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If he gives it to Mike, then I’ll have to fight. I’ll have to see if there’s something in my grandfather’s will. I’ll demand a spot on the board so I can claw it back from the inside. No matter how today turns out, I have to save this company.
My shoes crunch over some twigs that have blown across the path to the front door. It’s been raining all morning and the air is damp. It bites through my jacket and more clouds loom overhead.
How fitting.
I jab at the doorbell and rock on my heels while I wait. Mike’s car isn’t out front, so I guess this isn’t a family meeting. When the door swings open, I’m surprised to see Dad there himself.
Wow, he’s opening his own door. That can’t be a good sign.
“Sebastian.” He nods.
He’s wearing a three-piece suit, so he mustn’t have changed after his statement to the press. That’s my father in a nutshell; life can wait until after business is done. He seems more imposing dressed this way—with gold cufflinks winking and the watch he received for his sixtieth heavy around his wrist. Not a single salt-and-pepper hair is out of place.
“Come into the office.”
Inside, I take a seat in one of the racing-green leather tub chairs that face his desk. He sits on the other side, sliding himself into the power seat. The rest of the house is silent. I imagine he told my stepmother to go out shopping or something. Probably easier to deal with this whole thing if she isn’t here, making things more tense than they already are.
I make a mental note to loosen my shoulders. “Lay it on me.”
Dad slides a drawer open and pulls out a large white envelope.
“Wow, so we’re being that formal with it? Doesn’t the host usually make the announcement? And the winner is...” My joke falls flat as he stares at me, his face revealing nothing.
Do we really need the dramatics? Shaking my head, I reach for the envelope and tear it open.
I’m struck by what’s inside. It’s not paper, it’s ...photos. I yank them out and feel my entire body turn to stone. My back teeth clench together so hard, I’m surprised they don’t shatter. My head pounds like a heavy-metal song, full of rage and noise and raw emotion.
“What the fuck is this?” I slap them down, not wanting to look at them further. It only took a second to realise what had happened. The beautiful dress, the picnic blanket, me holding on to Presley’s wrist as she slides her glasses down her nose. Then more—us kissing, laughing, leaning on one another. “You had me followed?”
“I had to be sure.” His face is like granite.
“What right do you have to spy on me?” I spit the words out, feeling my face go hot. Feeling my blood boil and my muscles clench and my stomach fill with acid.
“What right doyouhave to pursue your brother’s wife?” His voice thunders. “Have you no respect?”
“In case you don’t remember, the wedding never went ahead.” I grit the words out.
“You made sure of that, didn’t you?”
So he knew all along that I’d helped her get away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. One look at the venue’s security cameras would have done it. Or maybe someone saw me and reported back to him. I’m not sure I care. “I didn’t know it was her at the time.”
“And after?”
I blow air out between my lips, trying to get my pulse to settle. “I figured it out. But the damage was already done.”
“I was looking forward to having her as part of our family, you know. I respected her,” he says. The hurt in his voice radiates. “But she walked out on my son, and on our family. I can’t forgive that.”
“Did you expect that she wouldn’t move on with her life?”
“I expected that she wouldn’t move on with her life withyou.”
I look at my father for a moment. Like,reallylook at him. I note all the lines around his eyes and mouth, and wonder whether they were created by smiling or frowning. I look at the deep groove running across his forehead and the temples that are now totally silver. I look at his aging hands and his strong shoulders and square jaw. The hardness everywhere, both inside and out.
Is that what I’m going to become by always putting work before relationships?
I remember a time, before my mother died, when I looked up to this man. When I wanted to make him proud. Now it feels like we’re strangers, and I know some of that blame rests squarely on my shoulders.
But I can’t regret the time I spent with Presley, not even knowing it was my downfall. It might have been the best week of my life. How could I wish that away?
