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Royce’s happy face dropped into a frown as he looked at the screen. “Sorry. I have to go.” He tugged at his left ear, which I was learning was his tell that he was worried. “Raincheck?”
“Anytime for you, Royce.” But I didn’t think he even heard me as he took off. Then he was gone. I didn’t like how unhappy he was as he left or how fast he took off. Something was going on with him. Maybe that’s what Jax had been talking about when he said Royce needed cheering up. But what was that?
Chapter three
Conservatorship
Royce
The judge stared down at the paperwork, and I held my breath and stuck my hand in my pocket to rub the Matchbox car I’d taken out of the packet that Quinn had given me at that stupid auction. I’d been completely embarrassed, but when I got over myself, I realized the gift was actually fantastic. And in this tension-filled courtroom, it gave me a measure of comfort.
The gavel dropped, banging on the sound block in front of the judge and grabbing my full attention. “Conservatorship is granted.”
All the air rushed out of my lungs. How could this happen? I was a successful adult living in the United States of America, not some foreign third-world country. I had been taking care of myself perfectly fine since I graduated college. I owed my parents nothing.
But here we were.
The judge had granted them total control over my life. I rubbed my chest, the pain growing by the second. The walls and ceiling suddenly felt entirely too close. I leaned forward, trying to get air into my lungs, but they burned from a lack of air.
“Sorry, Royce.” My lousy attorney, Douglas Powell, said, packing his briefcase.
“Wait. I need everything. Not only the court order here but everything you filed from the beginning. I want it tomorrow.”
“I don’t work for you anymore. Your expenses will be allocated from your estate, managed by your father.”
“Bullshit. There’s a thing called morals here. Get me that stuff by morning. I’m still a Mabry. Do not underestimate me.” I glared at him with my best version of my father’s don’t fuck with me stare. I’d learned it from the best and was desperate enough to use it.
Powell patted my hand where it was pressed to the table. “Okay, Royce. I will.”
Then he left. Not that I thought he was a fantastic lawyer, but he was in my corner. Or at least he was supposed to be. But he lost. And he left. And I was alone.
Needing to get the hell out of that courthouse, I turned and headed for the door, but as I stepped out into the hallway, my father stood there with his entourage, waiting for me. He had his lawyer, of course, but he also had his accountant and Vice President, Mr. Jervus, who I’d grown to hate over the years. The man was a snake. And over by the wall, my mother stood alone, gripping a tissue, as if her tears weren’t crocodile in nature.
My attempt to pass them was halted when Jervus stepped in front of my path. My earlier panic turned to anger. I’d had enough of this bullshit. They’d gotten their way. Now I needed to retreat and lick my wounds, but no, they wanted more. “Get out of my way.”
“Your father has something to say,” Jervus’s smirk was subtle but beyond annoying.
“You have all said enough. The rest can wait. Now move.”
“Royce.” My father stepped closer. His smug face always looked that way, so his expression actually gave away nothing of how he actually felt. If he felt anything at all. I wasn’t sure he was capable anymore.
“What?” I threw my hand up, wanting him to get it over with so I could get out of there.
“I’ll need the keys to your car.” He held his hand out as if I would hand them over like a child.
My car. My baby.
“No. No. Enough.” I took a step back as if I could escape from that direction, but it was a dead-end, and I was backing myself against the wall—like the rest of my life.
Father’s beady-eyed accountant leaned toward me. “The conservatorship gives your father full authority, and we need—”
“No.” I pointed in his old, crumpled face. “You don’t get to tell me anything.”
My father stepped up behind the old crone, threateningly close. “Royce. Don’t be rude. We’re selling that monstrosity and buying you something more practical. Immediately. Today.”
“No.” I shook my head, ready to deny all of it. “That’s ridiculous.” But I knew he would push it. After all, he’d used my choice of car as one more reason that I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself. According to him and his lawyer, I wasted money on a sports car that was nothing but a death trap. How was buying a car—okay, it was a Lamborghini. Still. It was the only thing I had ever splurged on, and I loved her. My Huracan was white with a neon blue strip along the bottom. And now, a nail in my coffin. Because apparently, no rational man in Tampa would buy one of these. It didn’t have the same safety rating as some domestic vehicles available today, but it was a fucking sports car. A fun one. And despite that, I’d never even had a speeding ticket. “This is ridiculous. I’ve had this car for two years and—”
“You don’t get a say, Royce. You understand?” My dad now tossed that look I’d tried to copy earlier right back at me, but I knew better. Still, it didn’t stop him. “You say you want to be independent, but the more you fight this, the longer you’re going to be under my thumb.”
