floor was a sleek, charcoal gray marble tile. Black and white photographs of the city framed in bright red stood out against the white walls. The desk, a white geometric design made to look as if it were balanced on the tip of a triangle, sat in front of a solid black bookcase that covered almost the whole wall. There were two gray chairs in front of the desk and a matching sofa against one wall.
I might have thought this was a set-up, that he was baiting me, except there was one thing that caught my attention above every other detail in this office. On the ground in front of the sofa, there was a rug—made of lion skin.Mylion.
Dad stepped into the office and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You ready to eat?”
That depends, Dad. Are you ready to run?
I looked him in the eye. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Your mother has this bigWelcome Homedinner all set up over at the Skyline Room. She’s been texting me for the past fifteen minutes.”
Right. He meantactualfood. I should have known Mom would make a production of my homecoming. She lived her life in camera flashes and wore confidence like diamonds. Attention was her Kryptonite, probably because my father never gave her any. But she had always been an amazing mother. She was loving and supportive. In the calmness of the night, when she’d taken off the mask she wore for the world, she’d sit at the foot of my bed and tell me stories about Greek mythology. It was her favorite. Over the years, it had become mine too.
She knew nothing of my father’s secrets. She didn’t resent me the way he did. I still felt his long-standing bitterness toward me. Even now, as we stood in the office he’d set up for me. Even after his smiles and promises of a better future, the sharp blade of betrayal was still there, poised at my back and ready to sink in. I saw it in the way his nostrils flared when he smiled.
I returned his charade with one of my own. “Thank God. I’ve been waiting four years for a decent burger.”
***
The Skyline Room was on the top floor of the tallest building in Donahue Plaza. There were windows on all sides, looking out onto the Manhattan skyline—hence the name. It was a classic kind of modern with a large crystal chandelier in the center of the room and artfully designed floral arrangements on every white linen-covered table. A jazz band was set up where the grand piano normally was. Not exactly my idea of a good time, but it made Mom happy.
Most of the people were here for my mother, but a select few were actually here to see me. I walked in and immediately gave her a hug, making sure to say all the right things: how perfect everything was, how beautiful she looked, how grateful I was. Then I found Chandler Carmichael leaning against the bar, looking asGQmagazine cover model-worthy as ever. Chandler was always polished, always crisp, but I knew what he did in his spare time. I knew the places he’d been.
“The prodigal son returns,” he said, his bright smile beaming as he held a bottle of Shiner Bock in the air as a salute.
I shook my head then waved for the bartender to grab me a beer too. “More like Apollo.” Unlike the prodigal son, it wasn’t my idea to leave.
Chandler scrunched his eyebrows together as he took a drink of his beer. The bartender handed me my bottle.
“The Greek god who was exiled from Olympus for pissing off his father,” I explained, then took a drink. The ice-cold liquid was heaven.
His eyes widened as he caught my meaning. He pointed his bottle in my direction. “Or Romeo. They banished that bastard for fucking the wrong girl then killing her brother.”
“Her cousin.”
He stopped the bottle before it touched his lips. “Do what?”
“He killed her cousin.” I took a drink. “But to be fair, the cousin killed his best friend, so an eye for an eye and all that literary bullshit.”
“Speaking of best friends, I wanted to make sure you knew I did what you asked…” he looked over my shoulder, “…that night.”
“I know you did.”
