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“I assume you’re here to talk about your trust fund. There wasn’t an agenda for this meeting.”
My face flattens. An agenda? No, this is a daughter coming to her dad because she needs some fucking help, but God forbid I see him without prior knowledge of what I’ll say. I clear my throat. “Not entirely.” His expression doesn’t change, he just waits. “I do need to ask for something though.” A bead of sweat runs down my spine. My father always had the approach when we were growing up that if you stay silent, the truth will come out eventually. And it works because I’m a second away from spilling everything, the pressure cracking my chest wide open. “There’s a problem at the shelter,” I blurt out, my pulse thundering.
“Hmm.”
“I need a loan to help fix the building. Apparently, we need new electrics, and we have asbestos.” I can’t sugarcoat it. If anything, my dad will want the truth, so I’m giving it to him.
“And how much will that be?”
“I think in total I’m looking at a maximum of twenty-five thousand.”
He nods. “And your trust fund has been spent on that place? All half a million?”
My throat dries. When he puts it like that, he makes it sound like I’ve squandered it on pointless things, but I haven’t. It’s been years of using that money sparingly, along with donations to keep it afloat. I purchased a building, for Christ’s sake; I have staff; I have animals that need food, bedding. I want to yell, but I don’t. Instead, I force all those negative feelings down.
“Correct.”
He sighs deeply. “And how am I meant to give you a loan knowing that I won’t get a return on it since yourbusinessis not for profit?”
My teeth clench at the way he says business. Okay, I may not be making millions like him, but I do okay, usually, when the universe doesn’t have me on its shit list, that is. We usually have enough money to throw a ball to raise more money. We usually have more people adopting pets, but the last six months have been tricky because of all the repairs, the new building and how overrun we are with animals. Costs have risen, but donations haven’t.
“I suppose you can’t. However, I thought you could take it from my trust.”
“The remainder that you don’t have?”
“If that makes it easier for you.”
“Look, Zoey.” He runs his hand over his mahogany desk before looking at me. “I can’t say that I’m surprised, but I will help you.”
I take the backhanded insult on the chin, ignoring the fury bubbling in my chest as I flick my eyes around the room, almost waiting for the hidden camera to pop out and shout, ‘Ha – you’ve been punk’d,’ but it doesn’t come.Did my dad just agree to help me? Surely not.
“Um, thank you,” I say, resisting the urge to ask him to repeat the part where he said he’d help me. “I’d really appreciate the help.” Relief mixes with confusion in my belly as my father casually writes me a cheque for thirty thousand pounds and passes it to me.
I tentatively take it and stare at the numbers. That was too easy and now my mind buzzes with another thought.What’s the catch?I can’t ask that though. He might take the money back, and I need it too much, besides the fact it’s technically mine, as in from my trust fund anyway. So, I say nothing.
“Is that everything?” he asks, breaking my focus on the cheque.
“Why are you helping me?”
He scoffs, standing to walk back to his chair. “Zoey, I’m capable of a kind gesture.”
Debatable, my mind screams. Especially as he just basically called me a fuck up but still lent me the money anyway. But still, I find myself standing and getting ready to leave his office with exactly what I came in here to get. And still, I hesitate for a second, disappointment swarming my tight chest. A part of me hoped he would treat me with respect or at least give me a hug. The little girl inside me craves that, but the adult in me knows I’ll never get it.
Chapter 41
Harrison
“So,theappisshowing there’s another bug, but it’s linked to the new code, which is easily fixed. I’m confident this time it’s a much smaller one and I can resolve it by the end of the day,” my employee, David, announces to the rest of the team sitting around the conference table.
We’ve been having consistent problems with this app since it launched before I went to Vegas. The annoying thing is, there’s no obvious reason why it keeps happening or how. We’ve tried tracing the bugs, but there’s never a source. It’s one of the few things that keeps me up at night.
“That’s great, David. Thank you. If everyone is in agreement, I say we all take a break and grab some coffee.” I stand to signal everyone can leave. “Great work, everyone.”
Selfishly, I let everyone take a break so I could have a quiet ten minutes in my office. Sitting at my desk, I take a deep breath and relax my head back on my leather chair. Zoey and I have had many a late night lately, and I need to get better at balancing my time with her and sleep. Unfortunately, she makes sleep impossible when we’re in bed.
I pick up my phone and send the boy's group chat a text. I’ve also been bad at socialising, but they know that when work and life get busy for me, I tend to drop in and out. Still, it doesn’t stop the guilty feeling when Aaron texts back.
Aaron: He’s alive!
