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I close the door behind me and he looks up.
His face splits into a smile that I’d call handsome if he wasn’t so… sleazy and evil.
Before he can say anything, I ask, “Is she new?”
He sets his phone aside. “Yes. Part-time while she goes to school. But I think she may be full-time material.”
Yikes.
“How old is she?”
He tsks. “Now, Tempest, you know it’s rude to ask a girl’s age.”
“Not if she’s not legal,” I retort. “Is she? Legal.”
His smile’s still in place. “Why, are you afraid of your old man going to jail, baby girl?”
Double yikes.
In fact I think I threw up in my mouth a little.
His nickname for me has to be the most offensive and sleaziest thing ever. Not because it’s sleazy by itself but because he is saying it. And I hate it. I’d much rather be called by my tragic name.
“Well,” I raise my eyebrows, “if I knew there was even a single cop in this town who’d arrest you, trust me I’d be beating down his door right this second.”
At this, his smile drops, not all the way but still, and his true face shows through. Which is basically hard gray eyes and tight displeased features.
“I’d be very careful what I say next,” he says. “No one likes a smartass. Especially when it’s coming from a puny little girl.”
Ah, the misogyny.
Isn’t he wonderful?
“What can I say,” I still go on, “I’m your daughter. I learned it from you.”
“Which is the only reason I haven’t put you in your place yet,” he says, his voice promising retribution. “And you know I can do it, don’t you?”
Still standing at the door, I clench my teeth.
Because yes, I do know he can put me in my place any time he wants.
And he won’t do it by hurting me, per se.
But by hurting the people I care about.
Namely my brother.
“What do you want?” I ask grudgingly.
Knowing that he’s put me in my place, he smiles again and sits back in his disgusting chair. “Just wanted to see what my soon-to-be-married daughter has been up to.”
“You know, this is the classic example of ‘this meeting could’ve been an email’,” I tell him, unable to keep the sarcasm from creeping into my voice. “You can always text me and ask.”
“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you?”
“Funny how you deprived yourself of the pleasure for the last nineteen years,” I say, “until I became useful to you.”
He steeples his fingers together, watching me. “I’m glad you remember that. That you’re useful to me. I’m sure you also remember how useful you are to your brother, don’t you?”
I look at him for a few seconds.
Look at his merciless face, his calculating eyes.
Growing up, there were times when I’d cry to Reed about why Dad never noticed me. I’d ask him what was wrong with me. Why our dad didn’t care about me. In fact, I used to get jealous of my brother because my dad always kept his finger on him. He always kept a watchful eye over what my brother was doing.
It was only later, when I grew up, that I understood that our father’s finger was really his thumb. He was keeping my brother under his thumb. Making him do things that he didn’t really want to do.
And Reed did them for me.
To keep me safe. To keep me out of harm’s way.
All our childhood, he protected me from our father’s wrath.
And I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without him.
He’s the best brother in the world.
And yes, I know how useful I am to him now.
How I’m the only person standing between him and our dad.
“I do remember, Dad,” I say, my heart beating furiously in my chest. “I couldn’t care less about being useful to you. In fact, if it were up to me I’d leave you to rot, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. But I do care about my brother. I do care what happens to him. Which is the only reason I’m doing this. The only reason I’ve agreed to your dishonest scheme.”
He watches me for a few seconds before chuckling. “Well, I can’t say I don’t appreciate your honesty. Thank the big Lord then that you’ve got a brother, or I’d be screwed, wouldn’t I?”
I throw him a mock smile. “Yeah, you would be.”
He chuckles again. Then, “Well the reason I wanted to see you is that I’ve set up a meeting between you and Ezra with his secretary. Tomorrow for dinner at six.”
“What, why?”
“Because you’re engaged,” he says in what I think of as his duh voice. “And as wonderful as that is, engaged isn’t married. Engaged isn’t even close to what we need. So you’ll meet with him; you’ll bring out the Jackson charm that I’m sure you have somewhere deep down and get me a wedding date, an advanced wedding date, before he leaves town for business next week. So I can get these fuckers off my back.”
