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Chapter 6
Saffi
Despite my awesome day, the bus home that night was as miserable as it usually was—bumpy, slow, overheated, and smelling of too many humans crammed into too small a space. When I squeezed out at my stop, I took a deep breath of the foggy evening to shake off the stink of a city commute.
“Hey, Dad. I’m home,” I hollered, once inside.
“In here, sweetie.”
Dropping my backpack, I headed for my dad’s office, a gorgeous, masculine room lined with books, leather furniture, and a giant desk. And the faint smell of scotch in the air.
“You have a good day?” he asked, his silver head turning. The slight wrinkles around his blue eyes sprang into action as he smiled. He might have been my dad, but I could say with confidence that he was damn handsome.
How much should I tell him about my project? Everything? Nothing? Or just a little?
On second thought, he didn’t need to know anything.
“It was pretty good, Dad. How was yours?”
He leaned back in his chair and a swell of love thumped in my chest. The man had raised me single-handedly after my mother had passed. No meeting at his busy law firm was ever more important than one of my softball games or dance recitals.
To me, he was everything that was good about the world.
“Day was good,” he said, nodding. “Things are booming at the firm. Knock wood,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the desk. His firm was one of the largest in San Francisco, but he took nothing for granted. “How are things at the paper?”
I leaned forward, forearms on thighs, hands clasped. “Well, you know how I’ve been getting crappy little assignments?”
“Like that Garden Club thing?” he asked.
“Exactly. I have a plan to do more.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I got a lead on a club here in town. An exclusive club, one that not many people know about. I may go undercover and see what I can learn.”
Concern washed over his face. “What kind of club? Like a country club?”
Ugh. Time to lie.
I hated lying to my dad.
“Kind of like that. Kind of like an exclusive country club, but it’s in the city.”
Time to wrap up this conversation. I clapped my hands together and turned to go.
“Wait a minute.” His hand made a stop sign.
Shit. Of course he had more questions.
“Why do you have to go undercover? Is it unsafe?” His furrowed brow said it all.
I should have kept my big mouth shut.
“Of course it’s safe.” I laughed nervously. Wasn’t it? “It’s just that I can get a different story posing as a member. That’s all.”
“You know, Saffi, you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” Now I was the one frowning.
“Scrape by at the Post. They give you crappy work and crappy pay. I’m happy to have you here in the house, but some day, you’ll want a place of your own. Hell, you probably want that now. I could get you a job at the firm, starting as a paralegal, and you could attend law school at night.”
He was right. Partially. I could take the path of least resistance. Get a job at Dad’s firm. Live the easy life. But that’s not what I wanted.
Mom, also a journalist, had never taken the easy route. ’Course, she’d married Dad back when San Francisco wasn’t as expensive as it had gotten, so they could afford her low-paying career.
But I wasn’t giving up. At least not yet.
“Dad. I know you’re speaking out of concern. And I love you for that. But I’ve got to give this a go.”
He threw his hands in the air for effect, but a huge smile spread across his face. “I know you do. You’re just like your mother.”
All good. Time to escape before he asked more questions. “Thanks. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to take a bath and read for awhile.”
“Okay. And hey. I love you,” he said.
I walked over and planted a kiss on his cheek. A lump formed in my throat, and I scooted out of the room.
Fast.
* * *
