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He shrugs. “She paid for the fucking ticket and practically strapped me into my seat.
I nod understandingly. I’ll have to call Rebecca later and chide her for not giving me a heads up that he was on his way back.
“Grant, I need to help you. And this is for your own good. I’m going to call Dr. Ferguson and ask him to find a room for you by the time we get there.”
He frowns and hisses, “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going.”
“So, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep a cool head.
His demeanor changes as he looks down at his feet.
“I’ve got a good lead on a job, so I’m just wondering if you could tide me over for a week or two with a little cash for food and maybe to get some clothes and an apartment or something.”
I cannot believe what I’m hearing. I speak slowly, not wanting anything in my tone to trigger an argument. “Where are the clothes you came back with, Grant?”
He laughs hollowly and sneaks a peek at me. “It’s the strangest thing, you know? I got mugged when I left the airport and they took my clothes.”
“Where’s your passport?”
Irritation crosses his face. “I dunno. So, you gonna spot me some funds or not?”
I look at him searchingly, staring until he drops his eyes and his sunken cheeks flush.
“Do you think I’m stupid, Grant? I know if I give you one cent, as soon as you leave this office, it’s getting shot into your arm. I don’t have time to waste running in circles around you and listening to your made up stories.”
“What do you care, sperm donor?” He stands and comes up into my face. I force myself not to recoil. I try to picture the little boy so full of innocence, and am hard-pressed to find any evidence of him in this ragged junkie.
“You’re going to rehab, Grant. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“Oh yeah? Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.” He pokes my chest, and I feel my temper flare. I grab his hand and push him away.
“You are going to respect me as your father! And you’re going to get help! That is the end of this discussion! Do you understand me!?”
He pushes me and I take a step back. “What the fuck don’t you understand in ‘I’m not going’!?”
He punctuates each word with a push to my chest, and it takes every ounce of restraint in me to not treat him as a threat. I step into his space, forcing him to take a step back. I keep moving forward until the back of his knees hit the couch. But he refuses to sit. Trying instead to go around me.
“I’m not playing your damn mind games and manipulation! It may have worked when I was a kid, but I’m all grown now! I’m grown!” he screams into my face once more.
I look up as two of my men appear in the doorway, their hands on their holsters.
“Sir?” They look from me to Grant.
“It’s okay. I have things under control. This is my son, Grant.”
“Yeah. I’m his son, Grant. And one day imma be your boss, so you better respect me.”
I wave the men away and close the door behind them. Grant laughs.
“You’re embarrassed by me,daddy? You don’t want your staff to know you have a son like me?”
“Let me help you, Grant. I’m calling Dr. Ferguson.” I take out my phone and he is up in my face again, gripping my hand with the phone, his grip surprisingly strong.
“I said, I’m not going. And you can’t make me!”
I grab his lapel and haul him up to me. “Now you listen. You have no say here. And if I have to tie you up and cart you off myself, so be it.”
“The hell you will!”
